AN:I own none of the characters originally belonging to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and now taken on by BBC. I will in no way profit from this venture.
This is one of my first fanfics, so thanks for not being too harsh in advance. Also, I am aware John and Mary are expecting to have a girl, but I felt like imagining a son instead. Apologies canon!
Also- there is now a sequel called The Parent which you can find on my page (of course). For anyone looking for updates, sorry there won't be any on this particular posting.
Author warnings: There are non-graphic mentions of child abuse in this story. If anyone is bothered by that, stop now! I'm rating it T to be safe.
John sighed and slapped a hand to his forehead, trying to hold off the stabbing migraine on the verge of taking over his entire mind. Mary reached out to touch his shoulder, laying a hand there gently as he let his head fall back to rest against the couch.
"Why tonight?" he muttered. "The nanny had to get sick, tonight!"
Mary sighed. "I know, love. But we can't do anything about that now. I've already called a few of my friends, but most of them already have plans or aren't picking up."
"What about Lestrade?" John asked, closing his eyes.
"Out doing something."
"Mrs. Hudson?"
"Not feeling well enough to keep up with Alex, I'm afraid."
"Um…Molly Hooper?"
"Out on a date," Mary said with a wan smile.
"Good for her," John muttered. "Alright, who does that bloody well leave? We only have a half hour to drop Alex off and get to the restaurant"
Mary squeezed his shoulder before pointing out the obvious. "John, you're forgetting someone."
John's head popped up to stare at her. "No!"
"Why not?" Mary asked. "I already called him, and he's not doing anything of importance tonight."
"Wait, so you already asked him? Without asking me first?!" John demanded, staring at her.
"John, for heaven's sake we were lucky to get this reservation on such short notice, and if we cancel I guarantee we won't get another one until next spring! Do you or do you not want to go have a fun night on the town or not?" Mary pointed out. "It's only for a few hours. I thought he was your best friend?"
"Yeah, my good mate who I can solve crimes with or do something exciting, not the ideal person to drop a five year old off with even for a short time," John muttered.
He stood up and began pacing, wondering when if ever the painkillers were going to kick in. This was a nightmare! He should have known fancy reservations were a poor idea, but Mary was set on it…and he really did want to make her happy. They deserved a night out. It had been too long.
"What about this…" Mary began. "What if…we leave him there and tell Mrs. Hudson to pop up every now and then. She said she wasn't feeling well, but I don't think she'll mind checking on Sherlock once or twice. And we'll leave Alex our numbers and he can call us if there's any kind of emergency. He's a smart boy…he'll know to call if there's a problem."
John stared at her. "What if Sherlock convinces him to do something stupid? What if they do a science experiment and he gets splashed with acid? What if he finds body parts in the refrigerator and is traumatized—and speaking of the fridge, what's he going to bloody well eat while he's there? It's not like Sherlock keeps good nutritious food for five year olds at his place…or what if—"
Mary rolled her eyes. "John, we're going to the restaurant. Alex is going to be fine. You trust, Sherlock, don't you?"
"Not with my five year old," John muttered.
"John Hamish Watson, you are going to deal with this. I'm going to call him and tell him we're bringing Alex over. You can prep our son with whatever lectures you feel he needs. We'll leave in the next five minutes."
John gave a little muttering growl and stalked off towards Alex's bedroom. He opened the door to find his son lying on his stomach on the floor, staring down at a book about dinosaurs.
"Um…your mother has decided we're going out anyways tonight. We're going to drop you by your Uncle Sherlock's and he'll watch you."
The boy glanced up from his book. "Alright. Do I need to bring anything?"
"Bring your pyjamas in case you decide to sleep," John said. "And any toys or entertainment things you want. He has a telly, but other than that you'll probably have to entertain yourself most of the time."
