Sherlock had been unaware of allowing himself to doze off into a gentle rest until he was awoken by a loud clattering noise. John's armchair was empty and the clock on the mantle piece heralded 6:27am; the noise must have come from John. Sherlock followed the direction of the noise and noticed the bathroom door was locked. He tapped gingerly on it and called through:

"John? Are you alright?" The response that Sherlock heard was John throwing up – Sherlock guessed that all that whisky was probably a mistake; he waited for a few moments before tapping on the door again. "Is there anything I can get you John?"

"No." Came the gruff reply through the door, Sherlock lingered uncertainly outside the door for a few minutes before returning to the living room.

It was about fifteen minutes before John returned to the living room, ashen faced and exhausted.

"I'm going to bed…" He mumbled, "Catch a few hours' sleep."

"Alright John – do you want me to bring anything up?" Sherlock asked, but John shook his head.

When he was sure that John would be in his room and settled enough not to be disturbed by noise then he got to his feet and began to pace around the room, pondering and analysing everything that had happened the night before and projecting what would need to be done about it. It always seemed that when life was progressing along smoothly enough that something monumental would occur and require absolute re-evaluation of absolutely everything. This was one of those moments… Suddenly the brick had changed to jelly underfoot and was more than just a little unsettling. Sherlock was making a mental list of what they would need to do: they would have to get the legal formalities of the baby sorted out – but that would be up to what John wanted to do; they would probably have to try and find Clara and that man, Paolo, to notify them of Harry's death at least; and probably to talk to them about custody of the baby too… Oh, and they'd have a funeral to arrange too… The number of things that needed to be done kept creeping up and up. If the baby was to come back with John then they would need to buy some essentials straight away for the new born. There was no way that Sherlock was going to be able to sort all of this out on his own – and he had no idea what John was going to be like… Grief and mourning was different for everyone and Sherlock had very little inkling of how John was going to react. He was going to need to call in the cavalry to help this time; it was just the issue of where to start…

Mycroft… Mycroft should be his first request for aid, despite some fairly ingrained sibling rivalries that kept the two of them apart; Sherlock knew that Mycroft would be the best person to help him in this situation. Mycroft's legal knowledge and government influence might just make it easier to find the two runaways, and he might be able to help with the legal documentation John would require to become the guardian of the child. It wasn't too early; he supposed he could text Mycroft and the message would probably be fielded by that stupidly silent secretary, Anthea.

' Mycroft, require your assistance to find two missing people in Portugal, and to advise about legal documentation for John. The sooner the better. –SH.'

Now he just had to wait and see if he got any response; it was around ten minutes before a reply came (which was quicker than Sherlock had expected at half six in the morning).

'Shall be there promptly. –MH.'

Sherlock knew that Mycroft's definition of "promptly" wasn't always as quick as most people would expect. Sherlock briefly considered changing his clothes, as he had worn these trousers and shirt for nearly thirty six hours now, but he changed his mind – he would have a shower and change later. After waiting for fifteen minutes he made his way into the kitchen and began to boil the kettle in order to make a pot of strong coffee; he guessed both himself and Mycroft would need it. Even if Mycroft had been up this early, he was coming to help Sherlock as quickly as he could and that had to count for something. Sherlock was just pouring the water into a caffitierre as he heard the front door opening and closing, followed by footsteps climbing up the stairs. Mycroft appeared in the kitchen doorway, umbrella in hand and in a fine tweed suit.

"Good morning." He greeted his brother cordially.

"Coffee?" Sherlock offered, he best try and at least be courteous – after all this was for John more than it was for him.

"Please, black." Mycroft intimated before moving through to the living room and seating himself in one of the armchairs. Sherlock carried the two mugs through, placing Mycroft's on a table in front of him. "So… this is about John's sister, yes?" Mycroft plunged straight into business – as though worried about normal interaction between himself and his brother.

"Yes." Sherlock answered, sitting across from Mycroft. "There are a few things that need to be done; John's just lost his sister, I thought it would be easier if I was able to sort out the legal matters for him."

"Hmmm…" Mycroft hummed.

"Harry's partner disappeared a couple of months ago with a Portuguese man, by the sounds of it they've gone to Portugal." Sherlock began, watching Mycroft taking a sip of his coffee. "We need to find her – both to notify her about Harriet's death and to find out about custody of the baby."

"And you want me to help?" Mycroft sneered slightly.

"I would appreciate your assistance, yes." Sherlock replied through gritted teeth. "For John's sake."

"Of course, for John's sake." Sherlock was having to restrain himself from uttering a biting comment, "Right, so you would like me to use my government influence to find out if these two people have left the country, and if they have, find out where so you can contact them?"

"Yes."

"What are their full names?" Mycroft had moved on so quickly that Sherlock was a little astonished for a second.

"Clara MacKenzie was Harry's partner, the first man's first name is Paolo, but I don't have a surname for him." Sherlock answered, Mycroft was punching these names into his phone – probably in a note so that Anthea would be able to help in this task. "And when approximately would they have left the country?" He continued.

