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A Path To Fatherhood

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"Challenges are what makes life interesting and over coming them is what makes life meaningful." -Joshua J. Marine


 

Sherlock strolled through the halls of an-almost- empty hospital. It was almost midnight and though he didn't really sleep anyways, this time he was actually thinking to go to bed. Of course someone needed his help.

He passed some patients who were sitting in wheel carts, or in beds with IV pouches next to them. He's been through that and it was absolutely disastrous.

After his fall, he'd been in and out of hospitals, getting hurt every time, whether from Moriarty people or engaging into drugs. Thankfully, Mycroft was able to get a private room, and only restricted nurses was able to tend to him.

Unfortunately, he has never been so uncomfortable in his life, people checking if he was alright and then him giving rude remarks. He was glad that he was discharged early, thanks to his dear brother.

But during those 2 years has been hell for him. Not being able to see his friend, John, Molly, Greg or even Rosie, despite how messy babies are but, he missed them so much. His friends and Goddaughter. And he supposes his brother.

He never fond of children and didn't really think to start a family. He would be a horrible father and kept telling himself. But every so often, whenever a child would smile at him, he would ghost a smile, though he remained stoic and professional. Rarely he would think what would life be life with a child, but it always ended up him being helpless. And he certainly didn't want his children to go down the path he went through. Or anyone.

But he was getting better, thanks to his friends and admittedly Mycroft as well. Which made his death even more mentally painful.

Besides that, once he returned, he knew it wasn't going to a walk in the park, after being dead for 2 years from 'suicide' but the forgave them and also gave him a beating as well, which he kind of deserved.

His eyes were darting back and forth, watching some nurses pass him. He would sometimes deduce them quickly, and then be on his merry way, knowing their darkest and odd secrets.

Gracefully striding through the halls, he saw Inspector Lestrade talking to some nurses, all prepped with his wallet, showing his badge.

"Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock said, his baritone voice filling the room.

Greg turned around to the see the detective walking towards him. He nodded his head as if to say hello back, and proceeded talking to the nurses, shaking their hands.

Once Sherlock got there, the nurses went back to their usual work and Lestrade greeted Sherlock again. "Why am I here?" Sherlock asked, expressed with boredom.

"Because I need your help with a patient who was kidnapped." Lestrade explained, his eyes rolling.

"I'm presuming that your team didn't catch this bad guy?" Sherlock asked, though he knew, just by the look on the inspector's face.

Greg sighed, and put his fingers on the bridge of his nose and shook his head, "No we didn't."

"Not surprised."

"Watch it." Greg warned, getting a smirk from the consulting detective. "Any who, I need you to talk to him and use your brain of yours to figure it out." Greg continued. Sherlock groaned, but complied after earning a stern glare from the inspector.

"Wait here, and I'll come get you when you can come in, alright?" Sherlock nodded and waited near the desk where Injured people would check in.

He waited for a few moments. He would every so often glance at the clock and the area. Nothing caught his eye.

That is until he saw a child or maybe an adult, dressed in a white hospital gown, sitting on a large hospital bed. Sheet only covering up to their waist. They were sitting up, looking out the window.

Because it was dark, he couldn't really see them, but the moon shone through their window and caught a glimpse of a small girl, no older than at least 11, with shiny black, wavy hair, covering the upper back mostly. Her hands in her lap, as she sat all alone in the dark. He was able to see a white band on her wrist, indicating that she was a patient.

If only she would turn her head, then he would fully be able to deduce her. He got his wish when the girl turned her head, now facing the the detective.

He quickly deduced. Pale, must be some type of major anemia. Needs blood transfusion often. Could need a blood stem transplant or maybe bone marrow. Insomnia, likely quiet and shy. Lonely too.

Sherlock came back from his deductions as the girl was now awkwardly waving to him. He didn't really realize her eyes were ocean blue until after he made deduced her. Usually that's what he gets first. Their facial first and then their personality, as well as their personal past life.

He swiftly turned his head, slightly embarrassed that he was caught by the young child. He waited a few moments for Greg and for some reason he took a peek at the girl and still, she was staring at him. He busied himself by looking at the paintings and playing with his fingers as well.

What felt like hours, he took another peek at the girl, and saw that now she wasn't looking at him anymore, but lying -as far as the bed could recline- down, her face now towards the wall, her eyes shut.

