I don't own Sherlock or Supernatural. They both belong to their creators. Also, I messed with the timestreams a little

Dean laid down in the back seat of the Impala, his baby brother cradled against his chest. Sammy's soft, even breaths usually lulled the boy to sleep, but he was far from tired. His dad said that they were going on a plane. Dean shuddered involuntary, clutching Sam closer. Sam gurgled and smacked his lips, blinking his eyes open for a minute before nestling back into sleep.

Dean giggled softly then looked at his father through the front seat window. He truly didn't know who his father was right now. He missed the man who used to play football with him, watch cartoons with him, and who read to him at night. That man was no longer around, not since Mo-.

Deans' eyes filled with tears and a whimper let out automatically. It's been two months since his mom died and he still felt like it was yesterday. He'll never be held by her or be given peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made by her and her love ever again. Sammy would never have any memory of their mother; he wouldn't even know how much she loved Sam.

I'll love him like you did Mommy. I promise. I wish you were here.

"Daddy?" John grunted in surprise then turned toward his son, "Yeah, buddy?"

"Why are we going on a plane?" John gave his son a sad smile and murmured, "We're going to see someone who knew Mommy, ok? She's a very kind-hearted woman. We need a change of pace for now, okay little buddy?"

Dean nodded solemnly, "Okay, Daddy." John nodded at him and Dean let out a ghost of a smile. The boy turned and curled around Sam protectively, closing his eyes. Johns' heart filled with tenderness as he watched his younger son unconsciously fist the toddlers' shirt. John looked up at the sky, his voice reflecting the pain he felt in his heart.

Mary…

….

"Mrs. Watson, thank you so much for seeing us. I just wish it wasn't under these circumstances."

Mrs. Watson smiled sadly at John and his two sons. "It's no trouble at all, dear. I'm so sorry about Mary. She was a sweet girl-real bright and curious." John nodded, a little mixture of nostalgia, love, and grief in his eyes. Mrs. Hudson moved her gaze from John to the little boy hiding behind Johns' back, eyes suspicious and frightened.

"Hello, Dearest. What's your name?" Dean looked up at his father for reassurance and when John nodded, Dean whispered, "Dean Winchester, ma'am." Mrs. Hudson felt her heart break at the lost tone that no boy should use at the age Dean was.

"Well Dean. Want to have some cookies?" Dean nodded, staring down at his hands. Mrs. Hudson gently held out her hand and Dean took it (after some encouragement from his father). Mrs. Hudson smiled sadly at the child, then turned to John again.

"Is there anything I can do for you, John?" The man looked at his four year old then turned toward the baby in his arms. John bit his lip in indecision, then turned to Mrs. Hudson.

"Actually…can you allow a couple more tenants?"

…

"But, Daddy, I don't want you to go away. Why can't Sammy and I come too?" John sighed and knelt down in front of his son.

"Dean, Daddy is just going back home for a while. I need to find out about something. I'll be back for you soon. Take care of Sammy for me, okay, buddy?" Dean nodded, sniffling.

"I will, Daddy." Dean and John hugged quickly and the boy turned and went to Mrs. Hudson, gripping onto her skirt. Sammy was in Mrs. Hudsons' arms, enjoying the bottle of milk that was given to him before John left. John got into the waiting taxi and waved goodbye.

….

"Now, Sweetheart, this is you and your brothers' room. I think I still have my childs' cradle that could be used for a bed. Can you watch him for me?" Dean nodded, sat down on the floor, and held his arms out for his baby brother.

"MRS. HUDSON!"

Mrs. Hudson let out a small gasp, and murmured, "Oh my." She turned around and a tall man with dark, curly hair, pale skin, and blue-green eyes appeared in the doorway. He looked like someone who was jittery and yet doesn't move much at the same time.

"I need a case, Mrs. Hudson. I don't care what it is! I just need-oh." Dean ducked his head, feeling the intense stare on his head. Dean felt hot and kept his mind off the strange man by letting Sam play with his fingers.

"Who is that child, Mrs. Hudson?"

Dean started when he felt a gentle hand atop his head. "This is Dean Winchester and his little brother, Sam. They're the sons of a dear friend of mine." She turned down toward Dean, "Dean, this is Sherlock Holmes."