Sherlock Holmes did not typically count himself an overly sentimental man, to be entirely frank. He preferred to be in the moment, to work the cases and do his job, the things he was good at. Yet despite that, he did find the occasional thought intruding sometimes. A swift, errant thing, fleeting and gone the moment it crossed his mind, yet occupying his valuable thinking space when he most needed it, and it was beginning to rear its head more and more.
He was worried about his legacy, you see. Or, perhaps, the family one. Now, he was no Mycroft, so concerned with keeping up appearances that he ignored everything else, but over the years, all the murders he'd seen, the men and women's lives that were cut short… it forced him to begin pondering.
What would his mark on the world be? A man world-renowned for being the greatest detective who ever lived, and nothing else? Would the line end with him?
No… no. His family would not end with him it would not. Sherlock would see to that.
And so, the great detective formulated a plan. He'd need someone to go on, to carry the family gift down the generations. But, in order to do that, he needed a blood son, not an adopted child. And, truthfully, marriage bored him. He'd need to find someone who would be willing, and be fine with not being part of the child's life, even if for money.
With that, Sherlock set about a difficult search. Every toe of progress he believed he made was, rather discouraging, otherwise. Those who could keep up with his intellect took offense at Sherlock's purpose for seeking them out, and the ones that weren't offended weren't right at all.
His blood would need the very best. A mother worthy enough to be brought into the Holmes family, if only by connection, not blood.
It was later, reading over a case in the papers, Sherlock found his answer.
Enola.
Most would be nauseous at the idea of asking their sister for help finding a woman at all, never mind what Sherlock had planned. But Enola was perfect for the job. Smart, while being the perfect touch of emotional. And, to Sherlock's credit, they'd been apart for her entire life, learning about each other through second-hand accounts. If Enola could be counted his sister, then so would every other woman on the street.
So, Sherlock sought her out, paying her a visit. The two caught up, chatted, he insisted he bought her dinner so she wouldn't be forced to subside on the slop she could only cook-
And then, he sprung it upon her.
"…you're not serious." Enola said after a long, excruciatingly awkward moment of silence, once Sherlock relayed his proposal to her. She was frozen over her plate, fork clutched in her fingers tightly, her knuckles going white.
"I am." Sherlock replied frankly, picking his food.
"But it's utterly mad!" Enola replied, running through all sorts of shock and disbelief at once. He noted, however, he didn't spot any disgust.
"I've thought it through quite well." Sherlock informed her, "You are the best woman for the job."
"Thought it through!?" Enola repeated, "Sherlock, you-" She looked around, lowering her voice, even though they were alone. "You're talking about…" Her face flushed. "Impregnating me."
"Yes, I am." Sherlock replied.
"I-I-It's utterly ridiculous!" Enola retorted, gesticulating wildly. "It would- It could never work! I am your sister, your family!"
"By blood, yes, but I must remind you," Sherlock replied, "Up until a few weeks ago, you were a total stranger to me, no more familiar than the other women I've asked. And for something concerning the family… well, best to keep it in the family, is it not?"
"I-I have work, there are things I'll need to pay for," Enola excused.
"It would not preclude you working, until the pregnancy reached such a point where it hindered you," Sherlock replied, "And once that occurred, I would be gladly willing to offer you compensation." He leaned forward. "Think of it, Enola. This isn't about you or me, it's about our legacy. Our family's legacy. We don't want the line to end with us. Especially since we know Mycroft won't be likely to find himself a wife any time soon, as dreadful as he is."
Enola turned away, falling silent. "…allow me to think about it."
"Take all the time you require." Sherlock told her patiently.
And take her time, Enola did. It was, after all, a big decision. She was only sixteen, after all, and out of her life, she wanted something other than the being married off to a man and making babies with him, but… well, it was Sherlock. He simply didn't operate like that. And… well, she had to admit, he did have a point.
She almost died, multiple times, working that first case of hers.
So, a week or so after he initially asked her, Enola found herself arriving at Baker Street, knocking on the door. Sherlock was there to open the door, and Enola's skin heated, knowing what she was there to do.