"Around six months ago." Mycroft's eyebrows raised on his forehead as Sherlock replied.

"Well I can do what I can to locate them, but I'm not promising anything Sherlock."

I understand," Sherlock mumbled, "Thank you."

The first thing that John was aware of a dull pounding in his temples as he came into consciousness, he groaned aloud and struggled to move his hands up to his head through the cocoon of covers that was wrapped around him. He pushed back the duvet which was covering his face and squinted his eyes against the light that was streaming through his bedroom window; then it hit him – Harriet had died last night, and had left him with a nephew. He clamped his eyes shut once more and desperately hoped that it had been a bad dream, but the aching in his head and the unsettled feeling in his stomach pertained to the consummation of a lot of alcohol several hours previously. He hadn't been asleep very long, only a couple of hours, but he didn't feel much like trying to get back to sleep. He was still clothed in what he had been wearing the night before, distinctly ruffled owing to him sleeping in them, but that wasn't really his priority at the moment; he wanted some water to rinse the disgusting taste out of his mouth and then a cup of tea – or some really strong coffee.

As he descended the staircase, holding onto the side of the wall to try and bear through the dull ache that was present behind his eyes, he became aware that someone was talking in the living room. Perhaps Sherlock was talking to himself – he often did when his mind was preoccupied with something; but then came the noise of a second voice, less distinct than Sherlock's. It couldn't be a client… Surely Sherlock wouldn't take on a case right now? If he had…! John bristled in sudden anger, which dissipated on the spot as he turned into the doorway and saw that it was Mycroft occupying the armchair across from Sherlock. Neither of them looked in the best of moods as Sherlock flipped through pages of what looked like an immensely complicated document, he glanced up briefly and caught sight of John standing in the doorway.

"John!" He exclaimed, lowering the papers onto his lap. "I thought you would have slept for longer…" If only John could: it would be wonderful right now just to sleep for an extended period of time – three or four months maybe, and for everything to be sorted when he woke up…

"What's this?" John finally forced out, attempting inject some enthusiasm into his voice, but instead he just sounded angry.

"I thought Mycroft might be able to help us find where Clara is, and help with the legal guardianship of the baby." Sherlock answered calmly.

"Oh really? It's as easy as that is it?" John couldn't explain why he felt so angry, or why Sherlock's attempts to help irritated him so much.

"Well, I suspected that making it less complicated would be of some help…" He didn't sound so sure now. "I didn't mean to interfere." John was shaking all over, he had entirely forgotten about the headache that had been bothering him five minutes ago. Mycroft gave a small cough, then made small movements to stand up.

"I'd better be off; I've got business to attend to." He spoke briskly to his brother. "I'll leave all the papers with you; let me know if you require anything else." He paused for a second while passing John and said: "My condolences John." His voice was solemn, but John hardly heard him. Even before his footsteps had faded away on the staircase John had erupted in anger.

"What did you think you were doing?! How dare you have the audacity to start arranging and meddling in my personal business?!" Sherlock looked dumbfounded, he dropped the papers that he had been looking at onto the small table at the armchair's side.

"I'm – I'm sorry John…" Sherlock said quietly. "I just thought I might be able to help… I guessed you would have enough to think about and I could help with the extra stuff…"

John's anger seemed to have drained out of his feet once more and he was filled with an all-over numb feeling again. John put his hand up to his face and covered his eyes, feeling slightly ridiculous and guilty with himself for berating his friend, who was genuinely trying to be helpful. Sherlock had got to his feet and was standing a couple of paces away from John looking rather awkward. Hot tears were burning in the back of John's eyes for the first time since Harriet died and he had to fight to keep them back. Suddenly he was caught unawares as a set of arms encircled him and pulled him into a hug. John didn't know how to react to this gesture by his friend, but he didn't have much time to think about it as his emotions took over. He felt like there was a dry lump in John's throat which was impossible to swallow and his watering eyes squeezed tightly shut turned into full blown sobs; Sherlock cradled John's head comfortingly in the crook of his shoulder.

"Sssh…" Whispered Sherlock as he held John; John was not quite sure how long they remained in the same place, all that he knew was Sherlock's arms were firm around him, basically holding him upright. John was struggling to regulate his breathing and the tears in his eyes were stinging; eventually Sherlock relinquished his arms from around John and gripped John's forearm to lead him across the sofa. He sat him down and perched next to him. "It's alright John." He said calmly and patted John's arm reassuringly. John was hiccupping slightly as he tried to calm down his breathing; it was not until he had composed himself again that he realised how bizarre the event that had just taken place must have been.

"I – uh," John stammered, "Shall I make you a cup of tea?" Sherlock suggested, standing up from the sofa; there was a note of what sounded like embarrassment in his voice and moved off to the kitchen. John stared at the patch of rug about two foot in front of him, Sherlock had been trying to help and he had gotten angry, that anger had broken into upset and Sherlock had been there to comfort him. Sometimes it was these strange events which occurred every so often that proved to John that Sherlock really did have a heart.

A/N: Again, I'd love to know what you think about this chapter/story so far! :)