"—And don't come back until you've returned it and apologized to Molly!" shouted John Watson, who'd snapped when his lovely flatmate had returned with a detached human arm in his coat. Sherlock had reasoned he could use it for a new experiment about the skin on elbows when soaked in certain liquids, and figured the dead man had no real need for it, but John seemed to disagree. Sherlock smirked inwardly at the memory of John's anger-flushed face and adjusted the limb in his arms masquerading as French bread.

He'd returned it to Molly easily enough. Actually he'd just dropped it on her desk. He was halfway out of the building when he heard her scream; that should deter any further attempts of courting on her part, at least for the next few weeks.

Because he was bored and figured John would just kick him out again if he tried to return to the flat, Sherlock decided to take an uncharacteristic stroll in the park. It was a typical London day outside—cold and wet, which he thought was all the better. Criminals seemed to have the common misconception that a little bit of rain would wash all the evidence away. Maybe he'd get lucky and stumble upon a corpse, or something.

Or something, indeed. Sherlock stared down with limited curiosity at the pram blocking his way. He glanced around the deserted park; had someone just up and left a pram there? With its occupant as well, if the sudden squeal was anything to go by. He gently pulled the pram's hood down (So it won't start screaming, he told himself,) and peered down at the infant it carried. A girl, roughly four months old, from an average family from London, recently left in the park by its mother not hours ago. The baby had average clothes, average blonde hair and blue eyes, was of average size. Boring.

Still, Sherlock couldn't quite bring himself to walk away from the infant. Perhaps it was simply the mystery of its abandonment that kept him there. Whatever it was, he was at a loss whether to just leave it or try to return it. He touched the baby's stomach with a tentative finger and soon found it grasped tightly by its own tiny digits. Startled, he pulled it back sharply before cringing at the inevitable noise that would ensue.

Silence. Mystified, Sherlock looked down at the infant once more and found himself staring into bright blue eyes which bore a peculiar warmth and intelligence. He poked her again, as wary as ever, and was startled to find nothing but the innocence characteristic of infantry. The baby let smiled at him cheerfully.

"What a bizarre child…" he murmured. "Most humans avoid me in any way possible, and you seem to be inviting me in… Either John has a child I wasn't aware of, or you've got some mental disease which prevents you from thoroughly evaluating others in congruence with your surroundings."

She let out a lilting laugh, and Sherlock decided it must be the latter.

Her orbs gazed into his, and he was drawn in by her innocuous curiosity and wonder, by whatever complex synapses her forming, diseased brain must be making about him. He—

What in blazes was he doing here, talking to a baby? Scowling, Sherlock turned from the pram and its infuriatingly interesting occupant. He started walking back towards the flat, John's anger be damned, when a small wail called out to him. He sighed before turning back and reluctantly returning to the pram. He told himself he only returned because if John somehow gained knowledge of this, Sherlock wouldn't ever hear the end of it. He dropped on his knees and peered at the dirt on the wheels before concluding its mother probably wasn't returning any time soon. The dirt was at least two hours old—

"Anna!" Sherlock jumped and turned to see a young woman about twenty-three years old run towards the pram. He barely had enough time to fall to the side and avoid a collision. She reached into it and took out the baby, cradling it in her arms. Her shoulders slumped in relief before she turned her eye on him.

"You! You saved my baby! My Anna!"

Sherlock got up and brushed himself off, pointedly not looking at the infant who was gurgling happily in her mother's arms.

"I assure you, I did nothing of the sort. I was taking a stroll when I came upon the pram."

The mother didn't seem to listen, and smiled apologetically at him. "My little sister was supposed to babysit her, but it seems she forgot to bring her home." Her face darkened. "Oh, she's going to hear it when I get home, she certainly will!" The mother turned away from him, put her baby in the pram, and walked away.

Sherlock was scowling and muttering something about the impracticalities of women (and ignoring the sudden empty feeling in his chest) when his phone rang.

"Sherlock? Where the hell are you?"

"I'll be home soon, John. Got too worried, did you?" He smiled at John's responding sputtering.

"Of course not! Just…" he sighed, "just don't be too long. And don't come back with another limb, or I really will kick you out."

"Of course. And John…"

"Yes?"

He couldn't believe he was actually asking this. "Where would one… acquire an infant?"

"Er, it depends on the circumstances."

"Can we acquire one?"

Silence. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, wondering why he even bothered. And then,

"Sherlock, are you drunk?"

"No."

"High? Been snooping around any drug houses? Are you experiencing any sort of hallucination, any mirage?"

"No."

"…Have you gone mad? Because if making you apologize to Molly was too much, then I swear I'll do whatever I can to restore you to your normal mental state."

"John," Sherlock responded dryly, "I'm in my normal mental state."

"Well then… You're serious?"

"Completely."

Silence again. Then, static as John sighed into the receiver. "Fine. I don't see why not. Actually, I do see why not, but—"

Sherlock smiled. "John."

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

A/N: I first employed this idea about a month ago, and after reading various Kirk/Spock fics I decided to (edit and) post this. How did I jump from K/S to S/J-with-newly-acquired-womb-envy-on-S's-part?

I haven't a clue.

So… There's an established relationship, in case you're wondering why John would agree to having a baby with Sherlock, and why Sherlock put up with John kicking him out and putting him in the circumstances to find said baby in the first place. It's just that this time that romance isn't central to the story…

Kind of. It's center-left.

John's actually harder to write than Sherlock because he's so pedestrian, but I like to think I wrote his dialogue well.

And if I didn't, tell me! –shameless review plug-