It was Saturday morning before Sherlock began to be really concerned – four days had passed since Harry's funeral and Sherlock had barely seen John since. He had spent most of his time in his room, accompanied by Innes, only surfacing to make up bottles for Innes. Sherlock had not seen him eat, he knew he hadn't washed, there was an overwhelming sense of disparity all around him. Each individual had his own measure of how to deal with grief, and possibly isolation was John's method, However, he could not pretend not to be concerned about this peculiar behaviour. He knew more than most that remaining within the same four walls for an extended period of time was not healthy – not for an adult, and especially not for a baby.

So when the sounds of a screaming child issued once again from John's bedroom, Sherlock attempted to take action. He stood for a while outside John's bedroom door before tapping gently on the door. All noise of movement from inside the room ceased, the only thing that continued was Innes' crying.

"John?" Sherlock called through the door, "John, can I help at all?" There was no reply. Absolutely nothing. Sherlock remained outside the door for a further ten minutes, before giving up and leaving…

Inside the room, a fear had seized John as he paced around the room, trying to console the wailing child. He had absolutely no idea why Innes was still crying, he had tried everything he could think of to placate his nephew – but to no avail. Then he heard Sherlock speaking through the door and he made such a conscious effort not to make any sound at all that the level of crying from Innes intensified sharply. He was not in a mood to interact with anyone; he did not want to talk. He felt as though the weight that had descended upon him on Wednesday had not lifted, if anything it had gotten heavier. Once he was sure that Sherlock was gone from outside the door, he placed Innes back into the cot and sat on the edge of the bed, rocking it gently and staring into space.

He could not even begin to fathom or explain the emotions he was experiencing. Tormenting memories, deep pools of emptiness and loss, waves of guilt crashed over him in relentless and reoccurring phases; none of which he could sort out during the time that these feelings were present. Despite the strong feelings inside him, most of the time he just felt numb.

He had hardly spared a second to think about what Sherlock might be thinking; he had only come into contact with him when he had been preparing bottles for Innes and he had never spoken to him. He didn't know what Sherlock wanted, or why he was now checking up on him. His hands were now trembling as he rocked the cot that Innes was in, his crying had died down, but had not stopped completely. John just wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop: Innes' crying, the progression of time, the absolute reality of hurt…

Sherlock spent most of the morning pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, up and down and across the living room, avoiding the tables and chairs. He was not at all sure what to do about John, but he knew something had to be done. He needed someone who would understand the normal feelings of grief, the position that John was in, much more than Sherlock could. Eventually he had a brainwave, and he called the man he knew was most human apart from John, and therefore the most likely to help:

"Hello, Lestrade? It's Sherlock. I think I need your help, with John."

The knock on the door was greatly anticipated by Sherlock, but when he opened the door he was slightly shocked to see not only Lestrade, but Molly Hooper standing there also.

"Hi Sherlock." Lestrade greeted him, "I came as soon as I could." Sherlock held the door open to let them pass and Lestrade climbed the stairs with Molly at his coat tails.

"Thank you for coming, I hope I wasn't taking you away from anything important."

"Paperwork is never important." Lestrade replied, he was dressed in a suit and tie; obviously he had come from work. Molly, however, was not in work clothes, the mortuary was not on the way from Scotland Yard; he wondered where he had picked her up. "I bumped into Molly on the way and thought she might be able to help." Lestrade explained in answer to Sherlock's look. "So, what's going on?" Suddenly there came the sound of crying from upstairs, both Molly and Lestrade looked up in surprise. "What's going on?" Lestrade repeated.

"To cut a long story short…" Sherlock began, "About five weeks ago John's sister, Harry, came to the flat, she was pregnant and had pre eclampsia; we took her to hospital and she had the baby, but she crashed… And she died." Molly's hands flew up in front of her face.

"Five weeks ago? Around the time that you requested I didn't involve you in any cases at the moment?" Lestrade inquired as though this was explaining quite a lot.

"Yes." Sherlock answered, "There was so much going on and I thought that it might help John if I didn't go running off investigating cases for a while. We managed to get custody for John, Mycroft helped with the filing of it, and Harry's funeral was on Wednesday."