Alex nodded and pulled himself up, dashing over to his closet to begin sorting a few toys into his bag. John stood in the door watching his son for a moment, wondering if this really was a wise decision. Sure, Sherlock had met Alex a few times, but they'd never spent any length of time together. The little he knew told him the man didn't really understand children all that well, worse so than he understood other adults. Hopefully Alex wouldn't come home completely traumatized.
He stopped his thoughts in their tracks before they could go further, pressing a hand back to his temple as though to ward off more pain. And with that he headed off to go see what Mary had to say about the rest of their evening plans.
Sherlock's foot bounced up and down as he sat at the table chair, staring out the window at the cab pulling up. How Mary had talked him into this he wasn't quite sure, though he knew mentions of "this will mean so much to John" probably had something to do with it. Oh to be back in a time without friends and therefore without obligations. His thoughts circulated through the various parts of the conversation the excuses of "he won't be much trouble. He's a quiet boy. Really, you won't even know he's there."
Sherlock braced himself as the figures made their way out of the cab. He could make out John's form in the streetlight, short and stocky, that suit Mary liked so well on him in place. Mary was wearing a fur coat. Nice dinner. Reservations well in advance. Well, that made a touch more sense then. And then John was scooping up the smallest of the figures, pulling him close in a way that had Sherlock peering a little more to examine the way John held the child close to his chest. Clear protectiveness in his posture. Unsurprising really.
There were footsteps on the stair, Mrs. Hudson cooing from her doorway. He waited a moment as he became aware of the steps pausing on the landing, standing there awaiting acknowledgement.
"Sherlock," John said.
He turned towards his friend, rising to his feet. He took his time examining, trying to catch the minute clues about this evening. John's shoes were new, hardly scuffed. Nice brand. He'd pressed the suit too, spent time in taming his hair. Oh this was a big night. Expensive restaurant. Reservation based on the way Mary was tense glancing at her phone. And then the woman herself, cheeks glowing, wearing that perfume John had bought her she clearly didn't like but wore for him. A hand pressed briefly to her stomach and he knew. Ah. Mary wanted to break the news in a fun way. Better than last time with the little wedding surprise. He glanced at the soon to be big brother.
Alex had his head against his father's chest. A hand was curled in a fist a short distance from his mouth, obviously trying to curtail a thumb sucking habit. He was wearing dinosaur pyjamas, his favorite clearly based on the way the pants were too short and becoming a bit threadbare on the knees. Sherlock glanced over the familiar blond hair that had lengthened down to his neck since Sherlock had last seen him, bright blue eyes peering at him curiously in clear echo of both his parent's fairer genes. However, little signs had Sherlock slightly concerned.
Dark circles under his eyes, even as those lashes fluttered a bit sleepily. A bruise on one pale wrist as the shirt sleeve slid up with John helping him pull off his coat. Hmm. He'd have to investigate this further. But for the moment it was better not to alarm his parents.
Sherlock straightened and gave a half smile. "Congratulations," he murmured to Mary, who obviously caught his understanding and smiled back. "I hope you have a marvelous evening. Alex and I shall do our best to not make it too boring."
John's eye twitched. "Sherlock, so help me you will not do anything dangerous with our son, do you understand? No science experiments. No bloody dragging him out of the apartment for anything other than an emergency. No showing him anything disgusting or…or…" He struggled for words.
"He usually goes to bed around nine," Mary said, shooting a sharp glance towards her husband. "So if he gets sleepy and wants a rest, that's fine. But he might be anxious in which case it's fine if he stays up and watches the telly or plays with his toys he brought. He doesn't tend to get bored. He might get hungry so I packed a few snacks in his bag, and he's welcome to any biscuits or tea Mrs. Hudson might bring up. I gave him a list of emergency numbers too. Call us if you need anything."
John opened his mouth to say more, but she grabbed his arm.
"We're going to be late. Alex will be fine, won't you sweetheart?"
