"Well you're dressed up for a visit to little old me." Sherlock commented, immediately recognizing the evening dress of the husband and wife before him.

"Yes, well we're not all visiting, are we?" John chuckled. Sherlock's forehead immediately wrinkled and he frowned. John paled. "You're not serious are you? We asked if Jack could visit with you for a little while."

"If Jack could…" Sherlock immediately thought back to the brief phone conversation. At the time, he had been trying to finish off a murder case and also more than a little irritated that his brother was sitting there in the room with him sipping tea, so he had failed to pay much thought to John's asking to pay a visit. "You want me to babysit?"

Mary smiled and rested her hand on top of John's left, which held the baby seat and carrier.

"There's no one else we'd rather trust, dear. You're very observant and on top of everything."

Sherlock looked at her incredulously and peaked into the carrier.

"He's learned to drool a lot more, his diaper's wet, he's starting to get hungry, and he's going to wake up any minute because his father is shaking his carrier too much." He looked back up at his two…friends. His former flatmate looked a little taken aback, but recovered quickly, steadying his tiring arm.

"Oh, Sherlock, it's only for a little while." Mary chuckled.

"I—but you're changing the diaper."

John smiled happily and set the baby down on the floor before going to "get some more things." Mary set a large bag down and quickly took the infant out in order to change his diaper. The baby reacted in no time with a long, high pitched wail.

"Make it stop!"

"Sherlock, he's just a baby and we've just woken him up in a new place."

"New?! He's been here before! It's hardly new!"

"He doesn't live here."

"Well can't he just be quiet?" His question was ignored as Mary cleaned her son up and lifted him into her arms before wrapping up his changing pad and the rest of his things.

"Here's a little pen for him to rest in, if he falls asleep again before we get back." John set a larger, rectangular, blue, square bag on the ground next to the carrier.

"His bottles are in the bag, make sure to warm them up a little before you give them to him. They're in a cooler. The burp clothe is with it, be sure to burp him before you let him down or he'll colic."

"Why would you put them in a cooler if you're just going to—"

"His pacifier is in the bag as well, there are two. If he drops one, you have to sanitize it before you give it to him. So just give him the other one. Don't let him have it for too long, it's a bad habit. His diapers, wipes, changing pad, and spare clothes are in the bag as well." Mary smiled. Most mothers were nervous the first time they left their baby with someone other than themselves, but Sherlock was different and he was going to do just fine.

"What if I run out of milk. Is there someone from which I can get more?" His tone was entirely serious, and he was looking at the eerily calm baby who'd taken to pulling at his mother's shirt.

"What?" John asked, his face all scrunched into a look of utter horror and confusion.

"Well it's not like I can produce milk to feed young offspring. Where do I get more from? The hospital? The whorehouse down the road? Should I call—"

"You're not serious?" Mary was laughing as John practically ripped his hair out. "For being the most intelligent man I know, you're really stupid."

"It's an honest question!"

"No, no it's not. You're trying to ruin our night with your silliness because you don't want to have to deal with taking care of another human being. Get used to it Sherlock, this is the real world!"

"John!" Mary tried to scold him, but she was smiling nonetheless.

"He's not my child, I hardly know what to do with him—"

"Well, figure it out."

Sherlock's bright blue eyes widened as Mary passed him the baby, still clinging to her shirt. She slowly and gently peeled his fingers off before kissing him on the forehead. The baby cooed before falling quiet in Sherlock's unfamiliar, tense arms.

"You know our numbers if you need anything, just ring." She gave him a small, parting smile and John nodded.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded, unable to speak, a million thoughts racing in his mind before—SHRIEK!

And the baby was screaming again at the sound of the closing door.


The stairs were dark and all was quiet as a shadowy figure ascended the stairs to the flat. Something was hidden in her hand and she tiptoed with great care, just barely making it to the door at the top before there was a loud buzzing and the object in her hands lit up to illuminate her face.

"You should have put it on silent, that's a green mistake." The lights flickered on.

She jumped and turned around, face-to-face with another figure, this one much taller that she. Stern anger met the gaze of pure terror as blue eyes met blue. Both the man and the adolescent girl sported dark, curly hair, the man's slowly graying with age and stress and far shorter than hers—though still brushing past his ears even in his age.

"D-d-dad." The girl pressed her back against the door nervously.

"You're getting sloppy, Molly." There was a moment of silence. "Get inside. Now."

The girl spun around and scrambled with the key in the lock, only to find it was open. Quickly, she jumped inside.

"What were you thinking? Sneaking out? As if I couldn't find you!"

"Well go on then! You didn't!" Molly defied, obviously still scared as a wet, baby kitten, but ever stubborn. "You didn't find me. You'd known I stepped out, and that's all."

