One week earlier...
"So Sherlock," John began a conversation with the detective. "Have you ever had sex? Or is the virgin thing really true?"
"I have not had sex," Sherlock replied. "I'm not that kind of man. But, of course, I never put any sperm to waste..."
"So...oh no. Don't tell me you've done experiments on your own-"
"No, John! Don't be stupid! I just became a sperm donor. God, John! That's disgusting of you to think I did experiments on sperm..."
"Oh. A sperm donor? So, that would mean, that you might have children somewhere...? Is that what I'm hearing?"
"Possibly, but I never really cared about that."
"Never cared? Sherlock, you might have a child somewhere. You never know! That would be pretty interesting."
"In case you haven't noticed, there's only so little of a chance that a woman gets pregnant using my sperm. Even if she did, she wouldn't necessarily care who the hell the father was, would she?"
"So you're just going to let it go then?"
"An another thing, I...really don't like children. I don't think I'd be able to carry on the responsibility of being a father. I'm not that kind of man."
"That's too bad. Then again, you're practically a child yourself. Having a child raise a child would be hard business."
"Shut up, John."
John smirked as he kept typing on his blog, and Sherlock went back to an experiment he was working on (that didn't involve sperm, apparently). John reflected on the conversation that they had; he didn't know why on earth he would ever bring it up, maybe because he was curious about Sherlock and his life. He didn't know much about the detective and his personal life, more so about his personality. All he really know about Sherlock was that he had a brother and a mother (no mention of a father), and that he used to have an addiction to smoking. That was it. He wasn't even sure of Sherlock's birthday (it was something around early January).
A normal man, like John, would want a family, to raise a couple kids and live a simple life. But Sherlock wasn't simple; he preferred to be alone, dedicated to science and crime scenes rather than to people. John knew that wasn't entirely true, and that Sherlock did care about the few friends he actually had, although the bloke would never admit it himself. In John's mind, Sherlock would make an...interesting father.
Mrs. Hudson's voice chimed early in the morning, right as John was going to leave for the store. Sherlock was up early, as usual, writing down the statistics from last night's experiment.
The detective's head shot up as he heard Mrs. Hudson from downstairs. He and John went down to see what was the matter, because the land lady's voice sounded distressed. Once they came downstairs, Mrs. Hudson looked at them with a look of worry.
"You might want to see this," she said, motioning towards the door. "I was going to sweep off the dust from the step there, but then I noticed this..."
Sherlock and John looked where Mrs. Hudson showed them, and there, sitting on the porch, was a basket, cushioned with a pink pillow, carrying a small baby.
"Oh no," Sherlock murmured under his breath...