Summary: When Sherlock gets home, a surprise awaits… insanity ensues. Please R&R! Not slash!
A.N: So, obviously I am not british... Hell, I'm not even american, I am canadian and I speak french so... I have no idea how the original Sherlock speaks. I've only heard the french Sherlock. Plus, I am sorry if they're abit OOC. It's my first Sherlock fanfic, and I'm sorking on a few more Sherlock fics, that I hope will be better... REviews are highly appreciated!
Sherlock climbs the stairs in a hurry, just like he always does. He starts to undo his coat and opens the door to the living room. He almost recoils and turns away when he sees John, sitting in his armchair, with a… thing in his arms. Yet he takes in a deep breath and steps into the room as if nothing had happened, his eyes not leaving the wiggling and squirming thing John is holding.
-Ah, Sherlock, I've been waiting for you, John says as he lifts his head and sees the detective.
-Yes, yes I can see that, Sherlock answers. His gaze shifts from the thing to John, then to the thing again, but ultimately comes back to John. He slowly steps forward and kneels at a safe distance from the thing. John rolls his eyes and sighs.
-Care to explain? Sherlock asks after a good five minutes of eyeing the thing.
-Her name is Helen, John says. My childhood friend Hanna is going on a trip for a week, she couldn't find anyone else.
-You slept with her didn't you? Sherlock asks, still warily staring at the thing. Hanna, I mean.
-I-We… were young and foolish, John answers, looking away but not even bothering to ask him how he knows. Mostly foolish.
-I can see you still are, the detective snaps back.
He finally stands and step forward. He bends over the thing, obliviously burying John's face in his hair and examining the thing just as if it was some sort mutant.
-So… Sherlock starts. That's… a baby. What does it do?
-What does it do? John repeats incredulously.
He shakes his head. This is Sherlock after all. It's not like he had expected him to jump up and down in joy and know how to take care of a baby.
-Well she… she cries, she eats, she drinks, she sleeps and she poops, I suppose, John answers after a second of thoughtful silence. May also scream. And wake you up at night.
-Sounds like a real bundle of joy, Sherlock says. And surely you don't want me to take care of it, do you?
John chuckles at the thought.
-No, I don't, Sherlock, he answers with a smile. But I won't be able to help you on any case that might show up, and Sarah gave me the week off.
-And… what is it doing now? Sherlock asks, cocking his head to the side, still staring at the baby.
-She sleeps, Sherlock, the doctor answers with another chuckle. You know, when you close your eyes and don't think about anything for approximately six to eleven hours a day.
As John speaks, Sherlock stands and turns away, walking into the kitchen. He ruffles trough his test-tubes and finally picks one full of a blue liquid. He walks back into the living room and approaches the baby, uncorking the glass vial as he walks. He crouches next to John and approaches the phial from the baby.
-Sherlock, wha…
When the detective tilts the vial toward the baby's head, John grabs his wrist, painfully squeezing it as tight as he can.
-Sherlock. No, he rumbles.
-But, why? Sherlock asks, raising an eyebrow.
-Why? Why? John hisses. Bloody Hell, Sherlock, you can't be serious!
The detective gives him a questioning and confused look.
-She's not for experiments! The doctor shouts, tightening his grip even more.
Realizing his gesture, he immediately loosens his hold on his flatmate's wrist.
-I'm sorry, Sherlock, he says, and the detective can see the glint of guilt in his friend's eyes. But there won't be any experiment on her. No test, no experiment, no nothing. Am I clear?
Sherlock wants to ask why she is so important, yet something in John's eyes prevents him from doing so. He straightens and corks the vial before answering.
-Alright, he says, and despite the hint of deception that can be heard in Sherlock's voice, John knows that he will keep his word.
-Thank you, John says, leaning back in his armchair.
With a last look at Helen, Sherlock returns to his experiments in the kitchen, leaving his friend and his burden alone in the living room.
-Shame, really, he can't help but say as he sits in front of his microscope. I don't often get to experiment on infant and children, and I have something th…
-Sherlock, John sighs, a small smile stretching his lips.
-Right.