Harry helped Alex rearrange his room. Sherlock stood to the side watching her putting sheets with shark patterns on his bed and adding a few soft toys in amongst the pillows, setting up his books on the small shelf John had left behind years earlier. She helped him sort his clothes into various dresser drawers and stood dinosaurs on the desk. When she was done Alex climbed back into her arms and the two sat on his bed and talked a little. Sherlock left when she began explaining how John and Mary were in a better place. Wishful thinking wasn't something he really wanted to encourage, but he decided an argument wasn't the best way to end things.

Downstairs he waited with the television on, watching some boring program, or rather staring at the screen while processing through the little bits and pieces he'd learned throughout the day. Lestrade had texted back explaining he was too wrapped up in another important case at the moment, but that tomorrow they could go explore the boathouse options and see if those yielded any results.

As he was beginning to sort out plans for which one to visit first, Harry Watson appeared in the room again with Alex in her arms. She walked straight over to where he was sitting and suddenly plopped Alex into his lap.

"There you are. All yours," she said with a chuckle.

"Aunt Harry was telling me she'll come visit lots," Alex said. "She says next time she'll take me out and we'll have ice cream."

"Your Aunt Harry is allowed to visit you whenever she likes," Sherlock said.

"Yay!" Alex said, beaming towards the other woman. However, his attention quickly shifted back to Sherlock. "My aunt's really nice. You'll like her."

"Hmm…" Sherlock ignored the boy and grabbed his phone again to look at Lestrade's confirming text.

"Well, I'd best be off, Alex. You be a good boy for Sherlock. And Sherlock, you take good care of him, you hear?"

"Of course I will," Sherlock scoffed, glancing up as she walked towards the door. "I'd never let anything bad happen to Alex."

Harry made a noise that he didn't know how to interpret before disappearing off down the stairs. He heard her and Mrs. Hudson chatting again and looked down at Alex still in his lap.

"Do you like my aunt?" Alex asked with a grin.

"She's tolerable I suppose. Not quite how I imagined her."

"Yeah," Alex said. "She's really nice. Dad used to worry about her a lot. But she's been doing a little better. Has a girlfriend now who's also really nice."

Sherlock gave a nod and scrutinized the boy, trying to remember when his bedtime supposedly was. Children had those sort of things, didn't they? He was certain Mary had mentioned one during his time babysitting, though that usually hadn't mattered because Alex had a habit of drifting off when he was too tired. But at the moment he appeared wide awake. Eyes wide, grin fixed in place, practically vibrating with energy. Sherlock sighed.

"Well, why don't you go do whatever it is you do in the evening normally," he muttered, pushing Alex off his lap.

"But Sherlock, I have to take a bath tonight," Alex said.

"So?"

"So, I need you to help."

Help? Sherlock stared at the child feeling utterly perplexed. He was fairly certain at five he would have insisted he was old enough to do things such as bathe by himself.

"Surely you're old enough to know how to wash yourself," Sherlock muttered.

"Mum always says I'm too little and she wants to make sure I don't drown," Alex said.

"Drown? How much water do you put in your bath?" Sherlock asked.

Alex scowled. "Fine, I'll go do it myself. If I drown it's your fault!" He stomped off towards the bathroom.

Sherlock shook his head and decided to put in a little violin playing to inspire further thought. He lifted the instrument off of the table, plucked a few strings to ensure it was in tune before settling it on his shoulder. His bow danced lightly across the strings and a soft melody flowed into the flat. He closed his eyes and let the music move him, stirring his thoughts into action. Music really did prove marvelous stimulation for the brain.

After an indeterminable amount of time Sherlock paused and looked up. Something wasn't right. He glanced around the apartment and noticed the sound of running water, though it sounded different than other times he'd heard the bath running. Sherlock set his instrument aside and wandered down towards the bathroom door, only to find the floor wet, water dotted with foaming bubbles pooling around the door and out into the hallway.

"Alex!" Sherlock yelled. He knocked but there was no answer. He tried the knob and was thankful to find it unlocked.

Alex was leaning back in the bath with his eyes closed, piles of bubbles frothing around him and spilling over the edge of the tub. Thankfully the boy looked up when Sherlock entered, thankfully not dead or drowned or anything of the sort—though he will be when I'm through with him, Sherlock thought.

"Alex, what are you doing!" the detective snapped. "Turn off the water."

The boy jumped but managed to push away some of the bubbles and reach for the tap. He turned it off and blinked up at Sherlock.

