John was up bright and early the next morning, making sure he had time to get ready before work, and nearly had a heart-attack when he passed through the sitting room until he remembered the events of the day before. Jessica. Asleep on the sofa. Right. God, she looked cute wrapped up in that shock blanket Sherlock nicked from an ambulance. She really was like a tiny Sherlock, but with feelings.
Feelings that Sherlock was obviously trying to pretend he didn't have.
As he made himself a bit of breakfast, he continued to contemplate Sherlock's reasoning behind taking Jessica home with him. Certainly, John knew that his husband wasn't the heartless bastard many people believed he was, but to actually be charitable was definitely a stretch for the self-proclaimed sociopath. Especially when that sociopath had a reputation to uphold after it was threatened by entering into a civil partnership.
He turned off the kettle as soon as it started to steam, not wanting to wait for his tea to cool off, and paused when he heard the soft pad of tiny footsteps on the linoleum. "Mister Watson?" came Jessica's voice, raspy with sleep. John turned and smiled at her, feeling his heart constrict at the adorably-rumbled girl as she rubbed at her eyes.
"Hey, Jess, good morning," replied John immediately, pulling out a chair for her at the table. She crawled up into it and lay her head on the table. "Did you sleep well?"
"Mm-hmm," murmured the girl through her tangled hair, then turned her head. "I like your sofa."
He grinned and turned back to the breakfast on the stove. "That's good. Do you want some breakfast?"
"Yes please."
At least she was well-mannered, John thought to himself as he turned the eggs over, hoping the smell would bring Sherlock out too. She wasn't just well-mannered either, she was sweet and funny and so quick to love everyone, even Sherlock. Though he supposed that Sherlock hadn't exactly been trying not to be lovable in this situation. In fact, as he had said before, he had never seen Sherlock so openly caring toward anyone else other than John himself. Yesterday, Sherlock had laughed, and made jokes, and allowed a child to climb onto his back. He'd even been more affectionate with John, at least out in public. Usually he didn't like to attract attention to himself, but it seemed that with Jessica around dominating everyone's attention he'd been able to relax.
John slid a few eggs onto a plate and passed it to their current houseguest, who made a sleepy sound of thanks before sitting up properly. They ate in relative quiet, John running through his mental inventory, Jessica kicking her feet against the chair legs, and almost three years of the most absurd things he'd ever seen in his life still wasn't enough to soften the absurdity of this sight. A harmless, sweet, intelligent girl of seven, who looked an awful lot like his husband, sitting at the table eating eggs. It was just normal enough to be completely abstract on Baker Street.
She doesn't belong here, John reminded himself firmly. The flat is a fire hazard at best, and she's got family looking for her. Calling CPS is the best thing to do for her.
Then he considered what it would be like in a home where there were always other children around, some who were likable and some who had become hardened and cynical from life in the system, always coming and going like ebbs and tides, nothing constant or certain besides her guardians. Then his mind turned to the system itself, and he quickly shook that away before he could consider how quickly a girl like Jessica could vanish into obscurity there.
It's for the best, he reminded himself.
John finished his breakfast quickly, then turned the telly on to some cartoons. "I'll keep the volume low, so you don't wake -"
"Don't bother, John, I'm already up," interrupted Sherlock from the bottom of the stairs. His hair was ridiculously tousled and eyes squinted with sleep. Long-time experience told John he wasn't nearly as cranky as he looked. Sherlock slept the same way they shagged after a dangerous case: hard, fast, all over the bedroom (including the floor and on one peculiar experience the hall), and usually with no small fare of consequential aches in the morning.
He smiled fondly at his husband and leaned up for a kiss. "Morning, love. Would love to stay, but I'm already late. I left you some breakfast in the oven, try to remember to eat it, yeah? Love you."
Sherlock hummed absently in reply, but the kiss pressed to the top of his head accompanied by the fingers in his hair signaled that Sherlock had received the message and reciprocated.
"Bye Mister Watson," called Jessica sleepily from where she'd migrated to the sofa. Just before John left he saw Sherlock lift her bodily up, plonk himself onto the sofa, and drape the child over him like a blanket. He shook his head and locked the door behind him, smiling all the way out.
There would have been more than enough opportunities during his day at the surgery for John to make a quick call to CPS and alert them of the situation. There had been nearly twenty minutes between Mrs. Virtue and Mr. Pok, and yet when John had the office phone in his hands all he did was look down at the number he'd scribbled off the internet until the receptionist buzzed him for another patient. He resigned himself to waiting until after he got home once the cold and flu patients started rolling in around noon. Maybe after supper; Jess could do with one proper meal from them before going to a care center or her uncles.
During his afternoon break, instead of calling CPS, John went online and looked up missing children from the past few months. About halfway down the list was Jessica Haynesworth, aged 6 when she went missing, turned 7 in the interim, last seen at St. Bart's hospital where her father died, is very open with strangers, relatives are very concerned, please call with any information, et cetera. It was accompanied by a photograph of Jessica and her father, the two of them bundled up in his bed at the hospital, beaming at the camera. They looked happy.
On his way home, John made a quick round of the shops, picking up some veg and things to make a proper dinner later. The whole while he couldn't help wondering what Sherlock and Jessica had gotten up to that day. He hoped to God there hadn't been a murder Lestrade required help with; the last thing they needed on their records was taking a child to a crime scene.
When he arrived back at 221B, it was empty, but John didn't get a chance to relish the quiet for long. Within ten minutes there were thundering footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly Sherlock burst into the flat with a breathless grin on his face. "I win!" he shouted. Jessica barreled through the door and crashed into the backs of his legs, sending them both to the floor in a laughing heap. John stepped out into their line of sight, smiling with fond amusement at the children in his care.
"How on earth is it possible for two people to get quite so filthy?" he asked, almost embarrassed by how impressed he was with the layer of dusty grime covering the two of them from head to foot.
Eager to supply an explanation, Jessica leaped to her feet and beamed. "We went to the park!" she said. "Mister Holmes an' me, we went exploring for snipes! They really like bushes, but not the ones with brambles, and they especially like you if you've got a caterpillar on your finger, so I found five, and we still didn't find a snipe! Then we climbed a tree - well a couple of trees - well a lot of trees - and a house - and then we took soil samples, see?" She ran back to Sherlock, where he was still lying prone on the floor, and pulled a handful of plastic bags from his jacket pocket.
"Very good," John praised, looking at the labels written in the child's untidy scrawl. "It looks like you got more of the soil on you instead of in you, though; I'd reckon you're both about ready for a bubble experiment."
Jessica practically danced in place with glee at the prospect of another experiment. "One of the bags burst!" she explained happily. "Also, sap!" She held out her arm so John could see the sticky patch on her elbow, covering a dirty scrape that was a worrying shade of red.
Carefully kneeling down so he and Jessica were eye-to-eye, John took her elbow in his hand. "Jess, does your elbow hurt?" he asked cautiously.
"Only a little bit," dismissed the girl, but there was a pout in her lips that showed she was more impatient to get back to fun than willing to be honest. She hissed and pulled back when John touched it. "Don't!"
Quick as a flash Sherlock was back on his feet, toeing off his shoes to keep from tracking into the house. "Shall we conduct another bubble experiment, Jessica?" The girl instantly streaked upstairs to the bathroom. Before following her, Sherlock murmured, "I'll take a look at her elbow," to John. "Sorry about the mess; she's very eager to learn."
"Quite like someone else I know," John smiled, though abstained from a kiss until Sherlock had done an experiment in cleanliness of his own.