A/N: This might be slightly OOC, but I hope not. I tried to imagine what Sherlock would do in a situation like this which would be so far out of his comfort zone, so I hope it worked! It ended up being waaaaay more soft than I had planned, but hopefully that's a good thing XD Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading and enjoy :)


Sherlock sat hunched over the most recent updates in a case he had received a few days prior. At this late hour, the brownstone was mercifully quiet. Joan had gone to stay with her mother for the night while her step-father went away on a short emergency business trip, and Sherlock had assured her that he and Alex would manage fine on their own. Since it was a school night, it would have been inconvenient for Alex to have gone with her, so he'd stayed at the brownstone with Sherlock for the evening. Sherlock had sent Alex to be a few hours earlier and had spent the last few hours working in silence. The clock was now nearing midnight.

Given how quiet the place had been for the last few hours, Sherlock was acutely aware of the sound when a door creaked open upstairs and soft footsteps made their way down the hall. Sherlock recognized them as Alex's footsteps and assumed the boy was just going to the bathroom. However, instead of heading to the bathroom at the end of the hall, the footsteps made their way to the stairs, down them, and to the entrance of the room where Sherlock sat. Sherlock smiled to himself, and without turning around, he said, "you are supposed to be in bed young man."

Alex jumped a little at his voice, and when Sherlock spun his chair around to face the room's entrance, he noticed the boy's face was reddening and he was staring at the floor in slight embarrassment. When Alex said nothing, Sherlock teased, "If your mother finds out I let you get out of bed this late, she'll kill me." Alex looked up at Sherlock and smiled a little, but still said nothing. After an awkward pause, Sherlock raised one eyebrow at Alex and asked, "do you need something Alex?"

Alex shrugged and looked down at the floor. Sherlock could tell something was wrong, but he didn't know what. He always found children harder to read than adults, and to his occasional frustration, Alex was particularly good at hiding his thoughts from him.

Alex shuffled his feet around for a bit and studied his slippers. Finally, he whispered, "I had a nightmare."

"Ahh," Sherlock said, finally understanding why Alex had come downstairs so late. With a quiet sigh, he got up from his desk and headed toward the living room, motioning for Alex to sit on the couch. He did, and Sherlock sat down next to him.

There was another awkward pause while Sherlock tried to decide how best to help Alex, before Alex quietly said, "I usually tell mom when I have nightmares, and she helps me go back to sleep."

Sherlock nodded stiffly, unsure of how to respond. Whenever Alex was upset, Joan usually handled it. Sherlock was not very good at being comforting, so he found himself immensely out of his element in this. "Well," he asked eventually, "what does your mom usually do to help you go back to sleep?"

Alex shrugged. "Different stuff. Usually she tells me stories." Sherlock just hummed in response, so Alex turned to him inquiringly and asked, "do you know any good stories?"

Sherlock fidgeted for a moment before stiffly shaking his head. "None that would banish your nightmares I'm afraid," he said, attempting for levity but falling a bit short. Trying again, he attempted to lighten his voice and said, "perhaps I should have your mother teach me some of her bedtime stories, hmm?"

To Sherlock's relief, Alex grinned and nodded. "Yeah," he said, "she knows a lot of them."

"I'll bet she does," Sherlock agreed.

Alex shifted on the couch so he was staring toward the opposite wall. He grabbed one of the throw pillows and clutched it to his chest, resting his chin on top of it. He sighed, and they lapsed into awkward silence again. Sherlock sought desperately for something comforting he could say, but before he thought of anything, Alex asked, "do you ever have nightmares, Uncle Sherlock?"

Sherlock was momentarily surprised by the question, and he found he was unsure how to answer. As unfamiliar as he was with comforting frightened children, he was even worse at talking about himself. However, he figured that in this situation, honesty would be the best option, so he nodded slowly. "Yes, sometimes," he said quietly.

Alex turned his head to look at Sherlock in surprise? "Really?" he asked. Sherlock just nodded, and Alex smiled a little. "About what?"

Sherlock shrugged uncomfortably. He had no desire to tell the boy the details of his worst nightmares, as that seemed more likely to give Alex more nightmares, which would be counterproductive. Plus, he had never told anyone about his nightmares, and he wasn't about to start now. Instead, he hedged. "Oh, many things," he mused. "Mostly my past. Things I've done, or people I knew, that sort of thing." As he trailed off he noticed that Alex was staring at him. In an attempt to deflect the conversation off himself, Sherlock awkwardly turned so he was facing the boy and asked, "do you want to talk about your dream?"

Alex shook his head. "Not really," he whispered.

Sherlock didn't know what else to say, so they sat there uncomfortably for a few more minutes, each avoiding eye contact with the other. Finally, Alex asked, "Uncle Sherlock?"

"Yes Alex?" Sherlock replied.

Alex quietly asked, "if you don't know any stories, can you make one up?"

Sherlock was tempted to refuse or hedge again. He'd never been any good at making up stories, but the earnest look on Alex's face stopped him. He sighed, ill at ease, but recultantly nodded slowly. "I suppose I could try…" He drawled. Alex smiled, and, putting down the pillow he was holding, he laid on his side on the couch and curled up on the pillow, looking up at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock resisted another sigh and asked, "What kind of stories do you like?"

Alex pondered that for a moment, then said, "how about one where you and me and mom are superheroes?"

Sherlock chuckled at that. "Superheroes huh?" he asked, and Alex grinned, nodding enthusiastically. Sherlock asked, "What should our superpowers be?"

Alex looked thoughtful before replying, "I want to be able to fly, and I think mom should be able to be invisible. She'd like that, don't you think?"

Sherlock nodded, doing his best to look approving. "Oh yes, I think she'd enjoy that very much." He glanced down at where Alex lay smiling up at him from the pillow. "So, what should my power be then?"

Alex didn't have to think twice about that. "You should be able to read minds, because mom always says you can read hers anyway."

Sherlock laughed in surprise. "I assure you, I can't read her mind," he laughed, and Alex looked at him skeptically. "I just know her very well," Sherlock assured him. "But, I think we'd make an excellent trio of superheroes with those three powers."

"Yeah," Alex agreed, "we would."

Trying to put off actually having to come up with a story, Sherlock asked him, "do we need superhero names too?"

Alex yawned and shrugged. "I guess," he sighed. "Like… I can be FlyBoy, you can be MindReader, and mom can be InvisiMom?"

Sherlock snickered. "I'll be sure to call her that from now on," he laughed.

Alex giggled. "When she comes home, we should just call her that, and not tell her why," he said with another yawn.

"She would be very confused," Sherlock said, unable to keep the quiet laughter out of his voice. Alex's imagination never ceased to amuse him. "So," he sighed, determined to come up with a story for Alex. "Since your mother isn't here to defend her character, let's say that InvisiMom's arch-nemesis has captured her in his secret lair, and FlyBoy and MindReader have to go rescue her." Alex didn't reply, so Sherlock continued. "We'll have to find the place first. So, FlyBoy, where do you think she's being held?" he aked.

Sherlock paused but Alex didn't respond, so Sherlock glanced over at him. To his relief, the boy's eyes had closed and his breathing had slowed. He'd mercifully fallen back asleep. Sherlock breathed a silent sigh of relief: he was spared of having to come up with any further story for their superheroes.

He stood up slowly so he didn't wake Alex and gently pulled the blanket off the back of the couch. Gingerly, he placed the blanket over Alex's sleeping form. "Sweet dreams, Alex," he whispered before heading back to his desk. Sherlock decided he would stay awake and work downstairs for the remainder of the night in case Alex's nightmares woke up, as Sherlock didn't want the boy wake and find himself alone again.