"John," murmured Sherlock beside the exhausted doctor's bed. "John wake up."
"What is it?" John asked, not moving his head from his pillow. It was painfully obvious that the good doctor was running on very little sleep with his unkempt hair – unusual pallor – dark bags around his eyes – clothes he had worn for the last couple days. Hmm. Regrettable, but this situation called for Watson not Holmes.
"The baby is crying again John," Sherlock stated as if that solved everything. He half expected his friend to jump into action to care fro the squalling infant but this was not the case.
"You're up. You take care of it." Sherlock had to guess at those last few words as they were muffled by the pillow john had moved over his face.
"John, I'm no good with children," protested the genius indignantly. "I don't know the first thing about quieting that insufferable noise maker!"
John raised his sleepy head and looked at his best friend. "You've been watching me take care of her for nearly nine months. And for the last time her name is Ann!"
"But-"
"Feed her. Formula's in the cupboard. Check her nappy. If that doesnt settle her, try rocking her." With that said, John promptly shut his bedside lamp off and rolled over.
Sherlock strode out of the room with a huff. He could take care of a baby. How hard could it be?
