"Where is it?" Sherlock demanded, storming into the flat.

The blonde man gestured to the toddler lying on the sofa. "Raven? She's right over—" John started to say, but he was quickly interrupted.

"No, the experiment!" The detective demanded, looking around the flat anxiously. "Where is the experiment?" Before John could answer, Sherlock had found it back in the glass, but the glass had now been moved to the top of the desk. He fished it out and examined it carefully.

"So, is it poisonous?" John asked, crossing his arms. Judging by Sherlock's lack of concern, he didn't think it was as not even Sherlock could be that heartless, but he wanted to be sure.

"No, it's a saline solution," Sherlock replied, turning the dismembered part around carefully. He dropped it back into the glass and cursed. "Bits of the skin are punctured. Weeks of work, ruined! I'll have to start it over."

"It could have been worse," John pointed out, and Sherlock glared at him.

"How, exactly?" He demanded, his eyes as piercing as his voice. "I thought you were supposed to be watching her!"

"I turned my back for a minute, and the next thing I knew, she had… that… in her mouth! I'm sorry!" John replied defensively. "I'm not the one who keeps random body parts around my flat!"

"They're experiments," Sherlock reminded him with a bit of a hiss. "Honestly, how will you ever manage with a child of your own?"

As the words hit him, John dropped his arms. "A child… Sherlock, how…?"

"I ran into your wife this morning," he answered simply. "It wasn't hard to tell, but I did find it a bit odd that she hadn't noticed yet."

"She's been focused on work," John explained. "I've suspected for a few days, but I didn't want to bring it up with her until I was a bit more certain. You know how Molly is; she'll want to start painting the room before we know for sure." He paled. "Sherlock, did you…"

"Am I going t' die?" A tiny voice asked, breaking up their conversation.

"Eventually," Sherlock replied tonelessly.

"What? No! Sherlock!" John snapped at him, before turning back to Raven. "No, no. Don't worry. You'll be fine," he assured her in a softer voice. "Sherlock's back now, so you're going to stay with him." John grabbed his coat that he had left folded over the arm of the chair. "I need to get home."

"Bye bye!" Raven waved with her right hand, chewing on the left.

"No, you can't leave m—"

"I have to, Sherlock, thanks to you no less. I'm surprised Molly hasn't called me already," he said, slipping on his coat. He loved his wife, he really did, but he would hate to see her so excited if he was wrong. "Oh, Raven sometimes drops the 't' sound when she speaks. It could be nothing, or it could be a sign of a hearing problem. I don't think she has one, but could you keep an eye on it?"

"Why would I notice?I'm not a doctor." Sherlock questioned.

"If anyone would notice, it would be you," John replied. "Look after her, Sherlock, and maybe try to make the flat a bit more toddler friendly?"

The dark haired man scoffed in reply. The doctor hoped that meant 'yes, I will,' and waved goodbye to the little girl once more before making his way out the door.

Raven watched him walking down the stairs, before looking at Sherlock with a tiny frown. "You didn' say goodbye! Tha's no' nice!"

Sherlock cringed; John hadn't been joking. "That's not," he corrected her. "There's a lot in the world that's not nice."

"Like wha'?"

"What, and believe me, there is."

"Like?"

He sighed loudly. "Bad people who do bad things."

"Wha' things?"

"Bad things." Before she could ask any more questions on the subject, Sherlock grabbed the television remote and pressed the power. A news programme was airing. "Watch that and be quiet."

Raven pulled herself up into an arm chair and looked at the screen. The people talking held her attention for a brief moment before her face crumpled into a displeased scowl. "Tha's boring!" She declared, looking back to the man who had settled into the chair by the desk.

"Wrong! It's educational," Sherlock corrected, feeling his patience slip away more and more by the moment.

"Nooo!" She responded stubbornly. "Boring!"

Sherlock clenched his teeth together and turned off the television. "Fine, then watch nothing, but be quiet! I need to think."

He folded his hands underneath his chin. The murdered man had been killed by cocaine mixed with arsenic; he was sure of it. Closer examination had revealed traces inside the man's nasal cavity. It could have been a slow poisoning, increasing the dosage each time until it became lethal. But why? Was someone trying to wipe out the drug world their own way, or had it been a hit?

And the stab wounds; the man had obviously been attacked. But why? By whom? He suspected a woman, or someone at least who'd never used a weapon before as the wounds were shallow, possibly suggesting uncertainty or lack of strength. Another drug addict trying to get a hit, or could it have been something more personal? He tapped his fingers together rhythmically. More investigation into the man's life would be needed. He'd—

"I hungry." Sherlock felt a tiny hand tugging on his sleeve. Looking down, he saw Raven looking back up him, his sleeve grasped in one hand and the other holding on to her sorry looking teddy bear.

"I'm hungry," he corrected her impatiently.

"You too?" She asked back.

"No, that's the… never mind," he stood up from the chair. Right. Food. Maybe if he gave her something to eat she'd shut up for a while longer. But what? The fridge was empty, as were the cupboards. He frowned. That was strange; usually there was something around.

Mrs. Hudson. She had always kept the kitchen somewhat stocked. Without her, no food. The thought of grocery shopping hadn't even crossed his mind in months.

The little girl was still looking at him with expectant grey eyes.

"How do you feel about Chinese food?" He asked at last.