Murder May I
CryKing's prompt:
..oh..oh no...
Baby Harry is being watched by Sherlock - Mrs Hudson goes for groceries and John is at work and Sherlock gets a call from Lestrade to come to a murder scene...and Sherlock can't just leave Harry alone because John said to watch him...and so Sherlock takes baby Harry with him...
(This takes place sometime after ch. 44 However Improbable)
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Harry is starting to fuss, being woken from his crib and his nap that John had put him down for before leaving for the evening shift; the phone is ringing, and Sherlock is all alone in a world that suddenly doesn't make sense no matter how much he tries to wrap his mind around it.
'How did this happen?' Sherlock wonders, unknowingly echoing words that he's going to be hearing coming from John Watson before the day is out. Sherlock practices juggling Harry on his hip, because the two year old opened those green eyes and saw him and reached up with grabby hands that Sherlock knew he would regret ignoring. There might be shrieking involved.
Sherlock didn't dare to risk it He answers that blasted ringing – because, oh no, the caller isn't one of those rare clever people who call once and get a message machine and leave a message and take a hint – no, he – or she – is one of those who call over and over and over again until Harry's taken notice and starts to whine about it. He nuzzles into Sherlock's throat, yawning and rubbing his eyes, wide awake now.
"If you haven't got a very, very good reason for calling – if this is some telemarketer or automated add message – I'm going to end you." Sherlock Holmes rarely makes threats, he prefers more…unorthodox and subtle methods, but when he uses them, he means them – and he is always, always serious sounding. Unfortunately the familiar man at the other end of the line is undaunted by all of it.
"Sherlock, this is Inspector Lestrade – I'm glad you can pick up a phone, now I've sent Officer Patton to pick you up and come directly here. No excuses, there has been a murder at London Bridge." The call ends promptly, no by your leave, or if you could nor if your not busy babysitting. Sherlock rolls his eyes.
"And John says I lack social skills." Sherlock tells baby Harry, because he's been told not to talk to skulls or other former living things and-or inanimate objects while Harry is about, at John's order. The weekend with the Union Jack pillow jumping about and barking was quite enough to cure Sherlock of that. Sherlock would not have to go looking for another roommate, so its John's orders are – mostly – taken to heart.
"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock shouts, and Harry hollers with him, and no one answers or comes running. Of course, because that's just the sort of day it is, with people calling him and demanding things and no one doing the same for him. Share and share alike, but the world's not fair as even Harry well knows. Sherlock goes looking for her, because that's just the sort of person he is, and he doesn't take long to find the note.
Sherlock & John
Gone shopping for the little Harry, be back about five.
"Perfect." Sherlock snarls at the paper, as it's two hours too late and Lestrade won't wait - and Harry suckles at his thumb and watches him with wide green eyes. Sherlock knows Harry at almost three can babble more than talk, his vocabulary is better and better by the day - but if something ever comes out of his mouth that's remotely a swear-word, John might do something regrettable to Sherlock.
"Well, there no helping it, Harry, you are coming with me to a murder." John might have indulged Sherlock about the laptop, but Lestrade isn't the sort to take proper advantage of the advances in technology that may allow Sherlock to solve every case without leaving Harry alone in their flat.
"Help murder?" Harry bites his lip, and frowns, looking for the entire world as if he's considering it. The words not utterly unfamiliar to Harry now, despite John's attempts to shield him from what they do, but he still doesn't grasp their full meaning, and Sherlock stifles a laugh that might have a bit of hysteria in it.
"No, no thank you Harry. You're not to ever help anyone murder someone; least of all your godfather John to murder me. Ok?" Sherlock knows it's a logical argument, to take Harry along with him – because John Watson and Mrs. Hudson had made it adamantly clear Harry was never to be left alone without someone to watch him – or with a stranger. So that left Sherlock with Harry and a crime scene.
Saying no to Lestrade might result in arrest, and Sherlock thought it better that John found him solving a crime scene with a toddler like it was a Sunday stroll rather than bailing him out of jail with a baby.
"Ok!" Harry chirps quite happy to make Sherlock happy. If only it could stay that way forever. Officer Patton is a woman with a badge, and doesn't expect Sherlock Holmes to have a baby – that much is clear from the blank look on her face and the wide shocked eyes.
"Here, hold this." Sherlock passes her what John call's the baby bag, but it's more like a lady's purse, and Harry isn't letting her hold Harry while going down stairs in front of her. So he lends the way to the obvious police cruiser, and gets in the passenger side while he waits for Officer Patton to get in and pass him the baby bag.
