"No."
"Dunno if you noticed, Sherlock, but you don't get to decide. I'm the one doing the favor, you're just-"
"Living in the same flat as a one-year-old girl and you attempting to look after the child, yes, I can see how I'm not involved in this scenario at all." Sherlock hadn't looked up from his microscope.
John crossed his arms. "Honestly, Sherlock, it's only for three days and apparently the kid's pretty low-maintenance."
Sherlock snorted. "I'm sure the parents aren't bigoted in her favor or trying to get you to agree to this in any way, shape, or form, John." He adjusted the slide and sighed. "Of course, seeing as you've already said yes, there's not much need for manipulation."
John rolled his eyes, too used to Sherlock to be remotely surprised he'd put that together. No doubt the way he'd tossed his jacket on the couch or walked into the kitchen had given it away. "Yeah, I said yes, and I have the box Shannon gave me in the-"
"Hall, I know. Rather small amount of supplies for taking care of a thirteen-month-old girl, isn't it? Shannon Adler is your cousin; she should know you've never had a child and will likely need as much help as you can get."
"For your information, Sherlock, I was old enough to take care of Harry every now and then, I'm not totally hopeless when it comes to kids."
"I'm sure that the experience you amassed as an eight-year-old will be extraordinarily helpful in taking care of a first cousin once removed that has met you all of three-" he glanced at John "-four times in her life."
"Isn't a first cousin once removed the same thing as a second cousin?"
Sherlock took his eyes off the slide to shoot a glare at John. "No." John smirked.
"Come on, Sherlock, it won't be that bad. Irene'll have to sleep in our room, that'll be the absolute worst of it."
"The girl's name is Irene? Rather old-fashioned."
"Thought you weren't planning on getting invested."
"I don't want her to disturb me, but knowing her name is, I think, a social nicety."
"Which means you won't delete it until after she's gone, which in turn means that Christmas this year should be even more interesting."
Sherlock lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at John. "There's no need for us to attend your mother's family gathering at all, especially if you feel it will be uncomfortable...for you," he added under his breath.
"I haven't been home for a couple Christmases, and don't change the subject."
"I was under the impression we were done with the subject. A very young girl is going to live with us for a long weekend and you will throw off the symmetry of our room by adding a crib."
"Our room isn't symmetrical."
"It's symmetrical from its non-symmetry."
John grinned. "So you're saying the room has an energy to it that you don't want to throw off."
"I said nothing of the kind." Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on what he was examining.
The bell rang. Sherlock's head popped up and he stared at the door leading to the stairs. Whatever conclusion he came to, it apparently wasn't to his liking. He pursed his lips and sulkily readjusted the microscope. "It's your cousin with your first cousin once removed, probably in her mother's arms. You didn't say they'd be here today." Sherlock's voice held a faint note of annoyance.
"Figured you knew already."
"I use my senses, not psychic abilities. Best go answer, then."
"You're not coming?"
"Don't see why I should; I'll doubtlessly meet the girl eventually. Tell your elder cousin I'm working."
John swung his arms and started towards the stairs. "You're giving in suspiciously easily. If you're planning any kind of experiment on Irene, or thinking you're gonna use her in a case, I'll hold your violin hostage again." Sherlock mumbled something. John laughed. Living with Sherlock had the interesting side effect of John's language rubbing off him. "If she picks up some new words from you, I'm not taking the blame," John said as he went out the door.
Sherlock was right, par the course. Irene was sitting solidly in her mother's arms, a thumb in her mouth and one hand playing with Shannon's hair. The girl caught John's eye and gave him a big smile, blue eyes twinkling. Shannon tsked and said, "Do ignore her, she's learning fast she can get by life on a wink and a smile."
"Well, can't imagine where she picked that up," John said lightly. Shannon laughed and reached around to hug John, jostling little Irene slightly. Irene let out a string of babbled vowels around the thumb in her mouth and wriggled. Shannon put her down, where Irene supported herself against the portable crib leaning on the wall.
"I'm so grateful you're doing this for me, John, this trip came out of nowhere, but I was able to knock off a few days," Shannon said apologetically, a hand on Irene's head.
"It's fine. Sherlock's working on a case, so he should be a bit busy, but I'm off this weekend." John didn't fail to notice how Shannon's brow creased at the mention of Sherlock. "Actually, Sherlock's working now, s'why he didn't come down to say hello. So, is there anything else I need to know for her? You covered quite a lot this morning..."
