Author's note: And the idea for this is, sadly, not mine. The 1950's Sherlock Holmes series with Ronald Howard, more specifically the episode The Baker Street Nursemaids, is to blame. There are, of course, moments that are simply painful about the episode, such as Holmes telling Watson to 'make it some milk' or Holmes and then Watson trying to sing it a lullaby. But I absolutely love the fact that Lestrade is the one that can get the baby to stop crying, and that Lestrade is the one that stands there and holds it while they're having a conversation. And I love when Watson tells Lestrade. 'It likes you.' Anyway, I've played around with the idea a bit, and I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Also, I just want to mention that I have a website now, and that it has pictures of the characters and stuff. The link is in my profile, if you'd like to check it out. Thanks!
When someone stopped by with a basket for Sherlock Holmes, Watson at first thought little of it. The fact that it was a rather large basket was of little consequence either, as there was nothing particularly ominous or mysterious about the other man receiving even a large basket. He therefore accepted the surprisingly heavy basket with little reluctance and set it across the chair to await the return of its intended recipient.
It was forgotten by the time Holmes himself returned a few minutes later. The two men simply continued through the morning unaware of the contents of the package.
"What was that?" Holmes asked, looking up from his chemistry experiment.
Watson didn't look up from his paper. "I didn't say anything, Holmes."
"I thought you did." Holmes replied absently.
"No." Watson assured the other man, and the incident was forgotten. A minute or two ticked by; the day was promising to be uneventful, and Holmes was in a mercifully good mood in spite of that fact.
Watson looked up from his paper. "I'm sorry, Holmes, what?"
Holmes frowned at his experiment. "I didn't say anything."
Watson shrugged and went back to reading. "I thought you did."
A second later, the two men looked up and over at each other, confused by the sound they had both just heard. It took them all of a few seconds to identify the source of the noise: the basket resting on the armchair.
"Where did this come from?" Holmes inquired, eyeing the basket.
"Somebody brought it for you." Watson replied cautiously. "I wasn't aware there was something alive in it." Both men stood there a moment longer, then, "Well open it, Holmes."
"Yes, yes, of course." Holmes opened the basket and stared at what was inside. Watson couldn't blame him for staring; he was doing the same himself. "A baby." Holmes said, making perhaps the most obvious deduction of his life. Watson was too surprised himself to notice, or comment.
"It's crying." Watson pointed out helpfully.
Holmes shot him a look. "I know it's crying, Watson. What am I supposed to do about it?"
Watson considered. "Try picking it up." He suggested.
"Pick it up?" Holmes repeated, and Watson wondered if that were horror shining in the other man's eyes.
Watson nodded. "Yes, Holmes. Pick it up. Babies like to be held."
Holmes expression was suddenly almost frantic. "You pick it up, Watson."
Watson shook his head. He had dealt with children before, but this one was young. Very young. It was also obviously not in need of a doctor, which was his primary experience in dealing with small children. Besides- "It was sent to you, Holmes."
"Watson!" Holmes hissed as the baby's cries grew louder. Reluctantly he picked it up. Much to his dismay, it did no good. The baby continued to cry. "Now what?" Holmes demanded.
For once, Watson was at a loss. In an effort to save face, he went to answer the door, and lamented afresh the fact that Mrs. Hudson was away for the weekend, visiting her sister. She would have known what to do with such the infant.
He managed a smile and hoped the Inspector wouldn't notice the odd sounds coming from the sitting room. "Lestrade, good to see you." He offered, but Lestrade had frozen in the door, a puzzled expression on his face.
"Do you hear that?" He asked.
Watson wondered if it would be better to play dumb. "What?"
Lestrade spared him an incredulous glance before heading towards the sitting room. Watson reluctantly followed him up, and wondered if it were his imagination or if the crying had suddenly become louder.
Watson nearly ran into Lestrade when the Inspector stopped abruptly in the doorway. "Mr. Holmes!" Lestrade cried, darting forward. "What on earth do you think you are doing?"
Holmes tried to hide his sheer horror at having been left alone with the baby. "I'm holding a baby, Lestrade. What does it look like?"
Lestrade blinked. Then he moved forward and plucked the baby from the amateur detective's hands. "That is not how you hold a baby, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade said severely. "You don't hold it out at arm's length like it's got some sort of disease. You hold it close, so it feels safe." He was now cradling the infant in his arms.
"There now, shush, little one." He was looking the child over as he almost rocked it in his arms. His voice was suddenly low, nearly a whisper. "It's alright now, lass-laddie, my apologies. Such a pretty face. Let's hope you grow out of that, or you're going have a hard time growing up." He grinned down at the child as it reached both hands up towards his face.
