A/N:  Hello, everyone! 👋😃

Here's the first bit of actual story content. Woohoo! 🥳

A certain Swedish lullaby is featured in this prologue. It's called "Vargsången" which loosely translates to "The Wolf Song". The lyrics are by the amazing Swedish author Astrid Lindgren. If you want to listen to what I kind of imagine it sounds like in this story, I put a beautiful clip I found on YouTube in the header at the top of this chapter. The lyrics are in Swedish, but English translation lyrics are also in the clip as well. Although, to he honest, the Swedish lyrics sound so much better.

Also, I'm not too sure, but . . . I think this may be one of the sweetest prologues to a story I've ever written. I tried to keep Sherlock's characterisation as believable as possible (I'm not sure if I succeeded). Even if I didn't, I still hope you like it! ☺️

Anyway. . .

Enjoy, dearies! 😘

🌺 🪻 🌹 🌷 🥀 🌸 🌻 🪷 🌼

❝ You deserve so much more than what I am. ❞

– Sherlock
Holmes

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I would really appreciate it if you'd please leave comments. They are what keep me motivated to write more!  <3

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𝚂𝚊𝚝. / 𝟼 𝙰𝚞𝚐. 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟺
𝕃𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: 𝙀𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙞𝙚𝙡𝙙, 𝙊𝙭𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙚

It should be understood, right off the bat, that Sherlock Holmes was not at all an ordinary person. Not by any stretch of his own imagination, or anyone else's. He was extremely intelligent for the bright, young age of eighteen years old. So much so that people found it either quite odd, or even a bit frightening. As Sherlock would often point out, "People always get angry at or are afraid of what they don't understand."

The young man frequently found himself entertaining the idea that he was emotionally detached from the rest of the world. His late lover, his beloved Sofia, would've told him that was a load of bollocks. And to an extent, he could admit to himself, she would be correct. However, she would not have disagreed with him in his firm belief that he thrived on finding satisfying solutions to perplexing problems. This, of course, being the healthier option to help stave off his personal issue of reoccurring boredom. Well, that and — more recently — taking care of his infant daughter.

If you had told Sherlock a year prior that he would currently be in his parents' kitchen whilst preparing a bottle of formula for the baby girl whom had become solely his responsibility given her mother's passing . . . well, he would have simply ignored you. Because, surely, he and Sofia would never be that careless or irresponsible. After all, they never had been before in the course of their physical relationship.

But a night of sneaking out of their respective houses with a nicked bottle of visky from Sofia's parents' drinks cabinet on the weekend before they were due to start back for their final year of school turned into a Year 13 that they'd never be able to forget. . .

"You're thinking again," a kind voice alerted Sherlock, breaking him from his racing thoughts and causing him to glance over towards the entrance of the kitchen to see his mother — fifty-four-year-old Violet Holmes — standing there with a certain two-month-old little girl cradled in her arms. "Too much of it is never good for you."

"I'm always thinking," Sherlock replied before turning back and popping the now-prepared bottle of formula into the microwave, setting the timer for forty-five seconds.

"Exactly my point," Violet told him, walking a bit more into the kitchen and meeting her younger son in the middle of the room. "You remember what Hanna said to you when we were in Sweden for the funeral."

"'Never let yourself get too into your head. Overthinking is the perfect recipe for creating new and unnecessary problems,'" Sherlock recited the words his unofficial mother-in-law had spoken to him after Sofia's funeral which had taken place just over a month prior. The woman had literally just buried her daughter and she was talking to him like she was a fucking Jedi.

Sherlock just shook his head at the thought before taking the bottle of formula out of the microwave once the timer had gone off. "Perhaps you should keep those words in mind, dear," his mother told him as he stepped over to her and the baby. "And since you'll be starting university soon it may be especially pertinent to remind yourself."

"Mm," he merely hummed in response before looking down to his daughter as she rested quietly in his mother's arms, contentedly sucking on the dummy in her mouth. "Thank you for bathing her."

"Of course," she smiled slightly, gently removing the dummy from the baby girl's mouth. The little one made a face at the action as she looked up at her grandmother, said older woman letting out a giggle. "She's already mastered The Holmes Glare."

"Mycroft will be proud," Sherlock remarked flatly, carefully positioning his arm as Violet handed him his daughter. "Come along, Audra. Your grandmother is clearly talking nonsense."

Violet tutted, rolling her eyes fondly at her son's jab whilst said young man took little Audra and made his way out of the kitchen and up the entryway stairs of their family cottage.

***

"Your gran may have a point," Sherlock spoke softly a short time later whilst gently rocking baby Audra, the infant happily suckling on the bottle her father held to her mouth. "Then again, she wouldn't know if I followed Hanna's advice or not. After all, she's not exactly following me all the way to Cambridge," he sighed, glancing down at the little girl he was holding. "And neither are you. . ."

Baby Audra took that moment to finish her bottle and excitedly smack the sides of it with her tiny hands, causing her father to crack the tiniest smile.

