At first, John didn't know why he woke up, blinking over at his alarm clock and seeing that it was three in the morning. His eyes felt dusty, and his arm had fallen asleep under Sherlock's weight. At first, he was going to try rolling over and just going back to sleep, but then heard the floorboard creak.

"Mister Watson, are you awake?" Jessica asked, voice constrained with tears.

He shot upright, instantly alert. "Jessie, what's wrong?"

There was a sniffle, and John groped around for the lamp. "M-my arm r-really hurts," whimpered the girl.

"Okay, hold tight Jess, I need to find the la- okay, here comes the light. Now c'mere, let's look at that silly old arm. Does it hurt here?" He carefully gave her wrist a squeeze, and she shook her head. "How about here?" He moved his hand a bit higher, and still nothing. Once more he moved his hand, and Jessica gave a tiny gasp, nodding her head frantically.

John reached blindly behind him and shook Sherlock's shoulder. "Mmpf?" groaned the detective, shielding his eyes from the light. It took longer than it had for John, but he became alert quickly.

"How would you like to go for a ride in a big fancy cab?" asked John, looking at how the inflammation had spread beyond the confines of the bandage. Barely waiting for Jessica to nod, Sherlock carefully gathered her up and placed her into John's arms. "Wha-?"

"You go get Jessica ready, and I'll call for our extra special cab," Sherlock instructed John, showing the shorter man that he was ringing Mycroft. Before the bemused doctor could ask or object Sherlock shooed him out and shut the door behind them.

Shaking his head at whatever foolishness Sherlock was cooking up, John took Jess downstairs and sat her on the sofa, wrapping her up in the shock blanket. "I'm going to go get our shoes," he told Jessica, still trying her damnedest not to cry, before shuffling out.

Moments later Sherlock was practically falling down the stairs, looking just as harried as John felt and twice as panicked.

"It's okay, Sherlock," he assured his husband while they were still in the other room. "Infections are nothing, just a round of antibiotics and we're home free." Sherlock nodded, clutching his mobile like a teddy bear, and they went to the sitting room together.

Jessica had curled up more tightly in the shock blanket while they were gone. John knelt and wriggled the high-topped trainers onto her feet while Sherlock sat quietly beside her, calming himself as much as the child.

By the time they'd gotten ready and made it out to the street one of Mycroft's anonymous black cars had pulled up at the kerb. Sherlock climbed in without offering an explanation, so John passed Jessica to him before getting in himself.

"Oh, hello John," greeted Mycroft as though they'd bumped into one another outside of Tescos. He looked annoyingly well put-together for three AM. "Sherlock here has been insisting that he needs a favor, but has neglected to say what that is."

John gaped openly at his husband, suddenly realizing what Sherlock had been up to.

"We need adoption papers," explained the detective at light-speed, trying to get it out before John could protest.

"Sherlock!"

"Do you really think they won't question our motives if we show up without a form of identification for her?" snapped Sherlock. "She's malnourished, her bones are brittle, and she's wearing my clothes; if we don't find a way to prove she's ours we'll be subject to a full-blown investigation rather than just a reprimand for taking in a homeless child."

"But she's not ours, Sherlock," John shot back despairingly. That seemed to quiet Sherlock slightly. "I'm sorry. I know you wish she were, but Jessie's not ours."

There was only a moment's hesitation before his husband continued his efforts. "But she could be."

"But she shouldn't be."

"Perhaps we ought to ask the child's opinion?" Mycroft gently interrupted before a quarrel could break out. Embarrassed, they fell into silence and allowed the elder Holmes to look Jessica in the eyes, though Sherlock looked as though he dearly wanted to goose his brother simply because he was within reach. "Hello, my name is Mycroft."

Jessica blinked at him. "Your nose is funny."

Mycroft nodded solemnly. "I know." Then, to John's utter shock, he did some trick with fluttering his nostrils that made Jessica snort, then whimper when she jostled her arm. Mycroft made a sympathetic sound. "Now, I know your - hm - arm must hurt quite a lot, but I'd like to ask you some questions, Jessica."

"Lucky guess," Sherlock muttered. John elbowed him.

"Jessica, you have family members who are worried about you, but you feel like they won't love you as much as their own children, don't you?" continued Mycroft in favor of acknowledging his brother.

Slowly, as though unsure of what to make of this peculiar man, Jessica nodded.

"And you're afraid of being put through the system, because of stories you've heard from other children?"

Again, she nodded. John saw Sherlock's hand clasp her good shoulder comfortingly.

"You like my brother and Mister Watson, don't you, Jessica?" Mycroft continued.

Another nod. "Mister Holes -"

"- Holmes -"

"Mister Holmes is your brother?"

"He most certainly is." Sherlock's brother seemed to think his next inquiry over for longer than the others. "Jessica, if your family were to agree, would you want to live with Sherlock and Mister Watson?"

He vaguely wished they would call him John like they did with Sherlock, but was stopped mid-thought when Jessica ardently nodded. Mycroft smiled at them both; Sherlock glowered back at him. "Well, I think that something can be arranged - not today, not tonight, mind you," he hastily added when Jessica and Sherlock immediately sat at attention.

"We'll have to have a meeting with your relations," he went on. "They'll want to know you're going to be properly looked after if you stay with Sherlock and John. You'll have to stay in another home for a while, until everything is in order."

Slightly tremulous, Jessica nodded again. "Okay. But I'll get to do more experiments, right?"

So overwhelmed was John with jumbled thoughts and emotions and questions that terrified him - could they do this properly? Could they raise a functional human being? Would she love them? What would she call them? Whose name would she take? - that he nearly didn't get out when they reached the A&E. Then Sherlock nudged him and he slid onto the pavement, holding out his arms to take Jess from him.

"Let me do the talking, brother mine," insisted Mycroft gently. "You did have a knack for mincing words into the most unusual combinations."

For once, Sherlock didn't protest; he was too busy telling Jessica about a toad she spotted on the pavement.

Mycroft spun a truly beautiful lie about how Sherlock and John were Jessica's pending guardians, and they were having a weekend together to test the waters. The nurses accepted it without batting so much as an eyelash, and got Jessica settled in with an IV. She'd seen the needle and very nearly panicked, until a perfectly adequate nurse had told her it was a butterfly, and 'flew' it right down into the back of her hand.

"Try to go to sleep, Jess," John told her once things had calmed down. Mycroft was gone, apparently making phone calls halfway across the country. "By the time you wake up your arm will be all better."

When she merely stared at him with wide eyes, unconvinced, Sherlock perched himself on the edge of the bed. "You know, you're much braver than me," he whispered conspiratorially. "I hate hospitals."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes," nodded Sherlock, closing his hand around the one that wasn't occupied by needles. "Can't stand them. I once got food-poisoning, and instead of going to the hospital I stayed home and was sick for two and a half days."

Nodding quietly, John added, "You should have seen the bathroom."

Jessica smiled sleepily, every blink getting a little bit slower until she was out again at 5 AM. Sherlock carefully dismantled himself from the hospital bed and John slid a chair to him so he wouldn't have to release the girl's hand.

They leaned back in their uncomfortable chairs and dozed off - or at least John did - for another hour, until there was a quiet echo of high-heeled shoes on the tile floor outside and a woman came in. "Hello," she whispered apologetically. Sherlock was already on his feet, shaking her hand as an excuse to scrutinize every detail about her. "I'm Laura; CPS sent me."