Sherlock Holmes is not a morning person.

Understand that I say this with the purest heart and the greatest love when it comes to my husband, but Sherlock Holmes turns into a ridiculous, intolerable, little bitch if he doesn't get his beauty sleep. That being said, finding a 'little bundle of joy' at five in the morning on a Monday wasn't exactly a great moment for the consulting detective.

Let's rewind. Sherlock and don't usually go out at night. We're the type of couple who stays in and marathons a television show while eating far too much popcorn for just two people to share. However, Sherlock is an adventurer, and every once in a while he likes to go out and try something new. (Actually, I'm beginning to think these excursions are just an excuse to get me out of the house. The guy might just be concerned about my vitamin D levels. If that's the case, he's probably right to be worried.) Anyways, the night before our little "surprise," Sherlock and I had been out at a recently-opened pub in downtown London.

"John, there it is!"

Sherlock was, of course, correct. The Alwyne Castle, as it was called, was a cozy little place with a comfortable beer garden and a conservatory. Nothing abnormal, surprisingly, as Sherlock usually decided to go somewhere insanely weird for these nights out. No, the Alwyne Castle was ordinary.

We entered, had a seat, ordered a pint, nothing special. Sherlock began deducing the room and those around us while I enjoyed my drink.

"So," I said as soon as Sherlock had finished, "anyone interesting?"

"Everyone's interesting. There's always something."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. But anyone... You know... Especially interesting?"

The waiter came by our table and handed us our drinks. Sherlock remained silent until he'd left. "Well, for starters, our waiter is shagging that woman over there - you see? The one leaning against the bar over there. Fake redhead, college dropout, married to a smoker."

"I thought you weren't interested in affairs?"

"Oh, certainly not. They're terribly boring. Thing is, this is more than an affair because that waiter is actually her cousin."

I crinkled my nose. "That's disgusting."

Sherlock shrugged and took a swig. "But that's none of my business."

"Fair point."

Sherlock and I drank silently for a few moments before he cleared his throat. "So, how was work?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You don't care."

"Uh... Sure I do."

"Sherlock, I know you very well, and I know that you don't give a damn about things like my day at work. And I accept that."

He shrugged. "I don't know, John." He gave me a boyish grin. "Maybe I'm finally settling into those normal-people ways."

I laughed. "Don't you dare."

The dark-haired beauty grinned back at me. "I wouldn't dream of it."

We finished our drinks soon after, paid, and went home. Like I said, regular night out.

Upon arriving home, Sherlock and I settled down in our living room, just a little tipsy. We watched a few movies, Sherlock complained about the 'obvious' flaws in these said movies, and we had a good time. It wasn't my fairy-tale ending- it was better than that. It was Sherlock.

Snuggling on the couch that night until each of us drifted off, things felt perfect. So perfect, in fact, that not even the brilliant Sherlock Holmes could predict the catastrophe we would face the next morning.

--

I woke with a start. Sherlock was still draped across me, snoring quietly. The television blared on and on. A regular morning- still, something was off. Something, something, something...

Screech. Ah, that was it. The high-pitched wail of a young child filled 221B. I felt like I was about to be deafened!

Sherlock's head snapped up, his eyes large in surprise. "What the hell?"

I held my face in my hands, a headache quickly coming on. "Oh, god. Make it stop."

Sherlock leapt to his feet, fairly pissed after having being woken so suddenly. "What time is it, anyways? Five? Six?"

I glanced over at the clock on our microwave. "Five twenty-eight."

My husband clamped his hands over his ears as the screaming continued. "That's practically the middle of the night!" He walked around the side of the couch, and his hands fell as quickly as his face did. "You've got to be kidding me."

I hauled myself off of the couch, and sleepily walked towards Sherlock in the low light. On the ground sat a child, all blond hair and brown eyes, wailing with all her might.

I nearly lost my footing. A child? In our flat? I'd dreamt of having children for so long, and here, sat right in my living room, was a kid! If only she'd stop that screeching.

Shyly taking a seat next to her, I shushed the girl. "Now, then. That's alright. Take a deep breath, little... Uh... Well, I don't know your name..."

Sherlock threw his arms up and turned on the light before returning to his spot on the couch. "I know for a fact that I won't be able to deal with this until I've slept. Good luck, John." He pulled a blanket over his head, and just like that, the child was my problem.

The little girl had paid some attention to my gentle shushing, and had gone from screaming to sobbing quietly. I ran my hand through her hair awkwardly. "There, see? That's much better."

With the lights on, I could now take a better look at her. She had to be about six or seven, so she would definitely remember where she was before this. Where had she been? And how had she gotten here, of all places?

I pursed my lips. "What's your name, then?"

She sniffled. "Missy."

I smiled upon hearing the little, soft voice. She really was a dream child when she wasn't shrieking. "That's a beautiful name."

No response. She was a quiet one, then.

I stood up. "Say, Missy, are you hungry?"

She nodded so slightly, I was unsure that she'd moved at all. Still, when I offered her a hand to pull herself up with, she accepted.

Missy silently took a seat at the kitchen table while I began to make some toast and eggs for her as well as coffee for myself. She remained quiet even as I placed her breakfast before her. She simply began to eat.

I sat down across from her. "So, Missy, how'd you end up here?"

She shrugged, filling her mouth with eggs.

I raised an eyebrow. "Now, are you sure you don't know?"

She nodded and continued to chew.

"Hm." I sat back and took a sip of coffee, enjoying the much-needed bit of caffeine.

When she finished, Missy simply stood up and walked away. I was halfway out of my chair before I realized that she was fetching a glass and filling it with orange juice. Independent, then.

The child returned to her seat with the cutest of orange-juice mustaches after taking a drink. She stared me down, all business. "What's your name?"

I laughed. "I thought I was the one asking the questions here." When she didn't smile, I continued. "My name is John, and that man over there is named Sherlock."

"That's a dumb name."

I was taken aback. "Well, that's not a very nice thing to say."

She took another drink. "Maybe I'm just not a very nice girl."

I pursed my lips, trying not to laugh. "If that's the case, you and Sherlock may get along. For a long time, I thought he wasn't a very nice boy."

"He probably isn't."

"If that's the case," I leaned in, "then why did I marry him?"

She shrugged, drank. "We all make mistakes."

I leaned back into my seat. "You know, Missy, if you're going to stay here, there's going to be a serious attitude change."

"Who says I want to stay here?"

"Who says you have anywhere else to go?"

She finished off her juice. "I do. I'll be going home very soon now."

"Where is your home, Missy?"

She glared at me. "Stranger danger."

"You're already in my house."

"Not by choice." Before I could respond, she stood up, hands on her hips. "I want to sleep."

There was obviously no arguing with the little girl. I led her down the hall, towards our guest bedroom. "Right this way, then, your majesty."

The guest bedroom had served as my own room for multiple years before Sherlock and I had become a couple, but we'd redecorated since I'd moved out. It was much nicer now, grey walls replacing the old yellow, a new queen bed made up in the center of the room.

Missy immediately pulled off her shoes and climbed under the covers. She didn't seem to mind sleeping in her normal clothes. It was as though she'd done all of this before.

I leaned against the door frame, lingering. "How long do you plan to stay with us?"

"I'm sleeping now."

"Just an estimate?"

"I'm going to sleep."

I didn't push it. "Alright, Missy. Goodnight." I glanced at the window, which was already letting light into the room. "If you can call it that."

She began fake-snoring, obviously believing that it would trick me. I couldn't help but smile as I left the room, keeping the door cracked open. The kid was awful, yes, but that couldn't stop her from being adorable.

She was perfect. Well, almost.