A thumb had been popped in at this point, but Alex nodded, even as his eyes went a bit wide realizing his parents were leaving. Sherlock watched like a hawk for signs of tears. He was not going to deal with crying. Anything but that. Thankfully the boy merely moved towards his mother to accept a hug and then his father for a soft kiss on the forehead and a bit of hair ruffling. Sherlock examined the affection distastefully.
"He will be in good hands," Sherlock muttered.
Mary smiled. "I know he will. Goodbye, darling. We'll be back in a bit. Be a good boy for your Uncle Sherlock, alright?"
Alex nodded and watched with a thumb still in place as his mother and father disappeared back down the stairs. Sherlock sat there awkwardly. His understanding of social norms was poor enough when it came to adults. With a child he was entirely clueless.
"Have a seat?" he said, gesturing to the chair John had once occupied back in their days living together. Alex set his bag down and climbed up into the chair, curling himself up. Sherlock took his normal place opposite, using this as a chance to draw in other details.
Left handed. Creative. Intelligent. Daddy's boy. Spends large amounts of time with a cat…probably a neighbor's. Has been sneaking biscuits a few hours before.
"Do you know how many bacteria live on the human hand?" he said suddenly, watching as the boy sucked on the digit still in his mouth.
Alex's brow furrowed and he slowly withdrew his thumb. "Lots?"
"Probably thousands just in one square centimeter," Sherlock informed him.
"But I wash my hands," Alex said.
"That doesn't matter. They're everywhere. Putting that thing in your mouth is a filthy habit you use to compensate for your emotions. Get them under control and you won't have to suck nasty germs into your mouth all the time."
Alex stared at him for a moment, his hand journeying towards his mouth before he obviously thought better of it and dropped his hand onto his lap.
How long until the child fell asleep? Could Sherlock just leave it here and go finish his experiment in the kitchen? John had sounded like that was a poor idea. Sherlock tried to think back to his own times as a child and remembered he'd never even liked spending time with adults. Though that was mostly because he found a majority of them couldn't keep up with his intellect even then.
The boy had moved to biting his lip instead. Sherlock's eyes were drawn back to the dark shadows beneath vibrant blue eyes, to the darkened skin on a skinny boyish wrist. The way he held himself, curling up protectively in the chair, just as he'd clung to John before the man had left. Whatever was going on, Sherlock was going to find out.
His mouth opened slightly, but before he could speak John's voice echoed in his head from a case a few years back. You have to build trust, Sherlock. No one will talk to you if they don't think you're someone they can trust with their story. Especially so with a child. Hmm…this would take careful work then.
"Would you like to watch the telly?" Sherlock asked, figuring such an activity might be a good way to relax the child, put him more at ease with his environment.
He shrugged. "If you'd like."
"This is about what you want," Sherlock pointed out. "Is there another activity you think would be more suitable?"
The boy worried his lip again and shrugged. After just a moment he suddenly brightened. "Want to look at my book about dinosaurs?" he asked, his little face lighting even as though his posture indicated a self-consciousness about what Sherlock might think of this suggestion.
The detective muttered something under his breath, but nodded. Reading children's books. Just his luck.
The boy scrambled out of the chair and grabbed for his bag, searching inside before he managed to withdraw a rather large volume. Sherlock did his best to contain his surprise as the boy brought it over to him.
"I don't know all the words," Alex said. "But I can read it if someone helps me. If not I just look at the pictures and try to practice. I'm getting loads better."
"Well," Sherlock looked around awkwardly. "Shall we sit on the couch or at the table?"
The boy nodded to the couch. Sherlock followed him over, sitting down on one side and allowing the boy to scoot close to him so he could open a book filled with illustrations of various types of dinosaurs, scientific information listed in small columns surrounding the pictures.
Sherlock tried not to be too condescending as he helped the boy with the harder words. Honestly, he probably shouldn't have expected a normal five year old to know the words Cretaceous-Tertiary, or even serrated, or carnivore. Even so, Alex muddled along well enough.
