The bell rang fairly early the next morning, heralding Lestrade and Donovan before breakfast had even been finished. Or entirely started, for that matter. John had made tea but was waiting for Ian to wake up before actually eating anything.

"Sherlock, John," Lestrade said by way of greeting. "Sorry to bother you so early. We've got a possible kidnapping."

Sherlock lifted his brow. "Possible, inspector?"

"The mother was ill yesterday, and when the nanny came in today, she couldn't find the boy. We're not quite sure if he's runaway or if he's been taken. Apparently the father isn't in the picture, and while the nanny said he has visitation rights, she's been trying his phone but there's no answer, which makes it suspicious."

"This doesn't seem like your usual case, Lestrade," Sherlock said. "Nor does it sound like one you need me for."

"Apparently the kid is the grandson of an earl, or something. I don't have all the details, but we're heading over to the scene now. I know how you like to get your impressions first, so…"

"What's the child's name?" John asked, a curiously strained expression on his face, one that Sherlock couldn't quite identify.

Lestrade pulled out his notes. "Er … Ian Brandon. Nine years old. And he's the great-grandson of the Earl of Undershaw."

John had sprung to his feet and was rummaging at the desk. He swore as he held up his phone. "Crap. The battery's dead."

Sherlock watched as John fumbled for the charger and plugged in the phone. He turned it on and winced when he saw the number of messages, and then hurriedly placed a call. "Hannah? It's John. Didn't Clara tell you? Ian's with me. She dropped him off yesterday. Yes, he's asleep upstairs. He's fine. Yes, I know. If you could stand them down? Right. Yes. I'll let you know later on. And … I'm assuming you told… right. I'll call him next."

He ended the call and glanced over at the others, and this time Sherlock recognized the chagrin on his face, blended with embarrassment. He was already placing another call as he looked at Lestrade. "You can stand down, Greg. You actually met … Hello? Grandfather? Ian's fine. Hannah over-reacted. Apparently Harry was so drunk yesterday, Clara didn't want to leave him with her, and since it was Hannah's day off and Clara couldn't bear staying in the flat, she dropped him off with me. He's fine. Yes, I know, I'm sorry. My phone died and I didn't realize."

He spoke for a few more minutes while Sherlock, Lestrade, and Donovan stared. None of them were quite sure what was going on (something Sherlock at least was unused to), but he was reluctant to get in the way of John's urgent phone call. He was still having trouble absorbing the fact that apparently John's grandfather was an earl.

In fact, as soon as John had ended his call, Sherlock blurted it out. "Your grandfather's an earl?"

John pulled in a deep breath. "Yeah." He looked over to Lestrade. "Sorry about that. Ian's nanny is well-meaning but not the brightest of girls. When she came to work this morning and found Harry still unconscious from yesterday's bender and Ian nowhere in sight, she panicked. Obviously my phone isn't as reliable as it used to be, because it completely failed on the job, and since nobody could reach me … I can't believe she went to the police with this."

"But … an earl?"

John winced at the disbelief in Lestrade's tone. "Yeah. And you met Ian yesterday, when Clara dropped him off."

"But," said Donovan, sounding bewildered, "That was your nephew, wasn't it?"

John shook his head. "It's a long story, but no, that's my son." He pulled his wallet out and removed two photos, which he handed to Sherlock. The first was of John and a petite blonde in wedding clothes, beaming at the camera. The second, a weary mother holding a newborn. He handed the pictures to Lestrade as John explained. "Mary died when Ian was only three days old, and since I was still deployed overseas, my sister and her wife took him in. It's just that now that their marriage is falling apart—again—well, it's not working anymore."

There was a noise from the stairs and Sherlock looked up to see Ian hesitating by the doorway, hair tousled and face still bleary from sleep. "I'm sorry. I can come back…"

"No, come in. This is actually about you," John said, reaching out a hand, curving it around his son's head. "Hannah over-reacted."

The boy groaned. "She didn't call the police again, did she?"

"Again?"

He nodded. "Grandfather told her she should call him first if there are problems, but she doesn't listen."

Lestrade took a step forward and said, his voice friendly, "We sort of met yesterday. I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade. I often work with John, er, your dad."