****
"Okay, some guidelines." Enola laid out, as she and Sherlock stood in his room, the door closed and locked, the curtains pulled shut. "You're to cover me with a sheet, keep your hands off me, and if I say stop, you're to stop immediately."
"Indeed." Sherlock nodded. "Shall we?"
Enola nodded, taking a breath, and she undid her clothes. Sherlock followed suit, the two standing there, presenting themselves to each other.
Goosebumps rose on Enola's bare skin, as she laid down on the bed, covering herself from her hips to her head, and spread her legs, presenting her pussy, just barely covered in thin hairs, to Sherlock.
It wasn't anything arousing, or sensual, simply a man and a woman, doing what they needed to do. Sherlock worked, making sure to try and be as gentle as possible…
Until that is, things started to change.
As Enola felt Sherlock driving into her, in and out, the thrusting turned from uncomfortable to pleasurable. Her breasts heaved, her skin tingled, and every part on her body that could get erect, her pink nipples and clit, did so.
Enola moaned, throwing her head back. "Sherlock…"
Hearing his name, slightly muffled, inspired Sherlock to act. He pulled the sheet off, throwing it aside, as he ran his eyes up her. He watched, mesmerized, at her small breasts bouncing as he thrust. He took note of the sweat on her skin. And he pleasantly beheld her face, caught stuck in an expression like she was overloaded, as her hands went under her thighs, pulling her legs up.
She was so small, compared to him… so delicate. He could break her, he feared, as he coupled with her. But, at the same time, as he thrust, he could see a slight bulging in her lower abdomen, right where he entered, and that inspired him to go more, damn the consequences.
Sherlock thrust harder, deeper, and faster, Enola moaning ever louder in response.
"Mmm…" Enola looked at Sherlock with twinkling eyes. Honestly, he hadn't expected such a thing to occur so soon. But, here she was. "Sherlock… fill me up…" She breathed.
Sherlock growled, grabbing her by her hips, "I will…" He pledged to her, groaning. "You have child-bearing hips, Enola…" He told her, already imagining what she'd look like, belly swollen and bulging with his child. "I'm going to put them to good use."
"Y-Yes…" Enola moaned, her back arching off the bed, "Please, Sherlock…" She gasped. "Cum in me."
With a mighty grunt, Sherlock obliged, pushing himself into her all the way. He could feel the twitching of his cock as it unloaded round after round of his seed into her, and he withdrew, looking down at her.
He could see her cloudy eyes refocus, as she swallowed. "Well then… I suppose it is done?"
"Not quite," Sherlock chuckled, "Pregnancy is a game of chance. We can't be sure this one time will be enough."
"I-I see." Enola cleared her throat. "And… what are we to do?"
"Keep trying until we know for certain, of course." Sherlock replied.
"Oh…" Enola blinked, blushing as she covered her breasts and pussy. "Well… If we must know for certain…"
It took many tries, and neither of them could speak for which try was the successful one, but soon, Enola discovered a slight swell to her belly, and since she'd been getting the same amount of rigorous exercise she usually did, and ate the normal amount, it could, in her mind, only be the sign that their attempts were successful.
Sherlock's plan had succeeded, and she was pregnant. Enola didn't quite know how to react to that, truthfully. Differing sections of her brain were all yanking her in different directions, screaming and clamoring over each other to tell her how she should react.
The part of her brain that always listened to what her mother taught her told her she should be ashamed of herself. That mother taught her better than to get involved with a man like Sherlock, that all he wanted was to use her… Never mind that Enola already knew that and was under no illusions about her purpose here. It was, in short, a mutually beneficial agreement. Sherlock got the child he wanted, Enola wouldn't have to worry about room and board and bills for some time, and it kept the bloodline going because God knew Mycroft wasn't going to be attracting any women himself any time soon.
Another part of her brain, the part that listened to society's conventions despite Enola finding them utterly trite at first and disinteresting, told her she should, again, be ashamed of herself, and terrified. She wasn't married, was going to have a child out of wedlock, and was getting paid for it. According to it, that made her no better than a whore on the street. Then, she promptly reminded it, that she did not do the act under the auspices of money alone. This was, in a sense, being a surrogate mother.
