As it turns out, there was more to taking care of a toddler than just comforting one when it's sad. The list ranged from naps to certain amounts of sugar intake to certain types of shampoo and conditioner. While he was reading on what he needed to know, he realized he didn't have anything that a toddler would need. He could go shopping himself, but he despised shopping. He could call Mycroft, but he hated that idea even more. He decided he would text Lestrade and see if he had any ideas. Soon after he got a text back from Lestrade saying that he would pick up some clothes when he was done at work, and in return, Sherlock said he could use his card (it was actually Mycroft's, but the detective inspector didn't need to know that, did he?). Sherlock shut his laptop and pushed it aside, grabbing the case file for the case he and John had been working on before… before, all this happened.

He only got through the first three pages before the sound of small feet padding their way down the stairs was heard. He looked over and saw John standing in the doorway, rubbing his tired eyes with his tiny fist. He toddled over to Sherlock and attempted to climb onto his lap, but in the end, Sherlock had to lift him up. John yawned a big yawn and Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle as John leaned against him, wanting to go back to sleep.

"Morning, John."

"Mowning Sherwock."

"No more bad dreams last night?" John shook his head and Sherlock smiled before laying a kiss on John's small temple. "Good. Do you want some cereal?"

"Yes pwease."

Sherlock stood with John on his hip and walked into the kitchen. He took the box of cheerios and poured some into a bowl before getting the milk out of the fridge. He reached around the arm that resided there and pulled out the carton.

"Sherwock, no body parts in the fwidge," John scolded. He apparently remembered Mrs. Hudson's many scoldings about limbs in the fridge.

"I'm so sorry, John. Can you ever forgive me?" he asked dramatically, a playful smile on his lips. John giggled and nodded. Sherlock smiled again and sat John down on a chair. When he realised that John was to short to reach the table by himself, he moved him over to the coffee table in the living room. John ate his breakfast without making too much of a mess, which Sherlock was thankful for. Once he was done, John toddled over to the loo and tried to reach the handle. Sherlock walked over and opened the door for him. He got a small stool so John could get onto the toilet and let him do what he needed to do. About four minutes later, he could hear John giggling. He walked over once again and knocked on the door. The giggling stopped and Sherlock became suspicious.

"John, what are you doing in there?" This earned him another giggle, and Sherlock pushed the door open. He stepped inside and saw John, and in front of him was a pile of shaving cream that had been spread onto areas such as the walls, sink and tub. Sherlock looked around at all the shaving cream-covered areas and then back at the toddler responsible as a sigh escaped his lips.

"John, what am I going to do with you?" John just stuck his hands in the cream again, squeezing his small hands to squish it between his fingers. Sherlock sighed and went to pick John up. John reacted to that by wiping the shaving cream on Sherlock's face. Sherlock stood still for a moment before taking a bit of the cream on his finger and dabbing it on John's nose. John burst out in a fit of laughter and Sherlock couldn't help laugh too. Once the laughter died down Sherlock looked John over again. He had shaving cream in his hands, on his face and in his hair.

"You know you need to take a bath now, right?" Sherlock almost laughed at how fast John's expression changed. The giant smile the toddler had been flashing a moment ago and was now replaced with a death glare.

"No!" John protested.

"Now John…"

"No!"

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes, John." Sherlock made sure his tone wasn't harsh but strict enough that John he was serious. John pouted, but didn't try to argue again. Sherlock turned the water on, making sure that it wasn't to hot or cold, like the website had said. Once he found it satisfactory, he undressed John. He was about to put him in the bath, when he noticed the bruises running up and down his arms, legs, neck chest and back.

"Oh, John," he whispered. He decided not to a ask John about it. He didn't want to make John remember the experience. He placed John inside carefully, and took a rag and held it over John's eyes while he dumped water over his head with a cup. He couldn't wash John's hair since he didn't have childrens shampoo but he could at least get John cleaned off. He took the bar of soap and gripped it with the small flannel he had used to cover John's eyes. He ran it up and down John's arms, back, chest and tummy carefully, before taking the cup once again and rinsing the soap off the child's skin. He made a mental note that bathing a child would easy, if said child hadn't been hell-bent on soaking him throughout the process.