"Oh! Right, I did forget something. Erm, do your best to keep her away from newspapers, she has a tendency to rip them to shreds and try to eat them. I swear to God, that's the only bad thing she'll put in her mouth. It's bizarre." Shannon hesitated.
After a moment of awkward silence, John asked, "Are you wondering about Sherlock? Specifically, Sherlock and me?"
Her eyes darted around as she nodded. "Sorry, not whatever's between you and him, that's not really my business, just...is he ok with the two of you babysitting her?"
"I talked him into it." John swallowed. "By the way, if you want to ask about our...status, I don't mind. I'd rather you, and by extension, everyone, hear it from me as opposed to the media or something." Shannon had always been the family gossip.
Shannon laughed somewhat nervously. "Well then. What is your 'status'? I never thought you were into blokes."
John gave her a thin-lipped smile. "I'm not, not really. Sherlock is just Sherlock, and I happen to share a flat, salary and bed with him because we work, Shan. His gender doesn't really come into it." He was suddenly aware that Irene had been watching him and her mother talk. The girl was intently watching the conversation, and John noticed her eyes fixed onto his left hand. He raised an eyebrow. "She's a smart one, isn't she?"
"Oh yeah, she'll read you like a book within the hour," Shannon said, obviously relieved for the subject change.
John heard the stairs squeak behind him. Sherlock's voice floated down, "John, I'm going out. If Lestrade phones you because I'm not answering, tell him that it's all to do with the stepfather's snake." Sherlock swung around the corner, pulling on his gloves. "Also, tell him from me that Anderson, of all people, should've noticed the pet's food was barely touched." He paused for a moment, scanning Shannon up and down. "Sherlock Holmes. Sorry to greet and dash, but I've got to examine a lawyer's corpse before it's shunted off to Dublin." Sherlock said this with an undeniable cheerfulness.
Shannon, who was beginning to look a little overwhelmed, said, "Oh no, it's perfectly fine. I'm Shannon Adler, but you probably knew that," with a smile.
Sherlock opened his mouth, and John started forward to stop the string of deductions that was definitely on the horizon, but Irene neatly took care of the situation. She cooed quietly, drawing the eyes of the three of them to where she was toddling over to Sherlock. He frowned as the girl stumbled forward and caught hold of his coat with both small hands. "Irene Adler, I presume?"
"Nice deduction, Sherlock." Oddly, this didn't earn John a dirty look. Sherlock was too busy trying to watch the little girl who was circling around his legs and babbling. "She's a talker, isn't she, Shan?"
"God yeah, she even talks in her sleep every now and again."
"Lovely," Sherlock intoned dryly.
John snorted. "Sherlock, we both know you could sleep through the apocalypse."
"If and when I'm allowed to get to sleep," Sherlock replied. To John's horror, he felt himself reddening. Nine times out of ten, Sherlock ignored or simply missed any and all innuendo, but John would've bet anything this was not one of those times.
Speaking of Sherlock, he was gazing at John with no trace of a smile and saying, "Now then, I've got some idiot policemen to verbally castigate. Do try to keep the girl out of my things, John." He squatted down and untangled Irene's hands from his coat. Putting a hand on her back, he lightly pushed her towards John. "There's that. I'll be back before eleven." Sherlock stood and kissed John on the cheek, then swept out the door, muttering, "Taxi'll be impossible to get."
Shannon was wearing a sort of half-smile, and was clearly trying to find something to say. Just as John opened his mouth-hoping to diffuse the tension with a question about her health-Irene burst into high-pitched giggles. She scurried back to Shannon and fell over, still giggling madly.
Shannon smiled and knelt. "What's so funny, love?"
The little girl looked at John and giggled even harder, pointing at him. "Irene!" Shannon cried, lightly swatting the girl's arm. "Don't be rude. Sorry, she does this all the time, John. I have no idea why, sometimes it's dead obvious what she's laughing at, and other times she'll laugh when I get the morning paper."
John grinned and said, "Let's go up and see if we can't get that cot set up, yeah?"
"Sounds good." Shannon set Irene on her hip as John picked up the crib and started up the stairs.
After about twenty minutes of watching Shannon and John try to set up her cot without disturbing the experiment Sherlock had placed at the window, Irene looked up at her mother with solemn eyes as Shannon explained that Irene would have to stay with John for a while, and that mum would be back in a few days.
"Is she getting all this? I mean, does she get the gist of what you're telling her?" John asked curiously.
