I've got a poll up on my page, and it would make my day if you'd vote on it! Thanks! This story is a prompt from my cousin that I finally managed to get finished. I've been writing this story off and on for about the past six months, so I apologize for any inconsistencies that might show up in it. Hopefully you guys will enjoy it!:)

"So she's dead, then?" Sherlock asked Mycroft disinterestedly as they both stood in his home, the infamous 221B Baker Street.

"That's generally what's meant when one is said to have been in a fatal car accident, Sherlock."

In that same utterly careless tone, Sherlock answered, "Alright, then. Is there any further reason for this unexpected visit of yours?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he looked at his brother, adding, "You'll be required at the reading of her will this Thursday."

"Whatever in the world for?" Sherlock snorted. "We haven't spoken to her since our brother's funeral, and that was over two years ago."

"Just barely, and I have been led to believe that Francine has left to you something of great importance to her."

Sherlock snorted once again, saying, "I doubt that quite highly; the only thing that was ever important to our sister-in-law was what she saw in the mirror."

"Our sister-in-law isn't a week passed on; you really ought to show more respect for the deceased."

"Perhaps if they would've showed their faces more instead of moving to misery."

"It's Missouri, and I highly suspect that you would not have appreciated the increased presence of any human being, let alone that of your own family members," Mycroft smirked.

"Which is why I must ever so regretfully ask you to leave," Sherlock answered drolly. "I have a new case, and thus an engagement in the morgue within the hour. Goodbye, Mycroft."

"Promise me you'll be at the will reading in Saint Louis," Mycroft demanded.

"Fine," Sherlock agreed with a long-suffering sigh. "I shall be in awful misery on Thursday, as requested."

Mycroft nodded before taking his leave. Sherlock waited a quarter of an hour and then started towards the morgue.

John met him at the entrance to Molly's morgue, declaring, "You look aggravated."

"Mycroft."

"What's he done this time?"

Sherlock pushed open the door to the morgue as he answered, "Our brother's widow died earlier this week and it appears that my presence is an utter necessity at the reading of the will this upcoming Thursday."

"Sherrinford had a wife?" John inquired. "And, of course, I'm sorry for your loss."

The subject of Sherlock and Myrcoft's "other brother" was a practically untouched one, even after five years of working so closely together, so John treaded carefully.

Molly Hooper, however, had no such reservations, and asked with an innocent cheerfulness, "Who's Sherrinford and his wife? Another case?"

"Sherrinford and Francine are both deceased relations," Sherlock answered smoothly. "And she's not really a loss, John; I hadn't seen her in two years, and it was a good eight years between visits before that."

"Roads work two ways, you know," John pointed out.

"Not when I have so many things to do here."

"Still, they were your brother and sister-in-law."

"I would much rather be in yours and Mary's company by comparison – if I had to choose someone to socialize with."

John muttered under his breath, "Thanks, I think," and then asked in a tone meant to be heard, "Anyway, what's so bloody hard about listening to a lawyer ramble for a couple of hours?"

"I have to travel to Saint Louis, misery, to do it, apparently."

Molly stopped in front of John and Sherlock with the body that they needed to view on a cart, and suggested while pulling the sheet back, "I think you mean 'Missouri,' don't you?"

"I know what I'm saying," Sherlock answered her irritably.

He scanned the body as it was unveiled and then said, "John, kindly tell Lestrade the murderer was this man's partner on the software project at his job. I am going to go back to Baker Street and try to find a way out of this trip to America." And so saying he walked out of the morgue with John trailing him.

"How in the world can you tell that?!"John yelped. "You barely looked at the poor man!"

"I would love to explain it to you, John, truly, but I really must find a way out of travelling abroad, so kindly excuse me."

"Sherlock," John suddenly moved to stand in front of Sherlock, forcing the sociopath to halt as the war veteran said a bit desperately, "Listen, little Shirley is sick, and I would really, really love an afternoon out of the house, if you wouldn't mind perhaps making this case take just a little bit longer somehow."

"Away from the family on a Saturday afternoon? For shame, John Watson," Sherlock smiled teasingly before brushing past him and continuing towards the exit.

John stayed in the hallway, watching Sherlock go, and called after him, "That's not funny, Sherlock Holmes! Believe me, if you ever become a father, you'll understand, and I will stand back and laugh at you!"

"I will never become a father, John," Sherlock answered with certainty before the hospital doors closed behind him.

"What do you mean, 'custody'?" Sherlock yelped the following Thursday, surging to his feet in a law office in Saint Louis, Missouri. "Sherrinford and Francine didn't even have a child!"

"I beg to differ, Mr. Holmes," the lawyer, Mr. Franklin, replied mildly. "Francine Holmes was two months pregnant at the time of your brother's death, if I understand correctly. If you didn't keep in frequent contact with your brother and sister-in-law, then perhaps you never heard the news. In any account, your lack of knowledge on the subject doesn't altar Mrs. Holmes will; you are Daniel Holmes' guardian."

"I'm a sociopath!"

Mr. Franklin answered calmly, "I am not in a position to do anything more or less than see that Daniel's parent's wishes regarding his custody are honored. After you assume custody of the child, what happens to him then is outside of my control or concern."

"Mycroft," Sherlock cried, looking desperately at his brother who sat across from him at the table. "You're supposed to be important, right? Then do something to make this go away!"

"The baby's parents are dead, Mr. Holmes, not Daniel," Mr. Franklin said, a new edge creeping into his voice as he spoke. "He is a helpless one-year-old, and he will not be going away any time soon. You are his guardian. I even went the extra mile for you to see to it that Daniel could legally leave the country by the end of our meeting here. He will be returning with you to London on your flight. Congratulations, Mr. Holmes, it appears that you have become a father."