"Whoops. Sorry."

"Whoops?!" Sherlock stared at the floor covered over in water. "He wasn't even sure how to begin cleaning this up.

"Sorry," Alex repeated again, shrinking into the bath, hiding himself in the bubbles.

Sherlock sighed. "Apparently your mother is right and you do need supervision. Isn't there a second drain that prevents the water from rising so high? How did you manage this?"

Alex pulled his feet away from the end of the tub, allowing a flannel to float up away from the drain it had been blocking. The sound of water flowing down the pipes could be heard. Sherlock glanced around the floor and grabbed for his towels, starting to mop up some of the excess.

"Do you want me to help?" Alex asked, moving as though to get out of the tub.

"No, you've done enough damage for one night," Sherlock said. The water wasn't as much as it had first appeared. He was finding it fairly simple to use the towel to mop it up and wring out excess in the sink. Alex pouted at him and went back to pushing a toy boat around in the water. Sherlock eyed it curiously.

"I'm playing pirate," Alex said when he noticed the detective staring. "Aunt Harry grabbed my bath toys. So now I have those to make it more fun."

"Just make sure you clean yourself too," Sherlock said. "We don't want to get in trouble because you appear to lack a good sense of hygiene."

Alex giggled. "I will, Sherlock! But bath time can be fun too. Didn't you play with pirate boats when you were little?"

Sherlock smiled. "I don't really remember, but probably."

He continued to clean up the bathroom and hall area as Alex played. Around the time he'd finished, Alex pulled the drain and started to let the water out. Sherlock turned his attention back to the boy, realizing as a parent he should probably make some quick checks.

"Did you wash behind your ears?"

Alex's nose wrinkled. "Why do people ask that? That's not where I get dirty!"

Unable to resist the detective scooped up the flannel and pushed it around the boy's ear. Alex squirmed and laughed, trying to push Sherlock away as he jokingly scrubbed his ears.

"All clean?" Sherlock asked as he set the flannel aside. He didn't notice any areas of Alex that seemed to have retained dirt, but still, it would be good to check.

"Yes," Alex said, lifting his arms out. Sherlock helped him get up, making sure he didn't slip on the slick surface of the tub as he stepped out. The detective grabbed for the dry towel and wrapped it around the boy's slim shoulders.

"There, dry yourself off and put on your pyjamas. What do you normally do before you go to bed?"

"Watch a little telly," Alex said with a shrug.

"Alright, then we'll do that for a bit and get you to bed on time."

Alex nodded and Sherlock left him in privacy, heading back towards the living room. He checked the time but thankfully still had more than an hour til Alex needed to be in bed. He had to wonder if this time-schedule thing was going to be an issue. His own schedule was abnormal, conformed to his whims and current activities. Alex was a child, and he therefore needed normalcy. Maybe he can set up alerts on his phone to tell him all those silly things he'll have to remember. Breakfast, school pickups and drop-offs, lunch on weekends, dinner, bath time, bedtime… he shuddered at the mere thought of trying to remember all that. Perhaps he really wasn't cut out for this? If they noticed he was forgetting to feed Alex, or bathe him, or put him to bed on time at the checkups, he was bound to lose his guardianship.

Sherlock groaned and sank back in his chair. Just in time Alex appeared in the doorway dressed in a pair of green striped pyjamas. He padded over to where Sherlock was sitting and looked at him expectantly.

"What?"

"Can I sit with you?"

Sherlock barely managed to restrain a groan, but thankfully left it to an eye roll before opening his arms and allowing Alex to clamber back into his lap. He grabbed for the remote and flicked the television on, settling on a children's movie that Alex didn't complain about.

He had a difficult time restraining himself from completely ruining the plot for Alex. Even so, he did mutter little speculations about the obvious details the movie makers hadn't thought about most of which caused Alex to dissolve into fits of giggles. Sherlock managed a smile every time he got the boy to laugh, and soon this became his main motivation in commenting rather than actually pointing out problematic plot points.

"You're funny," Alex whispered at one point, burrowing a bit closer and moving his thump up towards his mouth. Sherlock frowned and tugged it away, wrapping his other arm a bit tighter.

"I suppose. But while I am funny, it is unfortunately your bedtime. So," Sherlock set him down, "run along and get some sleep."

Alex stared at him from where he was now standing. His eyebrows were furrowed.

"You're not going to tuck me in?"