The moon was barely shining through her window but he could tell that the tiny child was restless and exhausted. Seeing the bags under her eyes, it made his heart twinge of sadness.

His mind was racing at the possibilities why the girl was here, he also didn't know why he was taking the extra effort to think of them. It was almost like he grew another head. So unlikely of him.

He waited a few more minutes and Greg finally came to tell him that they were ready to be questioned.

If only of they were ready in the morning, Sherlock thought.


 

She wasn't a popular kid. In fact, she was the complete opposite. No one really took notice of her. She was like a ghost, in a hospital, waiting for a transplant. She was quiet, stealthy and very shy. She wouldn't talk to anyone if given choice. No one talked to her anyways. Not even at the boarding school she was abandoned at.

Nevaeh was a very smart child; smarter than any other child her grade in the boarding school. Always being mature and doing the right thing. Nothing really astounded her. More or less, she got bored often.

It was normal for someone to look at her when her doors open and see a lonely child in a room and then give a sympathy smile or facial expression as if that would make her feel better. It didn't, but she got used to it.

But it was odd for Nevaeh to see a tall man staring at her. She tried to shake it off by looking at him and also awkwardly waving. He must've caught the act as he quickly as possible turned his head.

She was relieved when it happened. It was almost weird to see a person come at midnight, unless they were unfortunate people who's family members has been injured or friends. Sometimes its even more drastic when it's not an injury. More like a death.

She shuddered at the thought if death. Hopefully, God willing, that death won't take a hold of her. She looked away from the man and sighed quietly. She faced the wall and leaned back, thinking of the night. The moon was beautiful, one of the reasons she loves staying up sometimes.

She loved the stars and how it would only brighten some areas. The twinkles and everything. The quietness she enjoyed the most though . Usually in the mornings and afternoons are so crazy, she can't usually hear herself think, even if she closes her doors. It was the same at the boarding school, but granted, she'd rather have the hospital noise than the boarding school sounds.

And every since Nevaeh found out she will be staying at the hospital until she was better, she was glad. It was unfortunate for her class to think of a sick student, but she always thought that was selfish, so life went on for her. She did school when needed and did the every say average person would do. Nothing special.

She closed her eyes for a awhile, reminiscing on how beautiful it was. Maybe someday she could be outside again, but then grew tired from thinking. She creaked her eyes open and let herself relax, as the man was gone now.

She sighed contently and allowed herself to sleep, listening to her IV pouch making dripping noises. She knew she wasn't going to get better. A-plastic Anemia is chronic. Forever she'll be stuck in a fishbowl at the hospital, heck she doesn't even know if she needs a transplant for bone marrow, not that anyone was concerned for her, but eventually she would get the idea soon.

It didn't stop her from dreaming of escaping though. She longed to finally be where a place is called home, instead of a stupid boarding school. She wondered what her biological parents were like. Did she have her dad's eyes? Her mom's lips or nose? Was she even wanted? Obvious they cared much enough for her to live instead of being dead before she could even take her own breath.

She shivered slightly, unaware that she was thinking such a thing. But she guessed that what every adoptee or orphan thought of

Time mattered to her, and unfortunately her time was ticking fast. Always thinking if she'll be able to see the next day.


 

It didn't take long for Sherlock to solve the case. More like a waste of a time. Just another dull case.

"See that didn't take to long. Thanks again, detective." The inspector said.

"Less than a two." Sherlock grumbled. Greg rolled his eyes, "Just go to bed, you bloody git."

"You as well, George." Sherlock said. Greg eyed him, "It's Greg."

"Right, whatever."

With that they parted ways. As he was passing he decided the glance again at the child to see if she was still awake.

He quickly but stealthy like, peeked inside and saw the girl resting peacefully in the middle of the bed. He let a small smile cross his face, but swiftly frowned as he noticed that no parent or family member was here. Not even some get well cards or decoration.

The room was pretty barren, besides the bed some other stuff. Most likely she doesn't have guests, considering that their wasn't even a chair placed in the room.

He led himself out the hospital doors quickly, and continued thinking intensely on what theories about the girl on the way home. He decided he would text John and ask of this mysterious child. Surely maybe he'll know. One way or another, Johns his best choice.

Sherlock texted John, and he knew it was going to be late, so he expected no text messages from him until morning.

'Can you come by tomorrow?' -SH

With that, he shoved his phone in his coat and called a taxi to take him home.