She doesn't say a word the whole way there, but that's likely because Harry is babbling about all the sights he sees and Sherlock is pointing out what he misses and praising him on what he spots that isn't as obvious as a car being blue. It's a game the two of them play that never fairs to amuse John to no end.
The cruiser pulls up to the curb and Sherlock puts the baby bag on his shoulder and gets out as Harry waves to Officer Patton, who doesn't quite succeed in hiding her charmed smile from Sherlock Holmes.
"What's this?" Sally Donovan demands, as if Sherlock's in the habit of kidnapping toddlers and not catching killers. Harry is still in the habit of clinging when he meets new people – not that Sherlock blames him. Sgt. Sally Donovan isn't a very nice looking… lady… when she sneers at him. Them.
"Who, not what, Sergeant Donovan - this is Harry Potter, John's godson." Sherlock sneers right back at her, his back straight and proud. Harry is his – and John's – and Sherlock's already asked Mycroft to make the paperwork go through all proper like.
"Of course...it doesn't matter who he is Sherlock, little boy's don't belong at homicides." Sally tells him with a roll of her eyes. She's still suspicious, but she doesn't look so ready and willing to take Harry from him. A good thing too, because Harry likes to bite.
"I know that, but Lestrade wouldn't wait and we haven't got any sitters, the interviewers are still having their backgrounds checked." Very thoroughly, by Sherlock and Mycroft both – but Sally Donovan doesn't need to know that.
"Well, he's certainly the youngest yet." Anderson states, as if he isn't surprised by Sherlock, he's not – he expects the worst of Sherlock, who before John and Harry and Lestrade, hadn't had a reason to be better. Anderson's seen at his lowest – but Sherlock's vowed he never will again.
"Ah, Anderson, couldn't call in sick today?" Sherlock doesn't pause to see what the other man – or Sally – makes of what he says, but continues on to where the most people are coming and going. Naturally that would be where the victim is, because everyone wants to come and see and contaminate a crime scene. Sherlock's never had more proof than at a crime scene that despite tools, people are still barbarians itching for blood. He's never needed it.
"Sherlock…" Lestrade starts to say, turning to greet him – but Harry, despite standing no higher than his knee, is somehow all that everyone sees. It's useful knowledge, and in the wrong setting could be dangerous. Sherlock ignores Lestrade's sudden tension and new signs of stress in favor of studying the dead man.
"Harry, say hello, this is Lestrade." John says that Harry should meet new people, and not be rude, so Sherlock absently instructs him at it, and hand Harry over to Lestrade. He's not a stranger, and Sherlock is within sight, so Harry shouldn't fuss too much.
"Hullo, Le – Lee…" Harry's mouth moves, tongue and lips silently trying to mimic Sherlock's effortless pronouncing of a strange name. Sherlock would coach him at it, but Lestrade only looks helplessly between the toddler and Sherlock.
"Please tell me he's not been kidnapped." Sherlock rolls his eyes, but decides to answer. While teasing him might be funny and entertaining, the results might be regretful.
"No, he's John's godson, and we are taking care of him now." Sherlock doesn't say how long – let Lestrade assume it's only for a bit, that Harry has proper parents somewhere.
"Lover's spat, I'm afraid. You should check with London Streets, as he's likely employed there." Sherlock gestures for Harry to come to him, and Harry readily obeys – wiggling from Lestrade's hands and leaping into Sherlock's,
"Who, the victim?" Lestrade frowns as he reaches for his notebook in his pocket, as Harry settles down and yawns against Sherlock's side. Sherlock thinks it's just in time for another nap.
"No, his boyfriend. I'm sure they'll have their address too." Sherlock says, over his shoulder, as he hails a cab and gets in. There is a familiar ring tone, and Harry grins up at him while Sherlock fumbles for it, cringing within.
"Dada, Papa, Dada!" Mycroft thinks its fitting justice that John gets called 'Dada' and Sherlock's a 'Papa'. He never has said anything, but his smirk is proof enough. The downside to any murder is the news crews and their cameras.
"How did this happen? Sherlock, what were you thinking?" Sherlock Holmes would do anything to delay that conversation and distract John Watson (who sounds bloody furious) so Sherlock passes the phone to Harry. John's weakness, the one weapon that Sherlock knows John won't dismiss.
"Harry here, Dada wants to talk to you – tell him all about our day." Harry does so, gladly and enthusiastically, leaving no detail not mentioned. Sherlock's never been prouder.