"I need a favor."

Sherlock looked up from his work. He had been running a rather tedious test on finger nails, but the arrival of John Watson with three-year-old Rosie ended that immediately. Even though John no longer resided in the flat, he still somehow maintained a strict set of rules. There were to be no body parts around the child.

What a ridiculous requirement.

He sighed and ripped off his rubber gloves.

"Do I have a say?" Sherlock asked, dropping onto one of the kitchen stools. He gave Rosie a goofy smile, causing the girl to let out a happy squeal.

John rolled his eyes. "Not really, no. Not if you don't want to be a shite friend."

The detective sighed and lifted Rosie into his arms. "Very well. I suppose you need me to watch this one?" His words were finished off by a prodding finger at her little belly, the motion causing the girl to let out another delighted squeal.

"Yes," John began, looking rather nervous, "But not just Rosie. It's…" He sighed and bit his lip, knowing he'd regret his words, "Lydia is going to Paris for the weekend on a work trip and she can bring me along. So, we'd like to go."

Sherlock sat Rosie on his lap and turned to John. "You're nervous John and I don't see why. I will happily watch Rosie for the weekend," He kissed the child's head and smirked, "I could care less if you spend it underneath London Bridge or at the Arc de Triomphe."

John considered his words. "Yes, well, Lydia was married—"

"Until her moderately successful actor husband cheated on her with a younger cast mate. They had one child together. An eight-year-old boy," Sherlock finished for John, smirking per usual at his own knowledge.

However, instead of responding, John gave his best mate a look. And even for the clever man, it took a few moments for the implication to process. Sherlock bolted to his feet, Rosie tucked into his arms.

"Absolutely not!" He hurried out, one arm wide in ferocious movements, "Why in heaven's name would I do that?"

John groaned. "We're in a bit of a bind, Sherlock! David was supposed to have Alfie for the weekend, but as soon as Lydia mentioned me and Paris, he decided to be a real prat and claim he was busy!"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "That suggests pettiness and possible unresolved feelings—"

The look John sent him shut the man up quickly. With a sigh, he continued. "Look, I'd ask Mrs. Hudson, but she's in Manchester until Tuesday. And since you have a crib for Rosie, what's the big deal if Alfie sleeps in my old room?"

Sherlock let out a noise of exasperation. "What's the big deal? You're asking me to entertain an eight-year-old boy! Rosie is easy! I make some funny faces, give her some juice, and she's asleep!"

John frowned. "Please, mate? It'd really help me out. I think this trip would be a good chance for me and Lydia to… You know…"

"Have intercourse?"

"Sherlock! Christ, I was going to say really connect, but yeah, I guess we'll shag a bit too," John responded with an eyeroll.

Sherlock cursed and dropped back to his chair, Rosie snuggling into his chest. He looked at the girl and back at John.

"I want to help you. I do. But I don't know if I feel comfortable taking care of two children."

John snorted. "Oh, mate, you think I'd trust you alone with two kids? You can't think I'm that stupid!"

"That's quite insulting—"

"I've already talked to Molly. She's happy to help for the weekend," John hurried in, giving Sherlock a look, "So, she'll help babysit you three."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I'm aware I need a babysitter. You've said so on many occasions."

John grinned. "This is great! I'll bring you back something from Paris."

"I want macarons. And none of the rubbish flavors."

The shorter man snorted. "Yes, well, we'll see. When I asked for Kit Kats when you had that case in Japan, you didn't exactly fulfill my request."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I brought you back a bar."

John scowled. "From Heathrow! If I wanted a bloody bar from here I would grab one at the shop! I meant one of the exotic flavors."

"Consider this a lesson in making specific requests, John."

"Right. As always, this was…" John snorted, "Yeah, anyways, we'll be by sometime Friday afternoon. I'll text you."

Sherlock made a noise of acknowledge and kissed Rosie's head, before handing the child over. John walked to the door but stopped to give Sherlock a look.