"What do you think happened to the dinosaurs?" Alex asked him after a bit.
Sherlock began a longwinded explanation about climatic change or the possibilities of an increased amount of volcanic activity, only to realize he'd lost Alex as the boy stared at him with a puzzled expression.
"What do you think happened to them?" Sherlock asked instead.
Alex shrugged. "I don't know. You're the detective."
Sherlock chuckled. Well, there was one mystery that would be amazing to solve, but sadly lacked the evidence to do so. He voiced this to the boy and Alex smiled.
"That's true, you need evidence to solve mysteries," he pointed out. "And all the dinosaur evidence is long gone. Maybe a serial killer dinosaur killed all the others?"
"Serialasaurus?" Sherlock murmured, unable to contain a small smile of amusement. "Perhaps. How do you know so much about evidence? Does your father talk about his crimes at home?"
"Sometimes," Alex admitted. "But I asked mum to get me a book about mysteries at the library and she got me one on forensic science. It was really good. I think one day I'd like to work with a lab to help solve crimes. It seems like a really important part, and I don't really like the chasing bad guys part quite as much…bad guys are scary."
"Hmm…" Sherlock thought about that a moment. "You seem quite intelligent, Alex."
He smiled. "Thanks. I'm best in my class."
"I was always best in my class too," Sherlock said, wondering if he should really try this. However, John would be angry with him if he made the boy uncomfortable, and directly pushing the issue would definitely do that. So he'd dance around it if he had to.
"Of course, you're like super amazing smart," Alex said with a grin. "I bet no one's smarter than you."
Sherlock looked down at the dinosaur book again to hide his smile. "Well, I know as a little boy some children were jealous of how smart I was… I sometimes had…altercations with the other children."
Alex squinted at him and he quickly clarified.
"Er…problems. You know…children being…" he rolled the word in his mouth distastefully, "mean to me. Are people at your school like that?"
Alex bit his lip. Sherlock wondered how the thing wasn't even more damaged based on how much time the boy spent putting it between his teeth.
"Let's watch the telly," Alex said.
Sherlock had to push his interrogation skills away as he complied with the boy, going back over to the chairs where Alex curled into a ball as Sherlock started flipping through stations. He paused on a crap telly program but skipped past it to settle on a drama.
"I can't watch this," Alex piped up, staring at the screen in absolute horror.
"Well what can you watch?" Sherlock asked with a sigh.
"Cartoons."
Sherlock flipped a few more times 'til the station landed on some rubbish with a blue dog wandering around a colorful house. Sherlock barely restrained a groan as he sank back into his chair.
"Blue's Clues is for babies," Alex suddenly complained.
Sherlock watched on in mild amusement as a strange dog tried to figure out the clues he'd been provided. Ridiculous. Mysteries were never this simple! He was certainly in agreement with Alex on the issue and flipped to the next channel, searching for another cartoon option. There was nothing thankfully, so Sherlock flipped off the TV and sat in his chair, folding his hands and staring at the boy again.
"Why don't we play a game instead?" Sherlock suggested.
"What kind of game?" Alex asked.
"I'm going to make guesses about you and you're going to tell me if they're right or wrong."
Alex squirmed. "Yeah? Dad talks about those um…deduction thingies sometimes. You're probably really good. Can I try on you too?"
Sherlock tried not to roll his eyes. This should be good. "Alright. Well, me first. Earlier today you made a drawing of a dinosaur."
Alex stared at him. "How'd you know?"
"You have green and brown marker on your left hand. There is no school today so it was for your own amusement. Based on your interests as well as the color combination, my guess would be…dinosaur."
Alex nodded and peered at him. "Um…you didn't have any lunch today."
Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Yes. And you knew that…how?"
"Dad always says you don't eat," Alex said with a shrug. "Logical deduction I suppose."
Hmm. "Well, you snuck a biscuit before you left."
Just like John the first time they'd met, Alex was a picture of amazement.