The third part was, to be honest, utterly terrified. What if Sherlock changed his mind? What if he was no longer interested in the plan and threw her out? Or worse, what if all of this was a trap, meant to prove she shouldn't be left on her own? No, no. Sherlock had given it thought for many, many months, he wouldn't change his mind. And the trap part was utterly ridiculous, seeing as how Sherlock was the one who pushed more for Enola to be independent, unlike Mycroft.
Part four, a part Enola couldn't trace the origin of or how long it had been there, was quite excited. She would be a mother! Her! She truthfully didn't much care for family when it meant societal posturing, but she did care for family when it meant everything else. The moment she realized that she was indeed pregnant, Enola's mind was filled with scenarios. Her and her little girl, running around a tiny little house, playing detective, solving mysteries Sherlock had laid out for them in advance, then once that was done, switching up so that Enola made the mystery, and the others had to solve it.
Immediately, as that last thought was done, Enola felt a stab at her heart, and her face fell. This was a temporary arrangement. Once the child was born… that would be it, she'd go back to her own, separate life.
Yet no matter how many times she tries to remind herself, tries not to lose sight…
It only makes her think about it more.
****
As the months go on, Enola's stomach gets steadily larger… and it awakens something in Sherlock, she can notice. She isn't certain if it's mere excitement to be a father, or a fetish, but more often than not, she finds him looking at her belly with an unreadable expression. For the most part, it's of no great importance to her.
Until, she gets too far along for the demands of detective work, and has to stay home. She doesn't like it, staying behind to take care of things and herself, because it makes her feel like… like… a housewife.
Enola stopped, blinking, with a frown. Did her mother put her off to marriage and normal society so much that the mere idea of doing married things repulse her? That was quite ridiculous. She'd like to think she'd gotten some perspective, these last few months, and she figured her mother would already have it. She hadn't even given birth, yet she already had enormous amounts of respect for the women who've had children, raised them, taught them right, and kept things running smoothly while their partners were at work. Not for the housewives in houses that merely acted like maids turning off their brains so that the men could think for them, no, but for the ones who had supremely difficult jobs, did not get paid for it, and never asked for thanks, and were tough in their own right. She wondered, for a moment, if her mother always thought the way she did about marriage, or perhaps if Enola's father was responsible.
She could see it, truthfully… by all accounts, he was not a nice man. Attracted to her mother for her intelligence… only to get belligerent and offended when that intelligence wouldn't perfectly yield to his every demand.
Sherlock would no doubt be a better father, she thought to herself, absent-mindedly, rubbing her tummy.
That only left the question of who the child's mother figure would be…
Enola steeled her jaw. She would not settle for anything other than herself. She would not.
And, perhaps because of the hormones, she decided on a plan that would ensure the child would know her as its mother from birth.
****
When Sherlock arrived back from a case, he found Enola sitting on the sofa, pouring over Machiavelli's The Prince. When she noticed his entry, her head turned to him, her eyes lighting up brightly, as he brought over a bag to her.
"The pastries you requested?" Sherlock offered, and Enola happily took them, taking a bite out of one with a smile.
Enola let out a contented little sigh, before she got to her feet, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Sherlock blinked, touching the spot, but not rubbing it away. "What was that for?"
"Thank you." Enola answered, sitting back down, arranging herself so that he may sit next to her. "Read with me, please?"
"Certainly," Sherlock sat next to her, as she cozied up to him, earning a surprised expression, but little more than that, from him. He glanced at her, watching the movement of her chocolate brown eyes as she continued to read.
"Oh!" Enola suddenly gasped in surprise.
"What?" Sherlock asked in worry. "What is it?"
"I think the baby just kicked!" She, before he could say anything, took his hand, placing it on her belly, waiting for the baby to kick again. After a moment, Sherlock felt it, a little punch against his hand, followed by another. "Oh, looks like she likes her daddy quite a bit…"
"She?" Sherlock looked to Enola with a crooked smile, "What makes you think it's a she?"
Enola smiled somewhat smugly. "Female intuition."
"Hm." Sherlock's lips twitched as he continued looking at her… and kept looking. He found himself unable to look away, really. Her face seemingly had a glow to it, no doubt her joy from feeling the baby's first kick, and Sherlock wondered… had she always glowed like that?