"Child proof the place a bit, yeah? I haven't had to yell at you about the skull or the jarred eyeballs since Rosie can't reach, but Alfie can. Don't scare the kid."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, waving his friend away. John sighed and left the building, hoping his new relationship wouldn't end simply because Sherlock traumatized her kid.

xxx

Molly looked at the arrangement of toys and snacks on Sherlock's kitchen table and bit her lip. She turned to look at the detective, who instead of helping to prepare for the arrival of children, was busy texting away on his mobile. She sighed.

"This should be sufficient, right? I've got toys, some good books, snacks…" Molly groaned and bit her lip, "I wish we had some video games. Like an Xbox or something."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and jumped to his feet. "Molly, I'm sure your purchase of half of Hamleys' showroom is plenty. Rosie will be easy, and I'm sure the boy will occupy himself with something clever."

Molly bit her lip, considering Sherlock's words. A moment passed before she broke into laughter.

"Oh, Sherlock! You think he's going to be interested in you and just follow you around, don't you?" She let out another laugh and held her hand to her chest, "Oh, you silly man!"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why is that so funny? I'm interesting. Why wouldn't a young boy be fascinated with my career?"

She snorted. "John said Alfie loves football, especially Arsenal. He enjoys reading comic books and watching films about superheroes. He does very eight-year-old boy things."

"I'm a super—"

Molly rolled her eyes and quickly interrupted him. "In your dreams, Sherlock. Now, John says they'll be arriving soon. Did you set up the guest room?"

"It hasn't been touched since last time Mrs. Hudson changed the bedding. And as usual, Rosie's crib is ready for her whenever," Sherlock replied, back to texting away on his mobile.

"Well, perfect. I have an itinerary all set up. Tomorrow, I thought we'd go to the park, then maybe catch a film at the cinema, then watch the Arsenal match here. We'll figure out Sunday based on how tomorrow goes," She flipped through a set of papers before looking back to Sherlock, "I'll probably go back to my place around 10 or so and come back in the morning around 8."

That had Sherlock's attention. He slipped his mobile into his pocket and studied Molly. "I don't follow. Why would you return to your flat?"

Molly raised an eyebrow. "Well, where else would I sleep?"

"Here. Of course."

She sighed. "Where, Sherlock? I'm not going to share a bed with Alfie. And your sofa isn't exactly in great condition."

He rolled his eyes. "You'll share my bed."

Molly swallowed and looked away, conscious of the reddening of her cheeks. She cleared her throat and shook her head.

"No, Sherlock, that's—"

He groaned and ran a hand through his curls. "We've shared a bed on many occasions, Molly. Now is not the time to be bashful."

And Sherlock was right. They had shared beds on many occasions. From the evenings where he'd use her flat as a bolthole and couldn't bear to sleep without hearing another person breathing, to the handful of cases she had assisted him with that required overnight stays, to the one time they had inexplicably been forced to sleep together in John's guest bedroom, this was certainly not a new occurrence.

That being said, Molly had never shared Sherlock's bed. The one he frequented (almost) every night.

She sighed and crossed her arms. "Sherlock—"

The sound of the door being unlocked, and a young boy had her quieting down. Sherlock groaned and rose to his feet, watching as John strolled in, holding Rosie and two small bags. Beside him stood Lydia, a smiling red-head approximately six years younger than John, and little Alfie, the eight-year-old with decent height, big brown eyes, and a head full of messy brown hair.

John smiled at his friends and dropped the bags. He ruffled Alfie's hair, before gently pushing the boy forward.

"Molly, Sherlock, this is Alfie. Alfie, these are some of my good friends. Sherlock is a detective. And Molly is…" He looked at the brunette and bit his lip, "Well, she's a doctor. You'll have loads of fun with them this weekend."

Alfie looked at Sherlock with mild indifference before glancing at Molly. At the sight of the pretty woman, he blushed and looked to his mother.

"Mummy, I thought I was staying with daddy this weekend. Why do I have to stay here?" He groaned out, stomping his foot for emphasis.

Lydia sighed and pulled her son into her arms. "Alfie, baby, we've gone over this. You'll see your father next weekend. But Sherlock and Molly have a fun weekend planned for you."