"Oh please, you have crumbs on your shirt and a smidge of chocolate on your wrist."
Alex shifted about in his chair uncomfortably, but he nodded. "Um…you…" Alex looked around the apartment for help.
"Keep your eyes on me. Trying making the guess just looking at me," Sherlock coached. "Use your prior knowledge to guide the deduction, but there is plenty you can learn just looking here."
Alex stared at him in puzzlement for a long moment. "Um… you didn't sleep last night either."
"Another of your father's charming stories?" Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes.
"Yes and you have those dark bag things under your eyes."
Hmm…very good. And the perfect little lead in. "You have been sleeping poorly for about…a month now at least," Sherlock said, glancing at the boy. "Or are you going to deny your own periorbital puffiness?"
"Two months," Alex muttered.
"So, either you're an insomniac like me, or you have something on your mind at night, Alex. Which is it?"
Alex bit his lip again and Sherlock debated chiding him on it. His body was curling up again, his legs being pulled onto the chair so his thin arms could encircle them.
"I have nightmares."
Sherlock quirked a brow. "What about?"
Alex shrugged. "Things."
"Is it about the playground bully?" he asked. "The one who's been making school so miserable?" A little forward, but perhaps this would effectively break the ice.
Small blue eyes widened. "How do you know about that?"
"Don't trouble me with meaningless details. Is it about this person, or not?"
"He teases me sometimes, but it hasn't been too bad," Alex said with a shrug.
"What about the bruises on your wrist," Sherlock pointed out.
A small trembling hand reached down to pull on the sleeve, trying to hide it better. Even so, Sherlock had a slightly better glimpse of a handprint mark, one far too large for a child.
"Alex, let me see it," he said.
The boy trembled and shook his head, arms wrapping around his middle. Sherlock rose from his chair and the child let out a little squeak, trembling more as he approached. Trust, Sherlock. Trust. John's voice in his head as he examined his smaller duplicate.
"Alex, you don't have to worry," Sherlock managed to say, trying to keep his voice low and even. He knelt down to the boy's level; tall form crouched beside the chair, staring into those eyes that suddenly looked very watery.
"'ts nothing," Alex sniffled.
"Alex, you told me earlier you thought I was 'super smart'."
The boy nodded even as a few tears coursed down his cheek.
"Then, you must be aware you don't have to tell me anything for me to be aware of what has happened. If you let me have a look, I can figure it out for you. And then we can work on solving this problem together. You told me earlier you were scared of…bad guys. I catch them every day. Won't you trust me to figure out this mystery? Won't you let me solve this one and bring you justice?"
Alex reluctantly extended a hand. Sherlock took it gently, reaching out for the dino pyjamas to pull the fabric up a short ways, revealing what he'd only seen traces of before. A slim hand had wrapped around the boy's wrist. He noted the ring imprint, though it was on an index finger not a signal for marriage, thankfully. A woman's right hand. Slim and delicate. Long nails based on the smaller half-moon healing marks. Mary had short nails, thicker and shorter fingers than this hand. Sherlock sighed his relief in being able to eliminate both parents. He would never think either capable, but the evidence pointing otherwise was still a comfort.
Bruises. Nightmares. Sherlock glanced over the pyjamas and saw the signs that had him tensing. Signs of bedwetting. His insides felt tight, his breath choked. Why was this affecting him like this? Was he really…feeling…something?
His mind searched through the few conversations he'd had about Alex. John didn't mention him much. What was there…what had he heard…what did he know? Come on, Sherlock, it's textbook, Mycroft seemed to sneer in his mind.
Shut up, he ordered. Shut up shut up.
You need to detach yourself, Mycroft pointed out. You're too emotionally involved.
Shut up! He did realize it was true. He was thinking about this as Alex. As John's precious son the man loved more than life itself. He needed to pull back to examine this properly.