"I didn't realise Sherlock. I'm sorry." Lestrade replied, but Sherlock waved it off.

"It's John I need help with… Since the funeral, John hasn't come out of his room, he hasn't spoken at all and he's got Innes in the room with him."

"Innes is…?"

"The baby." Sherlock prompted. "It's not healthy, him shutting himself away, especially the baby."

"His grief is understandable…" Molly said simply.

"It's not his grief that I don't understand, it's him shutting himself away… I'm worried about him, and I don't know what to do or how to deal with this. You both understand that when it comes to feelings and stuff, I'm not the most sensitive person…" Lestrade was smirking, which irked him slightly but he couldn't refute it. "But I do want to help…" There was a silence between the three of them, and then Molly spoke:

"Leave it to me." She stood up, "His bedroom is upstairs?"

"The first on the right." Sherlock nodded. Molly climbed the stairs and located the first bedroom, the crying was much louder up here. She tapped on the door.

"John, it's Molly." She called through the door, there was no response from inside. "John, if you don't reply then I'm going to assume that something is wrong and come in whether you like it or not." She paused, her hand on the door handle, but there came movement from inside and the door opened just wide enough for Molly to see half of John's face. The bit she could see was pale, tired and careworn.

"What?" He asked roughly.

"Can I come in?" She asked, John seemed to consider her for a few long moments and then sighed. "If you must." He threw the door open, allowing her to enter. The room was almost in complete darkness, the curtains pulled shut, John himself certainly looked worse for wear; his face was grimy and his hair was unwashed and dishevelled; there were great bags under his eyes which proclaimed that he hadn't slept in a while. Molly perched upon the edge of John's bed, near the cot which held the screaming child.

"I'm sorry John." Molly said quietly as she watched John skulking over in the shadows by the wall. "About your sister." John did not respond, and Molly tried to think of what to say. "Can I pick him up?"

"Sure." John grunted, Molly reached down into the cot and picked up the baby; rocking him gently in her arms, Innes began to quieten down. "Why are you here?" He asked abruptly, his arms were crossed over his chest in a defensive manner.

"Sherlock asked Greg to come over." Molly answered honestly. "I bumped into him on the way here."

"Oh yeah?" John responded harshly.

"Yes." She said looking directly at him. "He's very worried about you." A silence filled the space as John glared at her, but then his gaze faltered and he looked at the floor. "He wants to help, but he doesn't know how to."

"He doesn't need to help." John mumbled.

"No… but he wants to." Molly insisted. "John, I know that it's hard-"

"You don't know." John said curtly and abruptly. "You have no idea."

"Okay, I maybe don't know exactly, but I do understand a bit." She replied. "Haven't you ever wondered why I became a pathologist?" She asked, "It's not the most common of job aspirations, is it?" She smiled weakly. "When I was younger, my sister Lucy had an accident, she died when we were thirteen." John stared at Molly, his mouth slightly open; she was stroking Innes' head gently and he had gone silent, apparently falling asleep. "So maybe I don't know how it feels to have to look after a new born, but I do know what it feels like to lose a sister."

"Oh…"

"Sherlock wants to help you, and you should let him." She insisted.

Sherlock and Lestrade had sat in silence from the time that the crying of the baby stopped; eventually, Molly reappeared back down the stairs, carrying baby Innes.

"You spoke to him?" Sherlock inquired instantly, springing to his feet; Molly nodded.

"Here." She said, passing Innes across to Sherlock. "He asked if you could look after Innes for a while, so he can get some sleep. I said yes, I hope that's alright."

"Yeah, that's fine." Sherlock responded, arranging Innes in his arms comfortably. "What did he say?" Molly sat down on the sofa next to Lestrade, who was also watching Molly with some interest.

"He's very tired." Molly said, "But I think he will be alright, in a bit of time."

"How do you know?" Sherlock asked inquisitively.

"I spoke to him; he misses his sister, I think it's only beginning to sink in that she's really gone." She explained, "I think that he understands that he needs some assistance in looking after Innes."

"Thank you." Sherlock nodded. "I'm so glad that he spoke to you." A squirming weight seemed to have relieved itself from his stomach, even though he hadn't spoken to John, someone had.

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