Alfie rolled his eyes and glanced back at his babysitters. He eyed the detective with contempt before looking back to his mother. "I rather go to Paris."

She sighed. "That's not an option, Alfie. Now, John and I have to catch our flight. Will you behave?"

The little boy scoffed and crossed his arms. "Why does John get to go to Paris?" He looked at his mother's boyfriend with the same disdainful gaze that he had previously sent Sherlock, "I'm your son."

Lydia crossed her arms. "Alfred Charles, you do not speak to me like that. You've been given an answer. Now greet your new friends."

Alfie pouted and trudged over to the strangers, shoving his hands into his pockets. He glanced at Sherlock and stuck his nose up.

"Hello. My name is Alfred Charles Hayes. I just turned eight-years-old. I'm happy to meet you," He announced, looking between Molly and Sherlock, "And thank you for welcoming me into your…" He looked around the flat with mild aversion, "Home."

Before Sherlock could issue a retort that would likely somehow upset the boy, Molly jumped in, all smiles. "Well, hello Alfie! We're happy to have you. Your mum made sure to tell me all about what you like to do."

At Molly's words, Alfie blushed. "Thank you, Mrs. Molly."

Before Molly could correct him, Sherlock took the chance to speak. "I'm… Equally as delighted by your arrival, Alfred. I hear you enjoy…" He glanced at John, who narrowed his eyes, and then to Molly, who thankfully mouthed the word 'football', "ah, yes, football. There will be much…." He scratched his chin and considered his words, "Football this weekend."

That got Alfie's attention. "Lots of football? Do you play?"

John snorted. "I wouldn't count on it, Alfie. Sherlock is more—"

Sherlock scoffed and looked back to Alfie. "Perhaps. But before we can do that, your mum and John need to go to the airport."

As Alfie was pulled into a hug and a hushed conversation with his mother, John approached his friends. After giving Rosie a big kiss, her handed her to Molly, and promptly turned to Sherlock.

"Promise me that you'll behave. If the kids get to be too much, just lock yourself in your room and let Molly deal with it," John groaned and ran his hands through his hair, "I really don't need our holiday ending prematurely because you scarred the poor kid for life."

Sherlock crossed his arms. "Ye have little faith, John. Contrary to popular belief, I once was a young boy. I think I can preoccupy one for a few days."

John sighed and nodded. He turned to Molly. "I can't thank you enough, Molls. You're the definition of a lifesaver."

She smiled softly and waved her hand. "No worries, John. I'm happy to watch the kids. I love them."

Alfie strolled over, clutching an Iron Man backpack to his stomach. He dropped into Sherlock's chair and waved to his mom. Lydia smiled and went to the door with John.

"Molly, Sherlock, thank you again! You have my mobile number if Alfie needs anything. And no matter what he tells you, I don't allow him to drink soda. And artificial sweeteners are a no-no!" Lydia explained, glancing between her son and the pair.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course. We'll keep the kid fed well. Goodbye!"

He ushered the couple out the door. As soon as it shut, he turned and gave Molly an incredulous look. "No artificial sweeteners? What does the child eat? Dirt?"

Molly sighed. "Sherlock, it's her child. She can feed him whatever she wants."

She smiled at Rosie and moved into the kitchen, beginning to hum a soft tune. From Sherlock's chair, Alfie watched the detective. Upon noticing the attention, Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Call me Alfie." The child explained, watching Sherlock with an intensity past that of a normal eight-year-old child, "And she feeds me rubbish. Like rhubarb and carrots and broccoli."

That got Sherlock to smirk. "Not a fan of your vegetables, are you?"

He shrugged. "I like chips. Daddy feeds me chips. When I stay at his flat, we eat fish and chips and drink Coke. Mum doesn't know."

Sherlock strolled over to the child. With a sigh, he sat in John's old chair, desperately reminding himself not to pick a fight with a boy over his preferred seating arrangements.

"I see. Perhaps we can have fish and chips for supper. I know a place."

Alfie grinned. "Yeah? Coke too?"

Sherlock couldn't help but smile. "We'll see. Depends what Molly says."