Male child. Five almost six years old. Bruises, nightmares, bedwetting. Hand print not matching the parents. Female. Young. Good nails. A decorative ring…the pattern was more gaudy than he'd expect of an adult. Early twenties probably. What young woman has access to Alex…er…the subject? No older siblings. No cousins or relatives of that age. Access… opportunity. It hit him suddenly.
"Your regular sitter…" Sherlock said. "It's your childminder, isn't it?"
Alex burst into tears, sobs racking his form. Sherlock was dumbfounded for a moment. He reached out to pat the boy's shoulder, trying to calm him down.
"There there," he murmured. Wasn't that what people said when others cried? After a moment where the crying didn't cease, Sherlock realized he needed to take action. He reached out and hesitantly drew the boy into his arms, holding him the way he'd seen John do earlier. The boy's crying lessened some, hiccupping sobs pressing against his shoulder.
He kept making these little noises to try to ease Alex back into a calm state. This felt right somehow, but at the same time, strange. Thankfully, the boy began to quiet after a bit, though his small hands were clutching at Sherlock in a way that made the detective think he'd need to keep Alex in his arms for a bit more.
He carefully maneuvered so that he could sit down, still cradling Alex, running fingers through soft blond hair. Alex curled against his chest and they sat in silence for a long while until sniffles stopped.
Sherlock decided it was the appropriate time to ask a few more questions, promising Alex that he would make sure nothing happened again. The boy reluctantly answered each and every one, his voice cracking every now and then, though he didn't cry again. Sherlock listened through his testimony, doing his best to offer comfort in his own awkward fashion. At long last they fell into an awkward silence.
Deciding distraction might be a nice method, Sherlock went to the boy's bag and found another book, this one a story about a little boy and his dog. He pulled the boy close as he began reading in his rich baritone, feeling the small form against him relax as he did. Alex had begun sucking at his thumb again, and this time Sherlock didn't chide him.
By the time the story was finished, Alex had drifted off. Sherlock held him close, still running his fingers through soft hair. After a long while, he gradually stood and carried the child to the bedroom, laying him down gently, tucking the covers up around him before going to the door, leaving it open just a crack.
After settling that in, Sherlock proceeded to grab his phone, dialing the number without hesitation. After two rings an irritated voice echoed out of the device.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, brother dear?" Mycroft said with a sigh.
"I need information on someone," Sherlock said, keeping his voice low as he glanced back towards the door.
"And to whom are you referring?" Mycroft asked.
"A woman named Hannah who works for John and Mary Watson as an…an au pair."
"And why would you be needing this information? Not trying to spy on the Watsons are you, Sherlock?"
"No," he muttered. "Look her up. It's important."
Mycroft let out another long sigh but there was clacking in the background of computer keys. A long pause.
"She's nothing spectacular. Hannah Thorne. Twenty-four year old who finished university a few years ago. She's been employed as an au pair for five years now, six different families… seems like short turnover time…"
"Any allegations against her?"
More tapping. "A complaint from one family that was apparently dropped. I'm not sure how she managed that…but regardless, she has an otherwise spotless record. What is this about, Sherlock?"
"I want her to pay," Sherlock said. "I don't care how, but I want her taken care of. I want you to see to it that something happens to her…I…"
Mycroft was probably looking at his nails. Sherlock waited a long moment before the reply came. "And why would that be? Is John Watson having an affair with her? Are you trying to protect the happy little family?" Another pause. "Ah no…this can't be about John. That wouldn't really make sense. So long as he's happy you wouldn't mind. No…this must be about little…Alexander Sherlock Watson."
Sherlock gritted his teeth. "Yes. Get rid of her, Mycroft. I don't care how you do it. I just want her to suffer."
Mycroft snorted. "My my, quite the affectionate uncle aren't you? I never thought I'd see you turning soft. What's she done? I won't do your dirty work without some kind of excuse."
"Abused him. I refuse to let her get away with it. Jail would be too kind for what she put that little boy through."
