"This has got to be some sick joke," Sherlock said in near disgust, looking down at the redheaded baby boy who was blinking up at him with wide blue eyes from the infant car seat that Sherlock had shoved into his older brother's hands. "What in the bloody-"

"Little ears, brother," Mycroft chided drily from where they stood together, waiting to board their plane back to London – this time with Daniel in tow.

The fact that Sherlock couldn't tell whether or not Mycroft was kidding only served to frustrate him further, and he asked, "Well, what am I supposed to do with him?!"

"I don't suppose the Watsons would be interested in adopting a child, would they?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Shirley's sick at the moment, and only two years old to begin with, which makes it a horrible time to suggest an adoption, no matter how good of an idea it is."

"You're not going to put him in a children's home or foster care, are you?" Mycroft asked warily, as if he himself wasn't sure what he thought of the idea.

Sherlock just sighed before answering, "I only got the little monster handed to me earlier today; don't ask me to make a rash decision."

"Since when are you not rash?!"

"I'm trying to care about another human being here!"

Board flight 17 to London. Take off in five minutes. Last call. Flight 17 to London, take off in five minutes. Last call to board.

"Sherlock is being considerate of his dependent? Miracle of miracles!" Mycroft answered just as sharply as his brother while they found their seats aboard the plane.

When the voice of the man holding him hit a dangerous pitch, Daniel let loose on a wail, and both Holmes brothers swore then.

"Look what you've done!" Sherlock accused darkly. "Make him shut up."

"How am I supposed to keep the bloody brat from crying? He's your ward! We can't take him out of this blasted seat until after take-off, anyway."

"Brilliant," Sherlock muttered.

"Try giving him a bottle or something," Mycroft suggested.

"A bottle?"

"You did buy baby things before we left, didn't you?!"

"Why would I have done that?"

"Because he's your nephew, ward, and responsibility, and you've got to start thinking about doing what's best for him!"

"Sociopath's aren't exactly renowned for being good at that, Mycroft! Besides, when we picked him up from his foster mum's, I just simply signed the necessary papers; you're the one who's been taking care of him the whole time!"

"Well, that stops now!" Mycroft declared sharply, folding his arms across his chest and closing his eyes as if he intended to take a nap.

Good luck with that, Sherlock thought. He would need it, considering that when the plane roared to life and took off, Daniel began full-scale howling in his car seat which had been buckled in beside Sherlock's own seat while Mycroft had gotten smart and taken the seat across the aisle.

"I should've thought of that," Sherlock muttered to himself, trying unsuccessfully to tune out Daniel's terrified shrieking.

Once an irritated salesman sitting behind Sherlock kicked the back of his seat and gave him a death glare, the Brit sighed in resignation and, fighting with his own healthy dose of terror, managed to unbuckle Daniel from his car seat and clumsily take him in his arms.

"Come on, hush now," Sherlock demanded, bouncing the infant in a way that was more jostling than the rocking that he was trying to achieve. "It's alright; you can shut up now."

"Would you like some help, dear?"

Sherlock snapped his head up towards the owner of the voice and found himself looking at an absolutely tiny old Asian lady with kind eye dwarfed by glasses that had come from the eighties – and he didn't hesitate to answer her question with a resounding, "Yes."

"Here," she said from where she sat in the seat in front of him. "Hand him to me."

Again, Sherlock didn't hesitate, watching as the woman cradled the little boy into her shoulder and spoke soft words into his ear. The man was stunned when Daniel quieted almost instantly – and not only did he stop crying, but he fell asleep in a matter of minutes. The woman smiled first at Daniel asleep in her arms and then at Sherlock as she tried to offer the boy to him again, but Sherlock only shook his head.

"You can hold him. You can have him," Sherlock declared.

The woman laughed. "No, thanks. I've already had four kids; I'd rather leave this to you younger people. I'm Sue Kong. Is this your first child?"

"He's my… nephew," Sherlock thought back to Mycroft's tirade, adding, "… and responsibility… and ward. It's really too long of a story. It is, I suspect, his first time on a plane, and my first time travelling with anything who's number of years on this earth does not reside soundly in the double digits."

"So you're both feeling overwhelmed after a stressful day and feeding off of one another," Ms. Kong surmised.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, asking, "Can infants do that? 'Feed off of' the emotions of others? It makes babies sound parasitic."

Ms. Kong's eyes widened ever so slightly with surprise at his comparison, but she answered, "Yes, they can and do. Little ones are actually very perceptive that way."

"How irritating that must be."

"How so?"

"To be able to care so very much about what your elders are thinking."

"I've always considered it a part of their way of learning about this strange world we've thrust them into when they were born."

"It must be irritating to the child's minder as well, though."

"Maybe if the baby's a sympathetic crier," Ms. Kong allowed. "But I think even that just shows that these little ones are smart and that they care about their fellow human beings."

Sherlock rather doubted that logic, but he didn't say so. This Ms. Kong was doing remarkably well with Daniel at present, so he had to wonder if perhaps she was right. A smart child he could obviously deal with, but a caring one?

He just sighed and looked out the window, waiting for this ride to be over.