At the name of the pretty brunette, Alfie climbed onto the chair, propping his knees onto the worn surface. He looked to the kitchen, watching as Molly prepared a snack for a giggling Rosie. He looked back to Sherlock, his cheeks red.

"Your wife is really pretty," Alfie began, still studying the woman, "I see why you married her."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and looked between the young boy and Molly, who had begun to feed the little girl pieces of banana. He cleared his throat.

"Well, that's a valid deduction based on the circumstances Alfie, but Molly is not my—"

Molly strolled back in, gently setting Rosie onto Sherlock's lap, effectively cutting off his correction. She smiled at Alfie and put her hands on her hips.

"So, Alfie, I thought we'd watch a film maybe?" She glanced at the young boy's bag and back to him, "Maybe The Avengers?"

Alfie jumped to his feet and nodded excitedly. "I'll go change!"

Before Molly could inquire, the little boy had sprinted out of the room, clutching his backpack to his chest. She laughed and looked to Sherlock, who was staring into space, albeit accepting pieces of banana from Rosie's sticky fingers.

"Rosie!" She laughed, dropping into the chair Alfie had deserted, "That was your snack!"

The little girl giggled and fed Sherlock another piece, "No. Sherwock hungie."

"Oh? Did he tell you he was?"

Rosie nodded adamantly and fed him another piece. Molly smiled at him but noticed the faraway look in his eyes.

"You okay, Sherlock? We're not even ten minutes in."

Sherlock swallowed a piece of the fruit and sat up, adjusting Rosie as he moved. He nodded and cleared his throat. "I'm alright."

Alfie raced back into the room, clad in an Iron Man costume, sans the mask. He held Thor's hammer in one hand, and Captain America's shield in the other. He groaned.

"I can't decide!" He cried out, looking between the weapons, "and Mum wouldn't let me bring my Hulk hands!"

Molly laughed and approached the little boy. She ruffled his hair and smiled at him, missing the way he studied her in pure fascination. "How about you start as Iron Man for this film, and you can change as we move along?"

He swallowed and nodded, quickly tossing away the weapons in his hands. He hurried back into his chair and plopped down, studying Sherlock curiously.

Molly disappeared into the kitchen, announcing that she'd prepare snacks. Sherlock and Alfie, however, studied one another. The detective cleared his throat, his mind, for once, on a single track.

"Alfie, Molly and I are not—"

"I like her." The boy quickly interrupted, a glint in his big, brown eyes, "And if you're smart, like John says you are, you won't let her go."

Alfie jumped to his feet and approached Sherlock's chair, watching him with a curiosity that had the older man's nerves on edge. "Don't be a dummy like my father." He sighed and climbed onto the chair, sitting on the arm, hovering over Sherlock, "He was stupid and broke up with my mum. And she's really smart and pretty."

He leaned forward, nearing Sherlock's ear, dropping his voice to a whisper. "So, don't do anything stupid to lose her. Don't be like my father. His new girlfriend is so stupid. She likes," He made a face of disgust and crossed his arms, "eating vegetables."

Sherlock blinked a few times, looking between Rosie, who had fallen asleep in his arms, and Alfie, who had practically joined him in the chair. He opened his mouth to respond, but was distracted as Molly strolled in, clad in one of his dressing gowns, holding a tray of snacks. She smiled at the group.

"You lot look comfy. I made popcorn and cut up some oranges," She set the tray down and smiled at Sherlock, "I grabbed some Flakes for you too, although god knows why that's your preference," She laughed and sat in Sherlock's now unoccupied chair, "and you can have some too, Alfie. We just won't tell your mum."

Her laughter was drowned out as she moved to turn on the telly, nodding and responding to some babbling from Alfie, who was keen to share stories about his sweets preferences and superhero knowledge. All the while, Sherlock had an unfamiliar sensation growing in his belly.

A warmth had swallowed his body whole. And as he glanced between the smiling woman who knew him so well, and the precocious little boy who was desperate for knowledge and attention, and the sleeping little girl in his arms, he discovered he was craving something he never knew he needed.

To be continued…