Ian stepped forward and held out his hand. "Ian Brandon. Nice to meet you."

"Brandon?" He looked at John. "He goes by your sister's name, then?"

John shook his head. "No, he uses mine. My full name's John Hamish Watson Brandon—I use my mother's name professionally. Ian, are you hungry?"

At the child's nod, he moved toward the kitchen. "Come on, I'll make some tea, and you can ask your questions while we eat."

#

John ignored the others as he moved around the kitchen, pulling out the cereal, milk, and juice he'd bought yesterday. He focused on his son, trying not to think about how few times he'd made him breakfast in his lifetime—and how doing so in front of the police wasn't exactly the way he'd dreamed about this moment.

Still, he concentrated on putting Ian at ease. Luckily for him, Ian had inherited his own easy-going nature instead of Mary's high-strung one. He had treated his visit so far as more of an adventure than anything, and the idea of eating in front of Sherlock and two police officers didn't seem to faze him at all. Ian answered questions like, "Do you want eggs?" "More toast?" but otherwise just sat quietly and watched the goings-on with interest.

John totally understood—he felt the same way when Sherlock and Donovan were in a room together. It was hard to find higher entertainment value these days.

Lestrade waited patiently while they ate, making idle small talk, but not addressing the bigger questions (and John admitted the questions were really quite big). He asked Ian about school and which football teams he liked, but didn't go near the reasons he was visiting with his father today. He didn't mention Clara or Harry's drinking. Nor did he address how John had left his son to be raised by someone else.

Donovan more or less just glared at all of them—except for Ian. Ian got sympathetic looks—presumably for his non-traditional upbringing.

Sherlock just looked intrigued. John hadn't decided yet whether that was encouraging or really frightening.

They had finished eating and John was just at about to send Ian upstairs to get dressed when the doorbell rang. He heard Mrs Hudson answering and telling the callers to go right up. He turned to look to see who it was, and was almost knocked over by a three-foot blur as Ian flew by, shouting, "Granddad!"

Sure enough, there was John's father, with his 89-year old grandfather struggling up the stairs behind him. Damn it, he thought. What were they thinking? He tried not to think about the mess spread across the flat as he stepped forward past the goggling Lestrade and Donovan to say hello. "Father, Grandfather, this is unexpected. May I introduce my flatmate, Sherlock Holmes? And this is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and Sergeant Sally Donovan from Scotland Yard. This is my grandfather, David Brandon, the Earl of Undershaw, and my father, Jonathan Brandon." He looked at the latest arrivals. "We've only just finished breakfast. We would have come to you, you know."

"After the chaotic morning, we wanted to see Ian for ourselves," said Jonathan. "But … the police, John? I'm so sorry, detective inspector. It seems our nanny over-reacted. I do apologize, though I'm impressed you made it here so quickly."

Lestrade gave a small shrug. "To be honest, we didn't know Ian was here when we arrived."

"No?"

"We were actually hoping to ask for Sherlock and John's help to find the boy, not realizing that he was John's son…"

"I'm afraid I'm a bit confused," John's grandfather said, walking slowly over to Sherlock's chair to sit down.

"That's my fault," John said, walking over and handing the elderly man a cup of tea. "I never told you that my flatmate is a Consulting Detective. He helps the police out, solving cases—usually the confusing ones. It's just sheer luck that the case was assigned to Greg and that he came here on the way to Harry's to ask for Sherlock's help. As soon as he said the name, I was able to clear things up. As luck would have it, Clara handed Ian over in front of the police yesterday, so I'm not in trouble for kidnapping, either—or at least, I hope not."

Lestrade chuckled and shook his head while Sherlock looked indignant. "I would have got you off if they had, John."

"Thanks, Sherlock." John just shook his head. "I still can't believe Hannah called the police. Didn't Clara leave a note, or something?"

"Apparently not," his grandfather said, smiling at Ian. "If this keeps up, we're going to need to get you your own phone, my boy, since your father's doesn't seem reliable enough."

"I don't know how it lost its charge so fast," said John, wanting to kick himself for letting all this happen. "I should probably get a new one."

