A/N: Because my nephew gives me alot of Parentlock feels, okay? It took longer than usual to write something this simple and Im not too sure how I feel about it so feedback would be wonderful! (:

Edit: I've gotten a pretty good response from this both here and over on ao3. A lot of people have mentioned sequels. I didn't plan on writing one but the plotline is kind of set up that way so maybe if I get the chance I will (:

Maybe, Someday

Sherlock merely glanced up from his microscope for a moment when he heard the door creak open. Seeing Lestrade's figure from the corner of his eye, he went back to his work.

He heard the mumbled voices of John and Lestrade coming from the other room, but made no attempt at following their conversation. It seemed meaningless to do so; to waste time talking when there were more important things to do.

"Sherlock?" John called. The scientist remained silent, rolling his eyes though he knew John couldn't see. He heard his name repeated, straightened, and entered the living room. His eyes went to Lestrade immediately before flickering to the small child he was holding.

He looked at John; looking at nothing in particular, he looked almost as annoyed as Sherlock felt at the moment. Turning his attention back to Lestrade, he took in his appearance. Bagged eyes, distressed, desperate features. He was tapping his free hand against his leg, forming no particular pattern. Anxious.

His eyes found the sleeping child once more. He couldn't be any older than three, at least, judging by his size. Sherlock couldn't see the child's face, but that didn't matter right now. What mattered was the reason the Detective Inspector was here in the first place.

"You've got a case." Sherlock stated, only seconds having passed since he crossed the threshold. "Tiring, I presume. I will need to see the scene, of course but go on, give me the facts." he took a seat in his chair and pressed his hands together, resting the tips of them against his lips, ready to take in the information.

"He doesn't need help on the case, Sherlock." John informed him, perching himself on the arm of the Detective's chair.

"Oh?" Sherlock's eyes flew open and rested on Lestrade. "Then what is it? And why the hell is there a child here?"

"That's um-" Greg cleared his throat, shifting the still sleeping child from hip to the other. "That's actually why I'm here."

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up, waiting for an explanation. Greg looked to John helplessly for a moment before turning back to Sherlock and sighing. "You remember the case with that gang you had last month?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied with a wave of his hand. How could he forget? It was just last month, after all and it was certainly one of the most interesting one's he'd had so far this year.

"Okay, well we believe the family is in danger again; that there were some members that got away."

The consulting detective rolled his eyes. "That's impossible."

"Well, impossible or not, they're being threatened in the exact way as before."

"I am still failing to see the reasoning behind your being here, Lestrade, so if that's all you had to say I must be getting back to my experiments."

"We believe," Lestrade continued, causing Sherlock, who had been starting to stand, to sit back down once more "that the child is in the most danger, though we've yet to figure out why."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, still trying to figure out what was going on before it all clicked like a light-switch. "No." he stated firmly, standing again to face the inspector, "No, absolutely not."

"Sherlock-" John started, obviously hoping to reason with him on some type of level.

"No," Sherlock stated a little louder than was necessary, turning to face John now, his arms flying throughout the air "A child, John! We are not keeping a child here when-" Sherlock's words were cut off when the child in question started whining, squirming in Greg's arms as he awoke, trying to get comfortable.

Sherlock sighed loudly, slapping his arms down at his sides a bit obnoxiously before storming back into the kitchen muttering a loud "Oh for heaven's sake" under his breath as he went.

John watched Greg calm the child for a moment before following the detective. "Sherlock." he started, speaking softly as his flatmate pretended not to hear him.

"Why can't he and Mycroft take him? Why's the child have to stay here of all places?"

"Because it's safe." John replied simply, watching Sherlock's reaction. When he didn't respond, the doctor continued. "Look, I don't like it anymore than you do, okay? But this family, this child, is in danger. They need help. And that's what we do, isn't it? Help people?"

"We solve cases, John!" Sherlock exclaimed in a whisper so as not to be overheard. "We put criminals in their rightful place and bring some type of closure to families. We do not babysit children!" He stared at John for a long moment, his expression steely and frozen in a look of annoyance and distaste. After taking in the undefinable look on John's face, Sherlock sighed deeply, his resolve crumbling.

"Fine," He hung his head back and ran his fingers over his face tiredly, though he was far from it. "No longer than a week." he continued, looking again at John who was smiling slightly. "We are not taking him to any crime scenes because he will no doubt get in the way and I definitely don't need that this week. And so help me if he gets into any of my experiments and messes them up, John-" he was cut off when John wrapped his arms around him lightly. It took him a second, but he mimicked the action nonetheless.

"Thank you," John whispered against his neck before giving him a slight kiss on the cheek, moving back into the living room to inform Lestrade that Sherlock had changed his decision.

He hid in the kitchen for a few more moments and emerged once again when he heard Lestrade getting ready to leave. Before he closed the door behind him, he looked straight into Sherlock's eyes. "Thank you," he said sincerely. Sherlock nodded a bit stiffly and then the detective was gone.

John was great with kids; there was no doubt about that. Having watched Harry's daughter a few times in the past (while Sherlock was away on cases, of course) he knew what he was doing. Which television programs to have on to keep them occupied, how to handle tantrums and what time was appropriate for them to sleep...

