A/N: Just an idea. I love Lestrade. And I thought Sherlock + John with a child is a godsend for muse. I don't know if there is slash here. If there is, it must be natural chemistry since I certainly don't intend it to be one.

John had an inkling that Sherlock was going to be shooting the wall again.

Thus why he crossed off getting new wallpaper off from his to-do list. Sherlock always seemed to be taking something out of random, inanimate objects – unfortunately for their dear living room wall, it seemed to be the detective's favourite. John had tried to spare the poor surface by attempting to hide the gun but he never seemed to locate it. It seemed that Sherlock Holmes had an invisible gun compartment that John had not found yet. He would. But he still went with the idea that it was probably invisible considering he had combed through the whole bloody flat…

"Stop making that noise, John. It's horrendously off-putting." said the voice from the lump on the couch as John entered from the kitchen.

He paused and blinked, "I haven't said anything, Sherlock."

"You don't have to." The voice pronounced, annoyed.

"Sorry…I'll…try and keep silent again…"

John had to roll his eyes, knowing he supposed that Sherlock's recent spell of even worse behaviour had resonated from Lestrade's latest case. It was a murder – or rather murders for the whole family was killed… Sherlock had been attempting to make sense of it for twenty four hours now and had not conjured up anything. It was made even worse by the fact that the family had connections to the government and Lestrade thought it best for him not to be anywhere near the murder site…

To be honest, if Sherlock couldn't figure it out – John was not sure what he could do to help. Just to keep Sherlock away from potentially harming himself of course. He was the type of bloke you wouldn't trust with a bloody sharpie when he was in one of his rages. Fortunately, the detective seemed to be enticed by a mood of serenity.

John rather liked the peace. He had done all sorts of things that he would have never done if Sherlock had been… Sherlock. Watering the flowers… watching a few episodes of Countdown…

Christ. He was turning into a woman.

It was here that John heard the door open from downstairs. Normally it was the noise that would be overlooked but with the silence – it was loud.

"Sherlock! John!" Lestrade's voice boomed as he trampled up the steps.

Sherlock immediately rose. John followed, watching as Lestrade – flushed – entered through the door in his usual gear of things,

"More evidence, I presume?" Sherlock greeted dryly.

"Yes. I've got some more things to give you," Lestrade nodded, gesturing towards a large brown envelope he held in one hand, "Some more evidence... not got much time – "

"No need." The detective intervened again, "I've solved it. It is the brother in law. I couldn't believe I did not see it from the beginning! But after twelve hours–"

"Twenty four." John corrected, prompting the detective to glance back at him,

"That long?"

"Yes."

"How, odd." Sherlock mused before continuing, "Anyway… I'm certain– "

A sigh escaped the detective inspector's lips,

"It's not the brother in law, Sherlock." Lestrade dismissed, clearly disappointed by the incorrect presumption.

"Why not?" Sherlock seemed to gawp, plainly unfamiliar with the idea of his suggestions being written off so swiftly.

"He's dead."

John blinked, completely taken aback. Even if Sherlock may deny it – he was too. The doctor rubbed the side of his head with a rather distressed press of the lips,

"God. That's terrible. I mean, that's what? The fifth death now? As if the family..." He glanced at Sherlock who seemed to be absorbing very little of what John was saying,

"Yes, it is terrible. Because that's another witness down!" Sherlock said harshly, jaw clamping in a disgruntled fashion, "Death. Ugh."

"He was strangled." Lestrade offered.

"Ouch," John winced, feeling his neck tighten a little from the word, "Dreadful."

Sherlock seemed to give him a confused look, "Why look so dismayed John? The others were strangled as well. Murderers... no originality sometimes." He said pointedly as John rolled his eyes. The detective ignored the doctor's face and continued,

"And to think. This case should progress more smoothly if I was given access to the scene itself." Sherlock sighed, "I cannot work on photographs alone. It is the details that holds the secret to a case. I need details..."

"I know that," Lestrade breathed out. He looked a bit ill, John observed. But due to the sheer calibre of the case, he wasn't surprised. "I have tried, Sherlock. But it's a sensitive case – only authorized personnel –"

"Authorized?" Sherlock laughed out loud, hand flailing in the air tribally, "I am the only person who may solve this case and I cannot be authorized?"