"And what do I get out of complying with your whims?"
Sherlock rubbed his forehead. Of course, there was always a catch. "I'll help you with that international case you haven't bothered me about yet."
The curtness in Mycroft's voice let him know he'd hit the right button. "Fine. Tomorrow I'll set to work on it. I don't see why a trial and imprisonment couldn't be enough, but if it earns your help I suppose it will be worth it."
Sherlock smiled and was about to say his goodbyes when Mycroft interrupted.
"And Sherlock?"
"Yes?"
"I hope you don't let Alexander distract you. John is bad enough. Caring is not an advantage."
His brow furrowed but he decided to not bother pursuing. "Alright, fine." And with that he pressed the end call button.
He set the phone aside just in time to hear the creak of the door. Alex wandered out blinking up at him sleepily.
"Alex, you ought to sleep while you can."
"I heard your voice…sounded angry," he said with a yawn.
"Come here," Sherlock said.
The boy complied and Sherlock scooped him up again. Alex leaned in close and Sherlock carried him back out to the living room. He flipped on the telly and settled in his chair with the boy in his lap, turning to the dreadful detective dog cartoon, figuring Alex was tired enough he probably wouldn't protest.
The boy relaxed to the soothing rhythm of music and voices discussing the latest "clue" hunt. Sherlock wasn't surprised when the body in his arm went limp as Alex succumbed to his exhaustion. The detective found his own eyes feeling heavy as the pointless plot played out before him. He allowed his attention to drift, and found himself relaxing into the chair. Before too long his eyes were closing. And gradually he fell asleep.
John still couldn't process the world around him at the moment. Everything was different. Mary glowing and announcing her news, her gorgeous smile filling him with bubbling happiness every time he looked at her. A second child? He couldn't imagine it. His worries about the evening were gradually eased as they dined and drank champagne in celebration.
As they headed back to Baker Street reality began to sink in. He kept glancing at his mobile pondering if a lack of calls or texts was a good sign or a bad one. He'd half expected Sherlock to be texting him throughout to complain. Instead, there was nothing.
At 221 B John had to relax some upon not seeing any immediate signs of danger. No police in front of the building. No fire raging.
Mrs. Hudson greeted them at her doorway on the way up.
"They were very quiet," she said. "Popped up in the first hour and saw them reading together. Then again a little bit later with some tea, but Sherlock was on the phone with Mycroft grumbling about something or other so I let him be. Figured Alex had probably fallen asleep by the looks of things, the poor dear."
John nodded and thanked her, glancing towards Mary to see if she was taking the news the same as him. She smiled at Mrs. Hudson before giving him a meaningful look. A you-should-have-trusted-Sherlock look.
Well, it wasn't his bloody fault that the detective worried him so. He'd had more than enough experience to confirm that his distrust was perfectly reasonable.
"Thanks Mrs. Hudson," he said, before heading up the stairs.
The only noise was the television. Some cartoon crap filtering out into the hall. John stepped through the door and noticed Sherlock in his usual chair. However, what he almost missed was the fact that his son was sitting in the detective's arms…and that the both of them were sound asleep.
Mary let out a giggle behind him.
"And you were worried," she chided. "Look at him."
John had never seen Sherlock like this before. So relaxed and peaceful looking. He looked so—human…
Mrs. Hudson broke the silence tromping up the stairs, her bad hip causing an uneven rhythm on the floorboards. Sherlock's head jerked up, and he stared towards the doorway before looking down at his lap in confusion. Alex blinked sleepily and yawned, glancing back at his parents.
"Mum, dad? What time is it?" he asked
"Past your bedtime," Mary said with a laugh.
"Oh you poor dear, probably so tired," Mrs. Hudson fretted. "Would you like some biscuits and hot chocolate before you go? Your mummy and daddy might want to check in with your uncle for a minute."
