"Must you let in every man of the cloth that darkens the doorway?" Sherlock asked upon seeing Mrs. Hudson in the waiting room.

"It would offend the Almighty if I turned one of His workers away. Why did he say something to trouble you, dear?" She was the picture of innocence, but he could tell she was rather hoping he had.

He wanted to spit out what business did a former exotic dancer, who took "herbal soothers" as she liked to call it, have being spiritually minded because he was annoyed. Annoyed that he might've been wrong to dismiss religion all these years. He hated being wrong. But he would never be willfully cruel to Mrs. Hudson. "No. Has Mary had the baby yet?"

"No, I've just been admiring all the newborns. My, but it'll be fun having a baby around."

He didn't see what would be fun about having a howling, needy little person attatched to your side. "If you like that sort of thing."

She smiled knowingly. "You say that now but just wait until you see the little darling."

He sat in a chair, leaving Mrs. Hudson to continue to coo at babies. He probably should have asked one of the nurses to take him to the birthing room, but he'd texted John that he'd arrived. Knowing that he was in the hospital had likely calmed him down.

He took in the scented blooms. It smelled and looked divine and that set him to thinking.

How illogical was it to think the world could be ruled by chance? He'd never seen a car or watch or any man-made thing and wondered whether or not it had a creator. And how much less complex were they than the human body or even these flowers. Where there was design, there was a creator.

It seemed so glaringly plain to him at the moment. It was the easiest deduction to make and he'd missed it until now. And if he could no longer deny there was a God, what did that mean for him? For Sherlock Holmes?

It meant he would one stand before a judge like so many of the criminals he'd helped to capture, but not just a judge, the Judge. And he was guilty. Guilty of pride, violence, and many other sins. He needed someone to plead his case. And the only one who could was Jesus Christ; he remembered that from his grandmother's church. So then and there he threw himself on the mercy of the court and asked for forgiveness and for Jesus.

He had more questions he wanted to ask, but he believed they would be answered in time and not that they couldn't be answered. He was taking that leap of faith. And he landed on solid ground. He could feel it in his soul as soon as he'd asked.

His words came back to him from earlier about receiving an answer to a prayer he didn't know he'd prayed. God had revealed Himself without his asking Him to. And that was a mystery in and of itself.

A nurse chose that moment to make an appearance. "Your friend sent me to find you. Mrs. Watson is allowed another person in the delivery room and you are that second person."

John knew him too well. He obediently followed her to the room, knowing he could put it off no longer.

Fortunately, all he found were two proud parents with their baby. No screaming women or pools of blood. Born only 5-10 minutes ago he surmised from a couple quick deductions.

"I brought flowers," he said as if that explained his absence totally.

"That's very thoughtful. They're lovely," Mary said.

The nurse took the bouquet to find a place in the room for them.

"What did you decide to name her?" Sherlock wanted to know, taking a step closer.

"We're still thinking of a name," Mary admitted.

"I have a name for your consideration," Sherlock began.

"For the last time, we're not naming our baby Sherlock," John said though he was grinning as he said so.

"I was thinking of Faith."

"Faith Watson," Mary said. "You know what? I like it."

John was eying him funnily now. "I like it too, but it's not a name I thought you'd ever suggest."

"I believe in things that I can't see or haven't seen. It's called reasoning."

"Faith Sherlock Watson," Mary said. "It's got a nice ring, don't you think?"

John surprisingly agreed. "It does at that. Would you like to hold your namesake?"

Sherlock wasn't sure he would. The only thing that made him more nervous than a woman in labor was a baby. But he held his arms out anyway as John transferred Faith from Mary to him.

Faith lifted a fist into the air but didn't seem distressed in the change of persons. She kept her eyes screwed shut and wore the sweetest expression. It was actually rather nice.

"Would you believe this is the first baby I've ever held?" he asked. Unless one counted the quick pass-off when he'd helped that woman deliver her child.

The laughing smiles they sent him proved they hadn't been surprised at all.

A tender feeling of protection and love welled up in him for the babe in his arms. His list of people he cared about had just gone up one. He would die for this baby that looked so much like John. And everything seemed to make sense in that moment like it never had before.

Love was why the Father had sent the Son to die in the face of all reason. It was why they were all here in the first place. It was why God had made Himself known to him without his asking in just a way he could grasp. And nothing made sense apart from it because love came from God. God was love.

This little baby in his arms might have been the greatest case for faith of all.

The End

There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion. It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from flowers.

-Sherlock Holmes