Lestrade pressed his lips thinly, "Now… I've got a team on this too, its –"

"And how is that going?" Sherlock challenged, "I saw the conference yesterday. Call me vigilant, but there was not a lot there."

He was referring to the team in charge. Sherlock and John had watched the televised conference yesterday of which Sherlock had candidly pointed out that the team looked like a bunch of criminology students.

Donovan had been there. Sherlock had chuckled, "The mother hen to the headless chickens, John. This is far too satisfying. Record this please."

Defeated, Lestrade sighed and handed the brown envelope to Sherlock who just eyed him coldly. Letting the envelope hover for a few moments, John snatched it – giving Lestrade a small nod,

"We'll take a look at it."

"Yes, John will." Sherlock said, mockingly, "I am certain that should go swimmingly."

John rolled his eyes, "For Christ sake, Sherlock. Stop acting like a child." He was throwing his toys out of the pram like a bloody baby! John had forgotten how immature Sherlock was sometimes.

"Oh so you take their side?"

"No!" John sighed, "It is wrong you can't be there. But you can't just mope about."

Lestrade seemed to recoil in frustration,

"Look… I've got the whole bloody department on this case… government's got me on a leash…I can't even – Hold on."

The sound of a mobile reverberated and Lestrade took his phone out and answered it grimly.

"Lestrade…yes – yes sir…hold on – I'll get there in – yes, I know you told me nine but I had an emerge – yes, sir. Yes," Lestrade was growing more and more frustrated. Sherlock had retreated back onto the couch, seizing the envelope from John's fingers in the process.

Crossing his arms, John thought the meeting was over. Until Lestrade seemed to move aside and he heard another voice,

"Daddy," the voice said with a small, rueful sigh, "I really need the toilet…"

There was a child in the flat. Or rather a small, young girl. John gazed at her, eyes wide. She was about seven – blonde and was tapping her foot on the wooden floor at a steady rhythm. Her eyes were staring hypnotically at the screen of her Blackberry. Instantly, John recognized how the very sight of the two did not piece together.

"-understood, sir... yes sir. Bye." Lestrade quickly pocketed his mobile and glanced at the young girl vehemently. John noted him mouthing a few swear words as he forced a smile on his face.

"I thought I told you to stay in the bloody car!" The detective inspector hissed, smile disappearing as he urged the girl with a mutter.

"I couldn't!" The young girl snapped back, looking up at him in an equally harsh tone, "I need the toilet."

John found a small smile prying his lips open, "Wait," He regarded Lestrade with a playful look, "Daddy?" He didn't know Lestrade had kids! The girl looked nothing like him. Parting from of course the same glum look they had on,

Lestrade glared at John, gravely, "Yes…this is…my daughter, Gracie –"

"Grace, dad." The girl corrected, with a roll of her eyes. Lestrade seemed to stare at her, dumbfounded before exhaling,

"Sorry, Grace – "

"So, what is it 'take your daughter to work' day or something?" John poked, eyeing the girl curiously, "Isn't it a bit… you are on a murder case Lestrade…it's a bit…" Inappropriate?

Lestrade's face seemed to only grow more dismal,

"Obviously, John it wasn't intentional. That was the emergency – my wife – ex wife…" The detective inspector rubbed his eyes wearily, "was in labour. Gracie – Grace sort of got dropped on my doorstep…unexpectedly…"

John couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the man. Not only had he got the government on his arse – he also had a child. Well, children. If one counted Sherlock.

"Didn't you tell her -?" John asked, "You know…that it wasn't a good time…"

"Oh yeah. She's having bloody contractions. Of course she'll stop for a cuppa and listen to me…" Lestrade sighed, scratching his head stressfully, "I told her. But women…what are they like…"

"Fair enough." John nodded before eyeing the girl – who was still zealously ogling her blackberry screen, "Nice to meet you Grace. I'm John." John's own experience with children only came as far as when children came in to the surgery. It was all very traumatic and really, they were his least favourite patients…

It seemed that children nowadays knew what needles looked like. No amount of saying that they were some magical princess-related apparatus could ever soothe the infuriating cries.

The girl did not flinch. John supposed she may have not heard him.

"You can use our bathroom. It's just upstairs, on your right." John suggested watching the young girl's face snap up instantaneously. She darted off towards the indicated direction with a feverish need.