The boy nodded, giving a sleepy smile as he went over to take her hand and allowed her to lead him down the stairs.
John turned to stare at Sherlock who was blinking a bit as he came to full state of being awake.
"No problems?" John asked. "You looked like you really were liking this whole babysitting thing."
Sherlock scowled. "Don't be absurd, John." His expression loosened some, eyes filling with something close to concern. "I need to warn you that in the next few days that…Hannah Thorne you hired to watch Alex will be…well…indisposed. You will need to find someone new."
"What?" John said. "Sorry, I don't think I heard you right. What's that about our nanny?"
"She'll be found dead," Sherlock said. "In the next few days. You needn't worry. She's been involved in a gang for some time. Mycroft checked into it for me. I suggest running future candidates through me before selecting a replacement. And my only other suggestion is to make sure you send Alex to a therapist."
John went back into high alert. "Hang on, gang? And what do you mean therapist? Sherlock so help me I will throw you out that window if you've done anything to Alex."
"I haven't," Sherlock muttered. "But that's not the case with Ms. Thorne."
Mary gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth. John shot her a look, trying to figure out what the hell he'd missed.
"No," Mary whispered. "Oh god…I didn't even think…"
"Yes," Sherlock responded automatically. "He's a strong little boy. He'll likely be fine. But you need to make sure he receives some kind of help. I would hate for him to feel he has to bottle it all up inside…"
John glanced at Mary and she looked at him with tears.
"Hang on…what…"
"I'll explain when we get home," Mary said. "In the meantime…I think maybe we should take Alex and head out." She glanced at Sherlock and walked over, throwing herself around him in a tight hug. Sherlock stood stock still, arms not moving to accept it, merely letting her hang onto him.
"Thank you," she whispered to him. "I'm so glad someone figured it out. I wish I'd paid more attention." She released him and gave a sad smile, eyes watering.
"Well, not everyone can be so observant," Sherlock muttered, dusting himself off.
"No," Mary agreed. She went over and took John's hand again, though he was still staring at his best mate in confusion.
"Well, whatever you did…thanks," John said, frowning.
Sherlock shrugged. "I did what any decent person would. I know how much Alex means to you, John. I would never do anything to hurt him. I want only the best for all of you…for my…friends."
John cracked a wan smile and led Mary towards the stairs. His heart had started pounding fast, realizing this had to be bad if Sherlock and Mary were both so worried. However, he felt himself relaxing some as he saw his boy again, smiling as Mrs. Hudson pushed several biscuits into a bag for him.
"He's such a dear," Mrs. Hudson said, turning to beam at the both of them.
"He is," John agreed, reaching out to set a hand on his son's shoulder. Alex turned to him and grinned, leaning in close. John scooped the boy up.
"Love you," he whispered in his son's ear.
"Love you too, daddy," Alex murmured. He turned back towards the stairs, looking at the tall man who'd descended very quietly. "Thanks Uncle Sherlock," Alex whispered.
The man smiled, lips quirking ever so slightly, even as blue eyes gazed at the boy with some touch of pity in their depths. John sighed and walked over with Alex in his arms.
"Thanks," he said. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you."
"Trust has to be built," Sherlock pointed out. "You have a point there. I'd be happy to watch Alex for you in the future."
John chuckled and felt Mary's hand on his arm.
"We ought to head out," she said. "Before he falls asleep again."
John glanced at Alex who was visibly drooping. He ran a hand through his son's hair and let out a long sigh.
Mary followed him out to the cab. John slid into the seat with Alex still in his arms, the boy already lulling back into slumber. Mary rested her head against his other shoulder. John sighed in contentment at the image of his little family, the three of them awaiting a fourth. He glanced up towards the window of 221 B and saw Sherlock's lean form, a shadow thanks to the background light. Maybe make that four of them. He smiled at the thought. He'd never thought before he'd be so glad to have Sherlock Holmes as a friend…and with all that had happened tonight…a part of the family.