Holmes and Watson simply stared. "It stopped crying." Holmes said, another brilliant deduction.
"He likes you, Lestrade." Watson commented.
"Nonsense." Lestrade retorted. "He likes not being dangled over the floor like some unwanted object is what it is." As if to disprove his assertion, the infant burbled happily up at the Inspector. Lestrade sighed and shook his head. "Now why do you have a baby up here, Mr. Holmes? It's not yours, surely?"
"Certainly not!" Holmes bristled at the suggestion. "Someone dropped it off in a basket."
"Was there a note?" Lestrade asked, and Watson found himself surprised that the man was quite capable of asking that question at the same time as he seemed to be playing with the small child.
"A note?" Watson echoed.
"A note." Lestrade confirmed. "Usually when someone abandons their child, they leave a note. Did you check in the basket for a note?"
"Actually, we were a bit preoccupied with the basket's main contents." Watson replied. Holmes was already ruffling through the basket in search of such a note.
"Handsome fellow, aren't you?" Lestrade asked the baby. "I would think someone would be missing you, laddybuck."
"Lestrade, would you please stop playing with it?" Holmes inquired. "I found the note."
"I'm not playing with him." Lestrade retorted. "I'm checking to make sure nothing's wrong with him. I'm no doctor, but I know people don't usually abandon healthy, handsome sons. What does the note say?"
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes," The man himself read, "I fear I may be in trouble, and am deeply in need of assistance. I fear I have no one else to turn to, and truly I would not impose upon you in such a manner were it not my son's life at stake. He swears he will find little Robert, and I cannot allow him to take the child. I will be leaving London in a day or two, and I will come for my son then. Until then, I pray that he will be safe from discovery with you. I beg you to keep my son safe, and whole, and to tell no one that he is with you. Yours very sincerely, Sylvia Brown."
Holmes finished reading, and Lestrade eyed the child with new interest. "Little Bobby Brown, eh? Or Bobby Stevens, if the father has anything to say about it."
Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Are you referring to that sordid affair involving Sir Thomas Stevens, Lestrade?" He demanded.
Lestrade nodded, then seeing Watson's puzzled look, explained. "Thomas Stevens was involved in an affair with this Miss Sylvia Brown." He said. "It came to light when Mr. Stevens tried to have the woman arrested for kidnapping his son."
"Their son." Watson realized. Lestrade nodded.
"He claims that the woman would be an unfit guardian, that she is of low moral fiber and little more than a-ahem-street…" Lestrade eyed the infant in his arms and trailed off. "Her record isn't exactly clean, either."
"Should the child go to his father, then?" Holmes wondered.
Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever met Mr. Stevens?" He asked. Both Holmes and Watson shook their heads. "He's a nasty piece of work, I'll tell you that." That Lestrade was actually saying something to that end was more than enough evidence of that. "Took a horsewhip to Bradstreet last year for asking questions he didn't want to hear in an investigation involving one of his neighbors. And Bradstreet didn't have a clue what to do, so he just stood there and let the-ahem. His servants are terrified of him."
He shook his head. "His mother isn't a prime candidate for motherhood, but she'd be better than the father, and at least she seems to care about the lad."
It took Watson a moment to figure out what that meant. When he did, he understood the apprehension on Holmes' face. "You're saying we should keep the child until she comes for him?" He gasped.
Lestrade eyed the two men. "Certainly. It'll only be a day or two, nothing serious."
"Nothing serious?" Holmes choked. "Keeping a baby for two days, nothing serious?"
"It's not as if you're raising it." Lestrade pointed out. Then he considered the two men before him. "You don't know how to take care of the child." He realized.
"Bravo, Lestrade." Holmes retorted. "Brilliant deduction."
Lestrade sniffed. "I suppose it should have been obvious, the way you were threatening to drop the boy when I came in, Holmes." He shot back.
Holmes looked over at Watson. Then a solution presented itself. "Well, you certainly seem to know how to take care of children, Lestrade."
Lestrade favored Holmes with a glare. "I have work. And my own family." He pointed out. Then he considered the child whose small fingers were currently wrapped around his thumb. "I have work." He repeated himself, his voice soft again. "But I'll send a message to my wife. Maybe she'll be able to help you out."
He started to hand the baby over, then stopped himself. "Look, Mr. Holmes, if you're going to hold a child, this is the proper way to do it."
Watson watched in amusement as Lestrade proceeded to coach the amateur detective in the art of baby handling.
Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.