"That's all? You put the address into your cellphone, Molly. I found you in a heartbeat. You're still logged into your maps on your laptop and I no more than had to look at recent destinations. Conveniently, it even gives your search time." He smirked, arms crossed. "What. Were. You. Thinking?"

"I wanted to go out!"

"You didn't ask?"

"I thought you'd say no!" She countered quickly.

"Why would I say no? It's a Friday, no classes tomorrow. Your violin lesson has been cancelled, so you can sleep in until far beyond noon. You went to Matty's house, she's a nice girl, right?" He had his back turned, mid-pace. "Except of course," He turned back around, "I did forget the detail that her parents are on holiday, she's been left with her older brother—he's in University now—there were drugs, drinking, and dancing involved with boys your age and older, and—"

"Dad, I'm old enough to drink—"

"You will never be old enough to do illegal drugs." The man snapped. "And you certainly aren't old enough for whatever has twisted your bra strap in the back. Fix it, it's bothering me and I hardly needed to find out that way."

"I wasn't having sex, da. Matty just jokingly unhooked it. It's fine, ok? I put it back on without taking my shirt of and moved on with my life, I didn't notice."

He kept his mouth in a firm line. "Go to bed."

"Ok, ok!" She hurried towards her room.

"No, you're sleeping on the floor in mine. I won't be letting you disappear again."

"You're just angry I got out and you didn't realize it." She accused.

"I am angry, Molly," The man spoke through gritted teeth, "Because you lied and went somewhere without my permission."

"I don't need your permission, da. I'm perfectly—"

"If you didn't need it, you hardly would have snuck out. You're staying with me, that's final." He faced the door, meaning his back was turned to her. His hands were in fists at his sides, head down.

"Is this what you did to mom?" His head lifted, but he didn't turn. "Is that why she left? You made her stay—"

"That woman is a felonious whore who makes her money through fear, domination, manipulation, and sex!" He roared, having had enough teenage angst for the night. Even still, through the anger, there was a pang of anguish and a flash of hurt in his eyes.

"She's the only one you've ever loved."

"She was also smart, clever, cunning, witty—"

"—Sexy," Molly snorted, making a mockery of her own father.

"And yes, I might have loved her." He snapped, cutting her off. "Get changed and wash up. You've been set up in my room."


"She toyed with you. She manipulated you, Sherlock." John shouted, standing up. "And you let her!"

"John, please!" His best friend was up and pacing, pulling at his medium-length, dark curls. His voice was raw, his eyes were red and tears stained his cheeks. "Please."

John opened his mouth to speak, but instead released a surprised shout of "oi!" as Sherlock collapsed at his feet. He had never seen him so upset, never seen him in such a state of panic and distress.

"I love her, please." He begged.

"Ok, ok, you love her. That doesn't make this ok, Sherlock."

"She can't, she can't do this—not to me."

"Has it ever gone through your, pardon, bloody brilliant mind or holidayed through your 'thought castle'—or whatever you want to call it—that she has no more love for you than your brother does for mankind? Or that she's manipulating you again, just to watch you suffer?" The words were still harsh and he presented them with the tone to match.

They were deemed useless, however, and the begging, pleading, and crying continued—more loudly now.

"John, please, you value life more than I do. Please."

"Oh, good, and now you're manipulating me." He threw his hands up in the air, thoroughly exasperated.

"Please, stop her. Please, she can't do this. She can't do this to me."

"How do you suppose I do that? Who's to say she'll even come to the hospital, Sherlock. There's plenty of people she can go to, plenty of underground surgeons—"

"Her body is her work, it's her living. She can't take a risk like that. Please." The man at his feet was choking back the sobs that visibly wracked his body, but he was hardly going to relent in his plea. "John, you have to."

"Who's going to take care of it then? You're still scared of Jack, two years later."

Sherlock's eyes met his, a glimmer of hope now shining in them.

"I'm not taking in your bastard child, Sherlock. You are not my troubled, adolescent son, despite your behaviour." John snapped.

Sherlock's face paled further.

"So what do you want to do then? I can try to save the kid—"

"My kid."

"Right, your kid. I can try to save it, but I am sorry that I can't promise anything and I certainly cannot and will not take your child into my home." His gaze had softened to being genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, you're my best friend. I can't take another kid in with everything going on in my family's life right now."

"I-I-I-I'll do it." Sherlock finally stammered out, his head spinning. Thoughts were running more wildly through his head than the day John asked him to be his best man, more wildly than the day…

Than the day The Woman came back for a visit.

"I'll do it, it's my kid. It's my fault. I can do it. I can do it." He sounded like he was coaching himself through the decision, and in a way he was.

John sighed, kneeling beside the other man on the floor. Sherlock was green in the face, feeling just dizzy and scared enough to vomit the food he hadn't had the guts to eat in the first place.

"I'm going to be sick…but I can do it…"

"Sherlock, I need an answer right now."

He hadn't said any of it out loud.