"Oh, that's one of those silly parent things isn't it," Sherlock said exhaling loudly. "Fine. Not always, mind you. But tonight since it's your first night here."

"'Kay," Alex agreed.

The boy dashed off towards the stairs. Sherlock groaned and stood as well, flicking off the television before following Alex up to John's old bedroom. When Sherlock arrived at the room itself, there was a brief moment where he had to push sudden nostalgia away, half-expecting to see John's things, his laptop on the bed, his clothes on the floor, him hunched over a desk. Instead there was Alex bouncing up and down in the bed, boyish clothes hanging in the wardrobe, dinosaur toys and children's books on the various surfaces. Sherlock's jaw clenched as he walked closer.

Besides thinking of his old flatmate, there was the issue of knowing the ritual of "tucking in" a child. Had his parents done this to him? He couldn't remember. Sherlock wondered if there was actual tucking involved or if one simply said some kind of goodnight or… he tried to imagine if John was here. He could practically see his old friend, sitting at Alex's bedside, kissing the boy's forehead and bidding him goodnight.

"Well, all settled then?" Sherlock said, clearing his throat. "Do you need anything else before you go to sleep? Water? Er…"

"No," Alex said. "Can you check for monsters though?"

Sherlock's brow arched. "What?"

"Monsters. Make sure there are no monsters under the bed. And shut the wardrobe so they can't get out if they're in that."

Sherlock blinked a few times, trying to process the words. "Monsters? There's no such thing."

Alex stared at him. The boy's expression couldn't be more puzzled. Before Sherlock could criticize him, however, the boy explained, "but…you fight monsters all the time. Dad said… he called Moriarty a monster."

"Ah, well those are a different sort, and they don't lurk under children's beds."

Alex's eyes welled up with tears suddenly, and Sherlock was on his hands and knees without another word, deciding anything was better than having to deal with crying again.

"Nothing under here," he muttered before going over to check the wardrobe and shut the door as well. "Sleep well, Alex. You know where both Mrs. Hudson and I are, correct?"

"Yes," Alex said. "But Sherlock—can you read me a bedtime story first, please?"

In order to avoid more tears Sherlock did comply, trying to bite back comments that were easily available to him. Why did parents put up with this sort of pointless thing? He picked up one of the boy's books and sat on the edge of the bed looking down at it.

"Franky the Frog Goes to School," he said, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice, each word filled with a sense of disgust. "I'm not reading you this rubbish."

"Please, Sherlock. I don't sleep well without a bedtime story. Mum always reads me one."

He sighed and debated the issue in his own mind. Was having to suffer more rubbish really worth it? Where should he draw the line? Alex couldn't have everything he wanted. That was called spoiling and it wasn't not good. John had gotten onto him about that last time he babysat. Hmm…but at the same time he didn't want to deal with crying. Not now. But this idiotic story would bore the life out of him. No, he wouldn't allow Alex to read something like this even if he's five… And then it hit him and Sherlock straightened with a smile.

"I'll be back momentarily."

He dashed towards the stairs, heading back to the flat and scrambling through until he found his laptop. After clutching that tightly he made a run back up the stairs, appearing back in Alex's bedroom to find the boy looking at him expectantly.

"Just wait a minute and I'll have your story." Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and opened the computer, doing a quick search and finding what he was thinking of without too many problems. He cleared his throat before reading, "A Study in Pink…"

"What's that? Why can't we read my books?" Alex said, pouting.

"Because the stories your father wrote are far more interesting than any mass-produced children's book about a frog going to school," Sherlock said.

Alex sat up straighter, eyes going wide. "My dad wrote this story?"

"Yes. Now be quiet and I'll read it to you." He cleared his throat before launching in, wondering if anything John had written should be censored from a five year old. The murder wasn't particularly gory so he decided to go all in, reading calmly through the tale of his first adventure with John Watson at his side.

By the time he'd finished reading through the blog post, Alex's eyes were fluttering and it was obvious he would drift off any moment. Much relieved, Sherlock snapped the computer closed and stood up to go to the door. He stopped when a voice addressed him once more.

"Sherlock."

"Yes, Alex?" he said with a sigh.

"Thank you. G'dnight," he said with a yawn.

Sherlock gave a faint smile and turned off the light before shutting the door softly. Well, day one of parenting was finished, his ward still in good condition, not injured or dead or starving, but fed and bathed and tucked in bed right on time. The detective sighed as he headed back downstairs to work more on the case. He just had to hope it'd be easier from here on out.