There had been no sound coming from the babyphone for the last two hourse while John and Sherlock were enjoying a quiet evening at 221 B Baker Street. Sherlock was completely wrapped up in some obscure experiment on the kitchen table so that John had no difficulty hiding his current work on a new blog entry, sitting on the couch with his laptop on his knees.
"I didn't know that babysitting was that easy", came the dry remark from the kitchen where Sherlock apparently had finished his experiments and thus, was now bored.
"All that prior research on baby care was completely unnecessary and a waste of time." John risked a glance from behind the screen of his laptop not wanting to draw attention to himself or the websites he was looking at.
"You know, I think, it's very annoying that you agreed to this babysitting nonsense, John. We should have said NO when Molly and Martin asked us. We could be out there now, investigating. Instead we are stuck here until 11 PM.". Sherlock pouted and tried to sneak a glance at John's notebook.
"Are you surfing on those dreadful websites again? Don't bother hiding or deleting your browser history though, I will find out anyway."
'Oh, I don't think so. This time you won't', thought John to himself. Out loud he said "Wasn't it time that you checked on our guest again?" And with that he turned back to his laptop ignoring Sherlock's vicious looks.
Sherlock stomped across the living room without a further word and continued up the stairs to check on little Mycroft. Good god. Of all possible names out there, those two imbeciles had decided to name the boy Mycroft.
"Because it goes so nicely with our first names", had Molly said. "Molly, Mycroft and Martin Hooper-Crieff." Sherlock snorted. Hooper-Crieff. Ridiculous. Though Martin had explained in his serious I-am-the-captain-voice that Hooper-Crieff was a much better captain's name. Duh-duh-DUH-duh-duh - something. Shaking his head he opened the door to John's bedroom where Mycroft was asleep in John's bed.
Strangely, the window was wide open and the curtains were softly flapping in the wind. Sherlock's senses were alerted. Something was wrong here. With two long strides he was inside and stood hunched over John's bed. Except Mycroft wasn't in it. That was impossible. Only an hour ago, he had put him there after John had changed his nappy. Nobody else had been up here since. Alright, calm down, Sherlock. Logic. Focus. You brought him up here. You tucked him in with his teddy. There must be a logical explanation for his absence. And he was Sherlock Holmes for god's sake. Might as well use his powers of deduction for something like this before running downstairs and involving John.
Mycroft's blanket was slightly drooping down the right side of the bed. But other than that it looked like John's bed normally did – not that he had seen it that often (mostly they ended up on the rug in the living room) – but the few times that he had snooped around in John's room to locate his christmas/birthday/easter presents or his cigarettes, it had been very neat so that even small changes would have been easy to trace. He grabbed the covers to make sure Mycroft wasn't hiding somewhere within the bed. Nothing.
Just when Sherlock was crouching down to check under the bed, John entered the room. "I heard you making frustrated noises and was wondering what took you so long. What are you looking for down there? Wait. Where's Mycroft?" John was next to him in an instant, checking the curtains and under the little desk that was crammed in the corner.
"He is not here." There were little pearls of sweat on Sherlock's forehead. "Someone must have abducted him, John. Please go downstairs and get my magnifying glasses and some gloves. I think we found ourselves a new case right in our flat."
Shock was visible in John's eyes but old habits made him sprint downstairs to get Sherlock's stuff.
Sherlock moved around in the bedroom like a confined panther in a zoo trying to concentrate on the facts.
He had been the last one up here. The window had been only slightly ajar and the curtains were mostly drawn. Mycroft had been asleep under the blanket with his teddy.
He checked the bed again. John came back and handed him his equipment putting a calming hand on his right shoulder. "We will find him Sherlock. You will find him. I trust your instincts. Can I do something?"
Sherlock leaned into his touch for a second but straightened almost instantly. "His teddy is missing. Can you see it anywhere in this room? Maybe he lost it when he was taken. You better go outside and check if you can find anything. I'll join you in a minute, John."
John went out to the back through Mrs. Hudson's kitchen taking a torchlight along. Luckily their housekeeper had decided to go to the opera tonight together with the owner of Speedy's. She would have panicked immediately and called Lestrade.
Meanwhile Sherlock retraced every inch of the bedroom with his magnifying glasses. Just when he was starting on the wall opposite the bed, he heard John shouting from below. "I cannot see anything unusual down here Sherlock, maybe you should come and have a look yourself."
They met at the backdoor. Sherlock's eyes immediately fell on the ladder that was leaning on the left side corner of the courtyard.
"John, I think I know what happened. They came out of the building opposite – see there is a backdoor open - and took the ladder to reach your bedroom window. Then they took Mycroft and left the same way. I have found faint traces of mud on your carpet and also some fingerprints on the windowsill. See," he turned to John and pointed to the ladder, "there are also some fresh splinters visible on the ladder and again some muddy traces. What is that lying in the grass over there?" They sprinted to said object. It was a business card. Hans Hueffer - Painter.