"It might be a good thing, though," Sherlock continued quietly, setting the now-empty bottle aside before carefully lifting the baby girl and resting her against his shoulder. He then began rubbing and gently patting her back to coax a burp out of her. "A resident uni student taking care of a baby probably isn't the best combination," he smiled slightly when he heard her let out a small burp. "There you are."

The baby girl stretched out her little arms and let out a yawn as her father gently wiped her mouth with a burp cloth. The young man then sighed.

"I'm not perfect," he whispered to baby Audra as he cradled her in his arms, holding her closer to his chest. "As you grow up, I will make mistakes. . . Many of them, in fact."

Sherlock gently rocked the baby girl as she clutched the front of his shirt in her tiny fist, her father taking note of how her eyes fluttered closed and how she seemed to nuzzle herself closer against him as he held her.

"I'm sorry that I am part of the reason why you must now exist and live amongst the harshness which runs rampant all throughout our world," he continued, then placed a feather-light kiss against the smattering of golden blonde wisps atop the infant's head. "Don't worry about it too much, though. Most people are idiots, anyway."

Baby Audra let out another yawn as sleep began to claim her, her little head resting against her father's bicep.

"This whole thing might have been easier to deal with had you not come out looking so much like your mother," Sherlock sighed again as he stood from the rocking chair in Audra's nursery, walking over to the other side of the room to lay Audra down in her cot. "And you have absolutely no idea of what I'm saying because, let's face it, you're not even three months yet."

He carefully took the red rose-patterned baby blanket draped over the side of the cot and gently covered her, but only to just below her belly so she wouldn't accidentally reach down for it and cover her face during the night.

"You're better to talk to, though. Better than talking to the photograph of your mother I have on my chest of drawers," Sherlock reached over and placed baby Audra's small light pink stuffed bunny — or kanin — lovey out of her reach, but only in the corner of her cot so as to keep it in her presence. After all, it had been one of the last things Sofia had gotten for their baby before giving birth to her. He then rested his arms against the side of the cot to stare down at the infant as she drifted further and further into sleep. "You deserve so much more than what I am," he spoke softly so as not to wake her. "Maybe, some day, I will feel worthy enough to have you as my daughter. . . Your uncle has already informed me that the chances of that happening are slim to none," he reached up slightly and gently flicked the animal-themed mobile dangling above the cot. "The British one, not the Swedish one. Kai is actually fairly tolerable."

Sherlock, as quietly as possible, then stepped over to the CD player that sat atop the side table which stood alongside Audra's cot. He checked to see if the CD recording he and Sofia had made towards the end of her pregnancy was still in the player from when he had last played it for their daughter. When he saw that it was, he shut the player again and pressed the play button. He also made sure to flip on Audra's bunny nightlight before turning back around.

"Goodnight, darling. I'll be back in a few hours," he whispered as he went and grabbed the bottle Audra had finished a few minutes before and then walked over to the door of the nursery, leaving it cracked slightly as the beginning notes of a familiar violin and the melodic voice of a young woman two months-dead started to flow through the air.

"Vargan ylar i nattens skog / Han vill men kan inte sova," the beginning lyrics of Astrid Lindgren's 'Vargsången' sung by the late Sofia Björling, with the violin accompaniment of the very much still alive Sherlock Holmes, began to play. "Hungern river i hans varga buk / Och det är kallt hans stova"

"Du varg, du varg, kom inte hit
Ungen min får du aldrig
Du varg, du varg, kom inte hit
Ungen min får du aldrig"

🌺 🪻 🌹 🌷 🥀 🌸 🌻 🪷 🌼

Author's Note

There ya have it! 🤗

I'm not entirely happy with how this turned out. But, then again, everyone's their own worst critic. 🤷‍♀️

Also, I am American and, if you were paying close attention, you will have noticed that I put some British terminology into the story. Like I had to look up the British term for a pacifier/binky and found out that it was "dummy". 👀

I'm gonna try and use the correct British terms since this is — mostly — a British story. So if any of my "americanisms" ever pop up, I do apologise. I have the keyboard on my phone set to UK English, so hopefully that will help me some.

Also, the Swedish language and culture will be featured in this series as well. I do my research as best I can, but I am also using Google Translate — and we all know how accurate that is. 🙄

Anyway. . .

This is the start of the first of two books in a brand new BBC Sherlock series that I've created, and I do hope you will enjoy it.

I hope you will end up loving Audra as much as I do! 😍 I'm looking forward to getting to know her better along with all of you as she is still coming to life in my mind.

Anyway, things are now officially underway, and I do hope this prologue has made you even just the tiniest bit excited for what's to come.

"A Study in Pink" is in the works and, let me tell y'all, I AM LOVING IT TO BITS!!! We have got a bright (and chaotic) future ahead for The Audra Narrative. ❤️

Until next time, loves! 😘

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Please leave your wonderful comments below and don't forget to vote!  <3

– Maddy Xx