"I think my talking calms her down a bit when I leave her with a babysitter or the like," Shannon said, hugging Irene and standing. "Alright, love, I've got to go now, ok?" Irene's lower lip wobbled unhappily. She made grabby hands at Shannon and said something. Shannon replied, "You want Lucky?" Irene nodded seriously. Her mother rummaged in her large purse and took out a stuffed pony.
The little girl cooed happily and hugged the pony to her chest. Shannon smiled and said to John, "That's Lucky. She gets sulky when someone calls him anything else, so don't you forget it."
"Yes, ma'am." Irene plucked at Lucky's mane. She grew bored of the conversation above her head and began to play with the stuffed pony, making quiet sound effects.
Shannon ruffled Irene's downy hair. "Thanks again, John. I should be back by five on Sunday, I'll call you when I'm on my way over, alright?"
"Sounds fine. You off, then?"
"Yes, plane leaves in an hour and a half." Shannon pulled John into a hug, and John kissed her on the cheek. "Bye, dears!" she said over her shoulder, going down the stairs.
John sat on the floor next to the little girl, who was being surprisingly calm. Feeling rather stupid, John said, "You alright, Irene?" She looked up and smiled widely. "Right, you're fine. Not even worried about Mum leaving?" Irene giggled and suddenly started to act bashful, twisting her hair and covering her face. John laughed against his will and held a hand out to her, half to see what she'd do and half because he wanted to be on good terms with the second cousin or first cousin once removed or whatever she was.
The little girl dropped her shyness and put Lucky to the side, crawling forward. She grabbed John's pointer finger and started to bend it into his palm like a posable toy, being surprisingly gentle. Her brow creased, and she moved onto his middle finger, bending it as well. She did the same thing with his third and fourth fingers, and then found the thumb. She bent it inwards several times, smiled, and then checked her own fingers, paying special attention to her thumbs.
John got the distinct feeling he was missing something. "What'd you figure out, sweetheart?" Irene impatiently pulled at his hand, pushing his ring finger in, and then bending this thumb. She tapped the joints and made a loud, "Ehh!" noise. When she didn't get an acceptable response, she frowned at John's idiocy and bent his fingers again, much more insistently. "Oh, the joints? There's three joints here..." John touched his own knuckles, "and only two on thumbs?"
Irene seemed to like that, grinning widely and patting John's hand in a way that almost felt patronizing. She let go of John and toddled to the bookshelf on the far side of the room, poking at the books lined up there. John, remembering that Shannon had mentioned that Irene loved to be read to, pulled a few books out of the box. They were James and the Giant Peach, Little Princess, and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
Bit advanced for a one-year-old, John thought. "Irene, look, I've got these ones, d'you want me to read to you?" he asked, beckoning the little girl over. Once she saw what he was holding, she squeaked in excitement and ran over to him, or tried to. She nearly fell after the first steps, so she dropped all pretense and crawled the rest of the way.
To John's great surprise, Irene crawled straight under his arms and into his lap, settling contentedly. "No, no, no, let's move to somewhere you won't cut off my circulation." John picked up Irene with one hand and James and the Giant Peach with the other. They settled in Sherlock's chair, it being larger and more adapted to fitting two people, when one was a squirmy little girl.
Rather doubtfully, John opened the book, not expecting to read longer than a few minutes before Irene got bored and moved on to some other form of entertainment. He began, "Here is James Henry Trotter when he was about four years old," touching the illustration with his thumb. "Up until this time, he had had a happy life, living peacefully with his mother and father in a beautiful house beside the sea..."
Irene listened in big-eyed silence as John continued through the first page, then the second, and third and fourth. She listened very carefully, all the way until chapter seven, when John finally marked where they were, shut the book and told Irene it was time for bed. She was blearily staring into the distance, and barely stirred when John picked her up.
Irene sleepily curled into John's neck as he carried her into his and Sherlock's room. He glanced at the clock. 9:38, thank God I fed her already. She yawned hugely and rubbed her eyes, blinking like an owl.
John carefully set her down in the crib, murmuring things like, "There we are," and "That's a girl," as Irene grasped her stuffed horse. He tucked a blanket over her, and put a hand on her head for a moment. Irene eyes were closed and her breathing was becoming steadier. John stood, momentarily unsure of what to do. He decided to simply turn off the light and leave; the flat was small enough that if she woke, he'd hear.
He double checked that the little girl was lying comfortably and that Sherlock's experiment in the window hadn't been touched, and changed into pyjamas.