Once John was clean Sherlock drained the water and wrapped John in a towel. He took the small boy up to his room and put him in another one of his jumpers. This one, obviously, was too big also, but until Lestrade showed up later that day, it would have to do. He then took John back downstairs and set him back at the coffee table, this time with some paper and a pen to keep him entertained. The two-year-old drew for about an hour while Sherlock continued to read the case file. Apparently, the two men that had kidnapped John had kidnapped several other people at some point as well. They had been testing a new chemical from the russian compound. For once, Lestrade was right about something related to the case.

He heard the clink of a tea cup and John with a minor surprised "oh". He looked over to see that John had knocked the tea cup over and it now spilled over the edge of the table. Sherlock sighed and said "John, for God's sake, do be careful."

"Sowwy Sherwock," John said, tears in his eyes. He didn't mean to make Sherlock mad.
Sherlock looked down at the toddler, and the irritated look in his eyes melted a little. He sighed and shook his head. "It's fine, just, be more careful, okay?" he asked. He ruffled John's hair and walked into the kitchen to get something to get something to clean the spill. When he walked into the living room, he saw John look down at his drawing sadly. Some of the tea had gotten onto the paper and now covered half of it. Sherlock walked over and looked down at the picture, it was of him and John, or so he guessed by the large coat on one of the figures, and they were running down the street. It was a decent drawing for a two-year-old. Now it was covered in tea and tear stains. Sherlock picked the paper up and held it in front of himself and John so they could both see it.

"Is this you and me?" he asked.

John nodded sadly. "It was."

Sherlock looked at John sadly. He didn't know why, but he hated seeing John upset; weather it was as an adult or little kid. He pulled the small child up on his lap and held the picture in front of them both. "It's very good," he praised. "What are we doing?"

"Running from the hound, wemember?"

This made Sherlock stop. "You remember the hound?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember any of our other cases? Or the war, or…" he really didn't want to mention his fall, to risk John remembering and lose the trust and safety that he felt in the detective. John looked up at him confused. "Apparently not." John handed the picture to Sherlock.

"I dwew it for you."

"For me? Oh, thank you John," he said as he gave the child on his lap a small squeeze and put the paper down on the now clean table. Sherlock looked over at the clock. It was noon, and he remembered the website saying something about small children taking naps around this time. "I suppose I should put you'd down for a nap now." John shook his head furiously. "John we've been through this before." John shook his head furiously again. Sherlock sighed and turned John around so that he was facing Sherlock. "Now, John. I have work that I have to do and you need to take a nap. Understood?" Sherlock asked sternly. John pouted, but didn't argue. Sherlock picked the young boy up and carried him up the stairs to his room. He pulled the covers back and laid John down gently before tucking him in, and turning to leave.

"Sherwock!" John called out. Sherlock sighed and turned to the small boy. He was expecting an argument, but turned to see John with his arms outstretched towards the detective, a look of worry in his eyes.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked as he walked back over to the bed and sat sown next to John.

John wrapped his arms as far as he could around Sherlock's middle, which was only about halfway. What he said next near broke Sherlock's heart. "Don't let them hurt me again."

Sherlock wrapped his long arms around John's small body and hugged him tight. "Don't worry, I'll never let them hurt you again."

"Will you stay here wiff me?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock. The detective noticed that the worry was still in his eyes.

Sherlock looked to the door, he really did have work to do, but when he looked into the eyes of the scared little boy, he couldn't bring himself to say no. He could stay until John fell asleep, then go attend to his work. So he nodded and laid down on the bed next to John as the toddler snuggled into his side, tucked his thumb in his mouth and fell asleep, feeling safe and protected as his tiny hand grasped Sherlock's shirt.

As planned, Sherlock began to get up but there was a whimper as he did and the small hand gripped his shirt tighter. He sat still for a moment, then carefully detached the small hand from his shirt and got up. There was another small sound of protest but before John could wake up, Sherlock soothed his hair and placed a kiss on the small boys forehead. He continued to soothe his hair until he was certain John wouldn't notice his absence, gently pulled the thumb out of his mouth, and then left to go downstairs, closing the door quietly, but keeping it open a small crack in case John woke up and needed him.