He eyed Lestrade bleakly, forcing an awkward smile. It was here that John remembered something,

"Oh! Grace! Make sure you don't touch any scalpels okay?" For lord in heaven, Sherlock left those things everywhere.

Lestrade's jaw seemed to bob open before his phone's ring tone echoed through the room again. "Sod." He sighed, glaring at the screen in realization of the number. John watched as Lestrade looked up at him to be excused,

"Do you mind-?"

"Nope. Go on." John nodded politely. Lestrade exited the room to answer the call privately.

Pivoting around, John almost forgot that Sherlock was in the couch just a few metres from him. Approaching the large piece of furniture calmly, he inclined his head,

"Sherlock -?" He called out, only to realize that Sherlock had the envelope literally covering the whole of his face.

Not receiving an answer, John deduced that Sherlock was ignoring him.

And that was when he heard the soft, sturdy breaths of a sleeping man. Sherlock was – napping? In the middle of the case? No way! John blinked, examining the man further and deciding that he was indeed –

Sleeping.

Surely, that wasn't possible. But perhaps the frustration and the tiredness finally overwhelmed him.

"Christ, Sherlock. I thought you were the man of timing," John mused, shaking his head as he sat on the couch across, picking up the newspaper on the table, "But perhaps sleeping shall help you…think, eh?"

Opening the paper, the man couldn't help but smile.

Now he was talking to himself. Hell.

Sherlock really was rubbing off on him.

Reaching the sports column, John found himself gawping silently at the new signing at Aston Villa. What were they thinking? And for that much? The bloke couldn't take a penalty even if it was placed a step in front of him! Affronted, he turned a page – once more indulged in the countdown to the Olympic games.

Of course, he was only being pissy because he didn't get tickets.

It was here, as he was beaming at himself and gazing over the news of Formula 1 that he heard a voice disturb the silence,

"Where did my Daddy go?"

Lowering the newspaper, John found his eyes turning into wide circles as he stared at Grace who had her own eyes large as she gazed around the quiet room.

"I was only gone for a few minutes," Grace explained, "Where did he go?"

John had to prioritize. Help the child. Not to piss of Sherlock. Nothing was worse than Sherlock getting disturbed in his sleep. He would know.

His laptop would know. It now possessed the scars to prove it.

"Just a second…" John murmured, pressing a finger to his lips before getting up and mutely coming over to her. Fortunately, she seemed to understand and she quietened – but the anxiety remained on her face.

"I'm sure he's just outside." He assured the young girl quickly - unsure how the hell he could have forgotten. It must have been the newspaper. He was so easily engrossed. Poking his head outside, he began to scale - with his eyes - the flights of stairs and listened out for Lestrade's voice.

There was only silence.

"He's not there, is he?" Grace's voice seemed to utter as she retreated back into the room.

"I - He wouldn't - He wouldn't forget you...he must still be here," John said, flushing - almost identical to the state that he had seen her father in earlier, "I'll just look outside - "

"He's forgotten." The girl declared, "He almost did that this morning."

"He forgot you this morning?"

"Yeah, Daddy's like that." Grace nodded at John with no sign of annoyance whatsoever, "He's especially forgetful today. I think it's cause Mummy was real mean to him today. Called him Gregory Alan because he almost refused to let me into the house..."

She seemed to giggle at the memory, "Mummy called him an imbecile and lots of other funny, bad words. Daddy sort of cried a bit..."

John was a little bit out of breath from the expression on the girl's face. The concern had faded - now she just seemed entirely at peace. John would put down that Lestrade probably wasn't the forgetful type (such a trait would be horrendous for a Detective Inspector) - but the stress of the murder case must have pressed down on his brain a little too hard. Plus, he probably hadn't retained much sleep.

At least Sherlock had a bit of a gap in between to catch up. He didn't know Lestrade an awful lot - but John speculated that like any human being, one's mind couldn't function well without rest.

"I'll BBM him, just to tell him - oh darnit, my phone's out of battery!" The girl gasped, clearly more distressed by the idea that her phone was dead rather than the fact that she was alone in some stranger's flat.

John held up his own phone. It looked bloody ancient compared to hers. "I'll tell him, don't worry." He nodded, glancing down at his phone and fumbling with the keys:

Sent: [09:14] Lestrade

Forgot something?

"I'm sure he'll be on his way to pick you up in a - oh, he's texted me back." John glanced down at the illuminated message on his phone,

From: [09:15] Lestrade

Shit, John.

