Chapter 4

"Who let you have a small child? Did he kidnap you, sweetheart?" Harry hid his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck, one single eye peeking out alight with curiosity.

"Sergeant Sally Donovan, meet my cousin, Sherry Holmes." 'Sherry' let out a soft giggle but didn't stop hiding while Donovan stared at the pair.

"Sherlock, you're here! We've got…who is this?" Lestrade stopped up short, his professional, grim attitude that spoke of a particularly unpleasant murder scene dropping right off his face in his surprise.

"This is Sherry Holmes," Sherlock answered, and Harry giggled again. "Sherry, meet Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Pleased to meet you," Lestrade said, his features gentling slightly in the face of the little boy and he offered his hand. Harry smiled at him but didn't take the hand, choosing to shift in Sherlock's hold instead, still hiding in the nape of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock frowned slightly but Lestrade was not put out in the slightest. Lestrade's expression did change slightly as he moved his attention from the child to the man.

"Sherlock, you cannot bring the boy into the crime scene."

"Of course not," Sherlock answered, using his free hand to pull a small, laminated bit of paper from his pocket, "John told me. Rule number six, Harry is not to be taken to crime scenes no matter what, nor to stake outs, nor on chases, not even if they would be good learning experiences."

"Then why is he here?" Lestrade asked, his question coming over Donovan's softer 'I thought he was called Sherry'.

"Rule number two, Harry is not to be left alone no matter what and he is not to be left behind. John is at work and Mrs. Hudson is out, so Sherry is with me. I will, of course, leave him 'near' the crime scene rather than take him to it. I'm sure London's finest should be adequate to watch a child for a short while."

"We aren't your babysitters," Donovan protested, "A child doesn't belong here. I can't even imagine that anyone would let some poor child…"

"Sergeant Donovan," Lestrade interrupted, his voice soft but severe and she stopped talking to look at him. He gave her a look.

"Sir," she said, her tone quietly furious, "I don't think it's appropriate…"

"Please watch…Harry?... for the time it takes us to look over the crime scene," Lestrade said, his voice still soft but brooking no argument. Sherlock looked smug as Donovan silently conceded to his authority, though the look she sent Lestrade was positively vicious.

"Alright, Sherry," Sherlock said, lowering Harry to the ground, "Stay with Sally. I will return soon." Harry looked up at him with obvious reluctance and trepidation over this turn of events.

"You must stay, Uncle John's rules say so. Stay. Good boy." And with a final pat on his head, Sherlock gently pushed him in the general direction of Sgt Donovan before turning away and following a rather bemused Lestrade to the scene. Behind them, Donovan was saying, "Come along, sweetheart, you can tell me all about living with 'Uncle John' and Sherlock."

Lestrade allowed Sherlock his initial investigation before giving in to his natural curiosity (and perhaps just a hint of hurt) to say, "You never mentioned having a son."

"Cousin, actually. And I didn't know before two weeks ago."

"I suppose Dr. Watson has been helping out, then?" Sherlock paused in his analyzing of blood spatters to finally take notice of the DI's attempts at prying.

"He's Sherry's second guardian, yes," and then in a bland tone he continued with, "Would you like to come over and meet him?"

"Yes, actually, I rather would like that. I know you don't exactly consider us friends, but…"

"I don't have any friends."

"…I still feel…what do you mean you don't have any friends? What about John?"

"He…doesn't count. Besides, he's my husband, not my friend."

Lestrade hadn't been drinking at that moment, but he still choked a bit all the same. Sherlock didn't seem to notice, absorbed once more in the bodies and blood splatters.

Finally, Sherlock declared the scene boring, not worth his time, and that the woman's husband was the culprit upon finding her with her lover ('Obviously, you can tell by the wedding band, the killer left it on the floor, not her finger') and left, well within fifteen minutes. Harry was standing almost where he had been left and Donovan had apparently given up questioning him because both were silent. Harry's uncertain expression changed to a smile when he saw Sherlock returning.

"You stayed. Good boy," Sherlock said, patting the boy once more on the head before pulling a small biscuit from his pocket and giving it to him. Lestrade and Donovan stared. Sherlock stared at them blankly, paused to pull the laminated paper from his pocket and glanced over it, before looking up again. "Problem?" he asked at last in a carefully cheerful manner.

"That child doesn't say a word," Donovan declared, "Have you done something…"

"He can speak. He simply doesn't want to talk to you," Sherlock answered, appearing smug once more. Harry watched them silently, eating his biscuit.

"Sgt Donovan…" Lestrade started, reproach in his tone.

"I'm serious! I'm not sure it's safe letting him have a small child!" Donovan insisted.

"Sgt Donovan," Lestrade repeated, his voice colder, and she backed down, though not without one last vicious look.

"Freak."

