"John, I'm going to need you to run down to the store to pick up a couple of things—" Sherlock stopped dead at the sight of a ginger woman in tears, a black-haired baby on her knee. John was consoling her. "Harry Watson, I presume." Sherlock said.
"Yes." She said, passing the baby to John, wiping her eyes and standing up. "I'm sorry that I've come over here like this." Sherlock's eyes darted from Harry to John.
"Why are you here?" he asked Harry.
"You already know that, don't you?"
"Yes." Sherlock said. "You were left a child that you know that you can't take care of, and you're wary about just letting it go into the system. Godchild?"
Harry nodded.
"And I was just… I was trying to help her out." John said, cradling the sleeping child. Sherlock looked from the baby to John. There was something else. Something more.
"You… you couldn't possibly believe—"
"Sherlock—"
"No. No, absolutely not—" Sherlock said seriously.
"With every woman I've ever dated, this is what I've seen. A family. I want a family, Sherlock— I want to be a dad." He cradled the child closer. "Harry can't take care of it, and I supposed—"
"You think that it would be better for the child to live in this environment? It's not guaranteed that we will come home every night, let alone be able to tuck it into bed and sing it a nursery rhyme."
"Her name is Daniella." John said defensively. Sherlock took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. "Just think about it." John pleaded. "Please, Sherlock. For me."
Sherlock turned his eyes away. He nodded once and John tucked the baby in closer to himself.
"Thank you." John said.