"I took care of that already," said his father, calmly sipping at his cup. "I hadn't realized your phone was unreliable. We're adding you to the family service plan—your new phone should be here this afternoon."

"That's not necessa…" John started, but his grandfather cut him off.

"No, but it's efficient. I thought you liked efficiency? I had no idea you were using Harry's old phone. There's no reason for that."

"It works just fine, Grandfather. Er, well, usually," John said. "I don't need a new phone…"

"But you're getting one."

John wanted to scream. He wasn't 12 years-old anymore. He'd been in the army, fought in a war, had been married and widowed. He had a son. He wasn't a child, so why did they persist in treating him like one? It didn't help that Sherlock was smirking in amusement and Donovan, of all people, was hiding a smile. He was never going to live this down.

He tried to recover, though, by saying, "I really am sorry about this mess, but Ian's fine."

His son nodded happily. "Isn't his flat wonderful? They've got a real human skull, and everything!"

John had watched his relatives eyeing the flat and braced himself for their commentary—221B might as well be in an entirely separate world from the elegant homes the rest of his family lived in.

"It's interesting, certainly," John's father said with a smile. "I imagine most of these things are yours, Mr Holmes? John's never been one to acquire many possessions."

His flatmate nodded. "Please call me Sherlock, and, yes. I believe John had all of three boxes and a duffel bag when he moved in."

John shrugged. "I was in the army. I didn't have a chance to accumulate much. The rest is in storage." He tried to ignore the sudden interest he saw on Sherlock's face, presumably already planning on excavating John's life.

He was relieved when Lestrade said, "Fascinating as this all is, Donovan and I have duties to get back to. This case may have been solved in record time, but there are always more of them. I'm guessing this young lad doesn't need a ride home?

"No, thank you, Greg," said John. "I'm sorry Hannah overreacted and caused all this fuss."

Donovan spoke for the first time since his father and grandfather arrived. "I'd like to know why they didn't come find you, when you didn't answer your phone? If they were so frantic?"

Leave it to Donovan, John thought. "Probably because I never gave Harry my address. She'd be over here all the time, and," he glanced at Sherlock. "That wouldn't be good."

"I knew it," Donovan said with a smirk, "You don't want people to know you live with the frea…"

"Donovan!" Lestrade said, voice sharp and loud and it brought all noise and movement in the room to a halt.

She looked around at the frozen faces and looked over at John's grandfather as if realizing she had just been reprimanded in front of an Earl. "Sorry," was all she said, and John saw the abashment on her face—but it was the fact that she was more upset about the audience than in her unprofessional behaviour that tipped him over the edge.

He paused barely a moment before saying, "You should know by now that I have a vastly different opinion of Sherlock than you do, Donovan. It might also surprise you to realize that my life doesn't revolve entirely around him. Judging by the events of today, you might perhaps consider there are reasons I choose not to give my emotionally-needy, over-reacting sister my address, hmm? Not to mention some very good reasons that I haven't shared these interesting tidbits about my family and my personal life with a woman whose discretion and professionalism I have serious cause to doubt?"

John tried not to look at Sherlock, whose face was a picture of satisfaction at seeing Donovan being told off. He couldn't look at his father or grandfather, either, for fear they'd think poorly of his manners. (They sometimes forgot that years in the army and as a doctor—not to mention living with Sherlock—could be detrimental to habits of polite conversation.) From the corner of his eye, he could see an admiring look on Ian's face, but mostly, John kept his eyes on Sally, keeping his face as neutral and polite as possible, but not backing down.

"Er … right," she finally said, looking utterly flummoxed.

Lestrade finally stepped up to let her off the hook. "Yes, we'll have a little talk about this on the way back to the Yard, John. And don't worry about the paperwork. So far as I'm concerned, none of this ever happened, though it was a pleasure to meet your family. You should bring your son to visit, some day. Come on, Donovan. We'll let ourselves out."

#

Note: I admit to being surprised that the idea of John's child took so many people by surprise ... to me, it was the logical next step in this little series of AUs!

And, no, I know this scenario of the police investigating a missing child so quickly probably wouldn't happen (especially not with it being Lestrade), but ... wasn't this a fun way of having them find out? So ... needs must!