"Not freak!" a completely unexpected voice shrieked from the vicinity of their knees and Sally Donovan received a sharp kick to her shin before the small boy responsible retreated to behind Sherlock's legs and beneath his coat, glaring fiercely from his hiding place. Sherlock looked as surprised as anyone. Donovan hesitated a moment, somewhere between apologizing and glaring some more at Sherlock before she finally retreated and left them. Sherlock and Lestrade stood silent and a bit shocked, before Lestrade remembered that he did indeed have a crime scene to look after.

"I'll be coming over soon, to meet your cousin properly," Lestrade said at last, giving the little boy one last smile before stalking off. Sherlock leaned down and twisted himself awkwardly in an attempt to look at the tiny being clinging to his knees.

"Not freak," Harry repeated, and then, "Sorry, sorry," And he burst into tears. Awkwardly, Sherlock managed to untangle the sobbing boy from his legs to pick him up.

"It's alright," he tried, and when Harry continued to sob, clinging tightly now around his neck, he tried patting the boys back and saying, "There, there." Finally, when it was quite obvious the boy was not going to be comforted, he gave up. They would have to get John.

By the time they entered the waiting room, Harry's sobs had gotten quieter but not ceased completely, and nor had his grip on Sherlock. Sherlock continued to occasionally pat the boy's back or offer another 'there, there'. The receptionist looked quite sympathetic as he walked in. He told her at once that he needed to see John and she smiled in a kind manner, asking if he had an appointment. When she started trying to thrust forms upon him, Sherlock finally realized there was a mistake in her understanding of the situation.

"I'm not here for a medical appointment," he explained at last, "John is my husband."

"Oh," she said, looking a bit disconcerted but telling him to take a seat. There were a few other patients sitting in the chairs, some giving sympathetic looks but others appearing rather annoyed at the presence of the crying child. Sherlock resisted the urge to go find John himself, more because he didn't want John angry with him than any need to abide by the rules; John was already certain to not be pleased with his taking Harry near a crime scene, or the fact that Sherlock was so inept at this parenting thing that he couldn't make the child stop crying on his own. Feeling a bit lost, and empty, and hoping that John would hurry up and be there even if he did turn out to be angry, Sherlock finally did take a seat next to an older woman who didn't appear to be carrying too many sick germs and who hadn't expressed annoyance at their presence.

Unfortunately, she also turned out to be not the type to keep to herself, because she immediately turned to them with a look of extreme sympathy.

"Poor little dear. Is he sick?"

"I don't think so," Sherlock answered, frowning at the thought, "He just keeps crying."

"Poor dear," the woman said again, and then, "You might try rocking him. I used to rock my Henry when he fussed like that, and he would quiet right down and go to sleep."

"You think so?" Sherlock asked, and he left off back patting to try swaying.

"Sometimes I'd have to sing him a lullaby," the old woman continued helpfully, "You might try singing softly; it can help just letting them hear your voice, to know you're there."

"Singing?" Sherlock asked dubiously. Well, John had remarked that Harry liked his violin playing. Sherlock hesitated a moment longer, but Harry was still crying, albeit quieter than before, and the swaying wasn't doing anything but making Sherlock's head dizzy. So he ran through a list of songs in his head, trying to decide what might be appropriate before settling on an old French lullaby he remembered his grandmother used to sing.

Harry looked up when he began and the old woman was beaming approvingly, and so thus encouraged, he continued. Harry settled his head back against his shoulder, much quieter now though his eyes were still wet.

Sherlock was concentrating so hard on Harry and his song that he didn't even notice when John finally did arrive, perhaps because John didn't say or do anything to announce his arrival. Only as Sherlock's song trailed off did he make his presence known, sitting down in the free chair on the opposite side from the old woman.

"John," Sherlock said, looking up from the nearly sleeping child.

"Sherlock," John answered, voice soft and gentle as he reached out a hand to smooth back Harry's hair.

"He wouldn't stop crying," Sherlock said at last, with such a look of being lost that John couldn't resist running a hand through Sherlock's hair as well. Someone from somewhere nearby made a happy noise which they ignored.

"He seems quiet now. Falling asleep," John remarked. And he didn't complain that Sherlock had interrupted him at work like Sherlock had feared, and he wasn't telling Sherlock how hopeless he was, how clueless and negligent or asking why anyone let the freak look after a child. He looked oddly warm, perhaps even pleased, which made no sense at all when Sherlock's care had caused their child to cry for nearly an entire hour without stop.

"Yes," was all Sherlock said in reply. And John might not have been a genius detective, but somehow he seemed quite adept at reading all the things Sherlock couldn't say.

"You two seem to be doing alright, now," John said after a moment, "Do you still need me? I'll be off in two hours." Sherlock considered this.

"I think we'll be alright."