Sherlock had run out of clean clothes. His stuff from home had been brought over for him, but he had refused to let Lizzie wash them. No matter how much she begged him, or how dirty his trousers got from playing in the surrounding fields, he would not let her touch them. He wouldn't even explain why he didn't want them washed. After a few days of re-wearing the clothes, Lizzie gave up. She collared him from his game of soldiers with John and took him upstairs. They sat down on the bed, and Sherlock looked at her, expectantly.
"I need to wash your clothes." She said plainly
"You can't." He replied, sounding almost obstinate, crossing his arms in protest.
"Why not, Sherlock? They're getting smelly, and you need them to go home with on Monday."
"No! Don't wash them, I don't want you to!"
"Why not, sweetheart?"
"Because... I don't know!" His lips pulled sharply downwards, and he started to sob.
"Oh baby! It's okay, don't worry." She pulled him closer to her, and he stayed locked up, cross-legged, his back straight and his head bowed as tears blossomed on his trousers. "Tell me what's wrong, Sherlock, please? I can help".
"I-I don't want to go h-home! It smells different! I want my clothes to smell of here!"
"Sherlock, I understand, really, I do. But your father-"
"I want Kevin to be my father!"
"Sweetie, he can't be. I'm so sorry. Your real father has appealed to the court. He gets to take you home."
"I don't want to go home. I'm frightened." He looked up at her with tear filled, bright eyes full of terror.
"I'm so, so sorry. I hope that you can come back here soon. But for now, you have to stay with your father. You have to be really, really good for them. We will fight for you, Sherlock Holmes. We will make sure you come back to us." She held both his shoulders and looked him right in the eye.
"Do you promise?" Lizzie hesitated. How could she promise him something that uncertain?
"I promise I'll try, Sherlock. I promise I will fight."
"You can wash my clothes, if you like. As long as you use your smelly detergent."
"Okay. Thank you." She put her arms out, and Sherlock crawled into them, wrapping her around himself, content in his cocoon of tight, warm love.