John scoffed. Grace inclined her head at him,

"What did he say?"

Best not, John. "Oh... nothing. He seems to have sent me an empty message. Better just text him again," John lied, watching the girl shrug, "I'll just...your Daddy's not very good with phones is he?"

"No, he's like a neanderthal." Grace rolled her bright eyes softly, "I still have to show him how to download apps. He's ridiculous."

John smiled before his phone vibrated and another message appeared,

From: [09:17] Lestrade

Imsorry. I cnt type vry well at the mment. I had t leave emergncy at crim scen. She slipd my mind. On the motorwya to bloddy Yorkshire. i cnt belive i forgot my own daughter. tell her i'm sorry.

Yorkshire? John blinked, typing a reply instantly:

Sent: [09:18] Lestrade

Yorkshire? Lestrade. She's getting pretty worried here. I suggest you pick her up.

From: [09:18] Lestrade

I cnt. i'm too fr away. is she okay? telll her im sorry again. i just BBM'd her. i thnk her phone might b dead. ive got the fuckng commisioner callng me nonstop. i dont know who i cn send to take hr home

"What is he saying?" Grace demanded, pouting.

"I'll - just wait a second. He says sorry..."

"Not a good sign." The girl commented wryly.

Sent: [09:18] Lestrade

You're not suggesting, what I think you're suggesting. Right?

From: [09:20] Lestrade

trust m. if it wsnt fr an emrgncy i would nt be suggesting it. please, jst for an hour or two. i'll get someone down thre promise. i'm being hassled off the phone nw.

Glancing at the young girl dismally, John could not help but feel the urge to tell her honestly what was happening. She would understand. He had a feeling she sort of knew already. He really shouldn't be doing this. But Lestrade was miles away now. He couldn't just cast the kid out.

"Grace. I'm afraid, he's sort of... on his way to something really important."

"Figured." The girl shrugged, "Then where do I go?"

"Um, well. Here." John said limply, watching the girl's eyes go wide.

"But I want to go to Mummy." Grace seemed to sigh, crossing her arms, "I can't just stay here...I don't even know you!"

"True. But I'm... I'm a friend of your dad's," John said, forcing a smile, "It'll only be for an hour anyway..." God forbid, "Not long."

Eyes placing themselves on his phone screen, John decided that perhaps Sherlock would be asleep for another hour and they should all be safe.

Sent: [09:24] Lestrade

Fine.

From: [09:25] Lestrade

Thank you, John. I owe you. Take care of her, please.

And also, keep him away from her.

Sent: [09:25] Lestrade

Who?

From: [09:26] Lestrade

You know who.

Smirking a little, John glanced at the young girl who stood, ogling him from head-to-toe. Clearly, she was checking he wasn't some insane serial killer or something. He was quite the opposite actually. But he wasn't sure how much she knew of her dad's line of work.

"So, I guess you're stuck with me for an hour, Grace." He stated, putting on his best doctor Watson smile. Unfortunately, the smile was a bit patronizing and the girl noticed.

"I suppose." The girl seemed to breath outwardly, stuffing her phone away in her bag.

John eyed her, knowing instantly why the hell it was he avoided the talk of children like the plague. And why, him and Sarah always made sure they were as careful as nature would allow them.

For they could end up with pint-sized headaches like these.

"So, what do you do for fun, Mr. James?"

"John." He cleared his throat stiffly, "It's John."

"Oh, oops sorry," She giggled, "John. Mr. John. What do you do for fun Mr. John?"

As a child, John Watson had been a scientific dork. Thus why, he never really had an idea what it was fellow children did for fun in his day. That just meant that now - he was even more clueless. Bloody fantastic...

"I've got some more Countdown episodes on the box." John suggested lamely.

Grace seemed to look at him like he had grown a massive mole on his face. John just felt himself feeling belittled. He was being degraded by a child.

"You weren't serious were you?" She asked him, worried.

John exhaled, watching her expression with glazed eyes. "Er - no?" Grace giggled at his face again. John just blinked, feeling like he was a century old.

Heck. This was going to be a long day. And Sherlock wasn't even awake yet.

A/N: So, how will Sherlock fare when he wakes up? I'm certain he's going to be thrilled by the appearance of a child!

Yes, I was being sarcastic.