Enola, too, found herself staring right back, waiting for him to just move, either toward or away from her…
As Sherlock looked over her face, a little bit fuller because of the pregnancy, he was drawn in, closer and closer, until he pressed his lips to hers, still touching her swollen stomach.
"Mmm…" Enola hummed into his mouth, throwing her arms around him, embracing him closer.
Their tongues danced, her hands greedily going across his back, as he touched and caressed her stomach.
"Sherlock…" Enola pulled back, breathing. "I… I love you."
Sherlock blinked, as if struck, before he smiled, going to kiss her all over her face. "I quite love you too, Enola."
"Please, please…" She begged, tenderly looking upon him. "Don't make me leave after this is done… I don't want to leave…"
"Leave?" Sherlock tilted his head, before he went to go kiss the nape of her neck, rumbling into her ear as he went around, "Why would I ever ask you to? It is your child too… you are its mother…"
"I… I can stay?" Enola hopefully breathed, before she moaned as she felt him suck the back of her neck.
"You'll have a harder time of me getting you to leave." Sherlock breathed into her ear.
Enola, quickly, spun around, passionately kissing him on his lips. She should've expected it, really… she was the mother of his child, after all.
Her hands wandered the breadth of his body, pulling his clothes off one by one, as he did the same for her, letting her loose dress fall to the floor, his hands lingering around her breasts and belly, the two naked siblings rubbing against each other.
Sherlock guided her over to the sofa, sitting her down upon it, before he got to the floor in front of her. She believed him to be heading for her pussy, her vulva quivering in anticipation, before he surprised her by going for her taut stomach.
Sherlock, like someone starved of food, kissed and licked her belly, slipping his tongue into her navel, as she huffed with a smile.
"Been eyeing that for a while, haven't you?" She asked with a chuckle, Sherlock's eyes looking up into hers with a twinkle.
"You make it so easy," Sherlock replied, his voice deep and vibratory as he muffled his speech into her body, "You're so beautiful, Enola… any man would be lucky to have you."
"Yes…" She stroked his hair with a smile, "You are quite lucky."
Sherlock looked up at her, pulling away from her stomach, as he repositioned, prodding her dripping entrance with his cock, as he bent down somewhat. As his head approached, she thought he was getting ready to muffle her mouth with his as he slid in, but instead, he went to her breasts, licking and nipping one of her nipples, before he put his lips around it.
Enola threw her head back and moaned as Sherlock slid into her, sucking her teats at the same time. As she looked down, she could see the drips of white escaping from the corners of his mouth, and as his long length of meat struggled to fit inside her, she gasped.
"L-Leave some for the baby." She jokingly chided, as Sherlock took her.
He broke away with a slight smile, before going to kiss her for real this time, as he eagerly pumped her already-full vagina, her comparatively tiny form held down in its entirety by Sherlock's enormous body. She kissed him back, slipping her tongue in again, as she moaned, her toes curling and fingers clenching so tight she marked her skin.
Sherlock sped up, Enola's moans turning to grunts, which turned to delighted screams, her eyes crossing, watering, and clamping shut with every one of Sherlock's deep strikes. Her pussy clenched, tightening around him as her orgasm tore through her just as ravenously as Sherlock was taking her now, and her limbs locked around him.
After a moment, Sherlock thrust as deep in as he could go, releasing his seed, before he rested, the two going limp together.
"Ah…" Enola breathed, a smile on her face. "Ah… Thank you, Sherlock."
"Thank you," He rumbled back, touching her stomach.
"Mmmhmmm…" Enola mumbled, humming as he found a burst of energy to pick her up, carrying him to his bed. They'd never slept in the same bed, not even after their attempts to get this little operation of the ground. "Was all this just your attempt to get me into your bed?" She jokingly asked, as he laid down next to her, the springs creaking.
"Perhaps." Sherlock pulled her close to him, the girl only coming up to his chest, before he looped his arm around her shoulders, laying a hand on her breast. "Would you say it was worth it?"
She kissed him on his cheek again since it was easiest but knew in the future there were liable to be much more moments like this.
"It was absolutely worth it." Enola answered his question, snuggling up to him.
And in her belly, as she fell asleep, the product of their efforts instinctively kicked.