Sherlock was done with his experiments for the day. He didn't have any cases and nothing else planned. He supposed he could go visit Molly in the morgue but he really just didn't feel like it. Instead, he hovered around and watched John deal with the child whose name he discovered was Kayleb.

He was well behaved, at least. Sherlock was glad about that. Normally a child of his age and in his circumstances would be fussy and upset. He was in an environment that was unfamiliar to him, with people he didn't know at all. And yet he was as calm as ever. He listened to what John told him and understood things far better than a three year old should.

After John put him to bed (Lestrade had brought a pen for him to sleep in along with a bag of necessities) he came into the living room to find Sherlock picking up the few toys that had been lying around and putting them in the basket they belonged in. John couldn't help but smile at the sight. He could get used to this. Of course, he knew Kayleb would only be with them for a short while, he couldn't help but think it would be nice to make this a routine. Waking up with a child in the morning, caring for them as the day went on, putting them to bed and then cleaning up before spending time together and enjoying the quiet until they were both ready to turn in. It wasn't a bad thought...

"John?" Sherlock's voice pulled him from his thoughts. The detective's eyebrows were raised accusingly and a slight smirk was playing on his lips. John smiled sheepishly in response and moved from where he was leaning against the doorframe in favor of wrapping himself around his husband.

"You've been a bit distant today," John pointed out, before Sherlock could say anything.

"Have I?" John hummed in response, "Mmm, I haven't noticed." Of course he noticed that he'd been distant. Every time he tried to focus on something, his mind kept betraying him, shooting instead to thoughts of John and... children. Sherlock was not a big fan of children. They were noisy and messy and always in the way. Not to mention the fact that they require ridiculous amounts of attention that neither John nor Sherlock would be able to give while working the long, hard hours of a case.

He knew John would like children. Maybe not now, but some day in the near future. The doctor had never brought up the subject before, and Sherlock didn't expect him to anytime soon, but he could tell. And if he hadn't known before, today definitely confirmed it.

Still, Sherlock was wary. He wanted to be able to give John anything he wanted; anything that would make him happy. And while contacting and gaining a surrogate wouldn't be too difficult a task, he didn't know if he was ready for it. He had no idea how to be a father or to take care of a child and he couldn;t just rely on John to do all of the work, now could he?

Maybe. Someday. But not today.

They made their way into their bedroom, ready to turn in early. Well, John was, anyway. Sherlock's head was too crowded tonight to be soothed long enough to fall asleep. Nevertheless, he tangled himself with John and watched him sleep, letting his thoughts chase each other round and round his mind. He found it was easier to let them be, than to try and fight them. Fighting them was too tiring, too confusing, too frustrating. Making sense of them was a nice way to pass the time, but he didn't make a habit out of it.

Instead, he just lay there, staring at John. Watching his eyelids flutter as he dreamed. Watched his features soften with every second he was asleep. Watching his chest rise and fall slowly with every deep breath. Just watching.

Sherlock estimated that is was about three in the morning when he heard the child stirring. He remembered John mentioning something about how he did that some nights and would possibly need to be soothed back to sleep. He reached a hand out to shake John's shoulder lightly, intending on waking him before deciding against it at the last second. He didn't need to wake John. He could get a child to sleep. It wasn't that hard of a task...

Hold them against your chest so that they could feel your heartbeat, pat their back, make cooing sounds every so often, rock them. It was all logic. Science. It shouldn't be too difficult.

He reached into the pen and carefully lifted him, mimicking John's earlier movements, he position the child in his arms the appropriate way. It felt awkward and uncomfortable but he knew this was how he was supposed to do it, so he ignored the strange feeling and focused on the boy in his arms, not wanting him to cry out and wake John.

Coo, pat, rock. It was a simple enough pattern and soon he was doing the actions without even thinking about them. Before he knew it he was humming softly to the song he had been working on earlier that day. After a while, Sherlock became used to the feel of the child within his arms, the feel of his small breaths ghosting over his skin whenever he exhaled, the little shifts his body would do every so often to get just a bit more comfortable.

It was relaxing. Calming. Sherlock actually found his thoughts slowing down to a more bearable point. When he felt himself starting to drift off a bit, he stood and placed Kayleb (who was once again dead asleep) back into his pen, making sure he was covered with his blanket because he knew how chilly it could get in here at night.

He stood over the pen for a few more moments, watching the child sleep. It was different than watching John, though Sherlock couldn't pinpoint it. Maybe it was the way his features became even more innocent-looking, or how his breaths were smaller, his movements more subtle. Whatever it was, Sherlock found himself almost transfixed upon it. It took him a moment for him to be able to tear his eyes away.

When he did, he turned to make his way back into his room and almost jumped out of his skin. He recovered quickly and returned John's slight smile. "How long were you standing there?" he kept his voice low, walking forward to stand directly in front of his husband.

"Long enough," John responded, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist. Sherlock hooker his own fingers around John's neck and leaned down to press his lips against John's. Despite the kiss being slow and soft, they were both breathless as they pulled apart just moments later.

"Come on," John whispered, double checking that the child was okay. "Let's get some sleep." he linked Sherlock's fingers with his own and pulled him along into the bedroom and it was one of those very rare times where Sherlock didn't argue.