"Ha!" Sherlock spun around. "He has given himself away. Follow me, John. We will go there now and demand answers." While they crossed through Mrs. Hudson's kitchen they suddenly heard a strange noise. It sounded like some water gurgling through pipes mixed with children's laughter.
It seemed to come from everywhere around them. "While I don't believe in Mrs. Hudson's ghost stories,..what the hell is that?" John shrank back a bit and bumped into Sherlock who was standing directly behind him. He felt the strain on Sherlock's shirt buttons on his back and remembered the night when he had ripped the shirt open buttons popping and flying in all directions.
"Don't get distracted, John" purred a voice into his ear. He instantly melted against the body behind him but Sherlock pushed him upright and continued in a serious voice, "John, this is not the right time for any distractions. Listen, there is that dreadful noise again." Sherlock spun around and pressed his right ear to the kitchen wall. He shuffled along the wall keeping his ear close to the wall. "It is getting louder." John stared at his flatmate and lover and quirked an eyebrow. "I think, this is where the old dumbwaiter used to be. Right there, where you are now. Mrs. Hudson told me about it the other day, when she had some craftsmen over."
Sherlock turned around with a wild grin spreading all over his face. "John, I think this is the first time that I came to my conclusions too early." He sprinted out in the hall opening the drawers of the dresser until he had obviously found what he was looking for. A hammer.
With that he turned to John and said "John, you will hack open the old opening for the dumbwaiter down here. I will check upstairs in your bedroom. There must be an opening there."
Then they heard it again. Somehow, it sounded vaguely familiar to John. His eyes widened and Sherlock smirked when he saw realisation entering. "Yes, exactly my thoughts. Now hurry up! It's already 10:15 and we don't want to tell the parents." John carefully inspected the drywall.
He heard Sherlock's shout of surprise from upstairs. "I knew it! John, they did not properly close the drywall behind the wallpaper. There is a small opening. And I think I can...John, come up here with your hammer."
John smirked, oh yes, he would definitely come back to this later. He ran upstairs not having yet smashed Mrs. Hudson's kitchen wall. When he reached his bedroom, Sherlock was lying on the floor, pressed to the wall opposite the bed, his arm disappearing completely in the wall. John kneeled down and carefully peeled up the wallpaper a bit more before widening the hole with the hammer.
Finally, Sherlock caught the ropes of the old dumbwaiter and pulled it up. When the platform reached their level, a dusty Mycroft toothlessly grinned at them waving his teddy around. Sherlock grinned back. "God, I hope it's 11 soon, I could ravish you on this bed now, you look so hot when you think noone can see your innocence..." said John while picking up Mycroft and carrying him to the bathroom. Sherlock stood up as well and turned to follow John. The doorbell rang.
They both looked at each other. "Alright, you clean up this little devil and I go downstairs to delay the parents. But please hurry up, I can never stand Martin's cabin crew stories for long." He brushed a finger over John's cheek and turned to go downstairs. Mycroft watched them silently and stretched his little arm to reach Sherlock's.
Sherlock chuckled and left them.
"Oh, hello Molly and Martin, back early, I see. Please do come in. John's just changing Mycroft's nappies. Tea?". He tried to think of other inane social rituals that he could enact in order to keep those two from going upstairs and seeing the hole in the wall or dusty Mycroft. Meanwhile, John tried to clean Mycroft with a washcloth as much as possible. There. Arms, feet and face were clean again and there wasn't much he could do about the rompers. He just hoped the light downstairs would be dimmed enough to hush things up. He carried the toddler back to his bed and was about to get up when Molly entered the room.
"Oh, John, I just couldn't stand being without him any longer. I am so sorry. But look at you", she smiled at Mycroft and picked him up, "he looks so happy. Obviously, I was worried for nothing." Mycroft grinned his winning smile again and was grabbing at Molly's hair. "Molly, why don't we all go downstairs, calm down and have some tea? I will bring Mycroft's stuff down with me. You just relax. Everything is totally fine."
John was relieved and picked up Mycroft's teddy, his dummy and the bag with fresh nappies and other items. Molly had been so anxious, she had not even noticed the hole in the wall.
Downstairs Sherlock was trying to entertain the Hooper-Crieff family and was getting slightly annoyed. John could hear it in his voice. He entered the living room and sat down next to his lover. He put a hand on his left knee and smiled at Sherlock. Immediately, the tension left Sherlock's body and his voice sounded less strained "More tea, Martin?"
"No, thank you, we don't want to impose on your hospitality any longer. Besides, Mycroft is very tired and I have to get up early tomorrow, too. We are going to fly to some obscure place in Canada tomorrow." The two of them got up and got their belongings. Sherlock hastily escorted them outside "Goodbye! Yes, no problem, certainly we would like to babysit again sometime." The door slammed shut and John sprang to his feet.
„Now, Sherlock, up to my bedroom, I will show you what my hammer can do."
A/N: This Oneshot was written for hiiddles, based on her prompt for the johnlockchallenges' gift exchange on tumblr. The prompt was "John and Sherlock babysitting a baby (from a case ;-)."