Little Consulting Detective

16

An hour later, Greg went back to sherlocks room to check in on him. He was laying on his tummy, still asleep. Greg smiled and took a picture on his phone, just in case he needed to use it. He chuckled and looked back down at Sherlock, who was beginning to stir.

"Morning sleepyhead." He said as Sherlock looked up at him. Lestrade picked him up and carried him into the living room, sitting him on the couch.

Sherlock sucked on his dummy and reached his arms out to the detective to be picked up.

"You want me to hold you?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock nodded. Lestrade picked him up and sat on the couch with Sherlock on his lap, turning on the Telly.

The two watched tv for a bit before sherlocks tummy started growling. He started babbling, hoping lestrade would understand what he wanted.

"What is it, Sherlock? Are you hungry?" He asked. Sherlock nodded and lestrade carried him into the kitchen. He prepared a bottle and carried Sherlock back to the living room, sitting back down on the couch. He removed sherlocks dummy and replaced it with the bottle. Sherlock started drinking, eyes looking at the screen.

When the bottle was empty, lestrade put the bottle down. Sherlock whimpered, looking up at lestrade.

"What's the matter?" Lestrade asked. He tried to think about what Sherlock needed when something clicked in his brain. "Oh,  I see." He said. He placed Sherlock to his shoulder and patted his back until he belched, then brought him back to his original position. Sherlock smiled and curled into lestrade. The detective inspector placed the dummy back in his mouth, and Sherlock sucked on it, smiling.

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Molly sat in the corner of her crib silently, looking at the wall. She'd been sad all day and didn't want to do anything.

"Molly, are you ready to eat, baby?" Moriarty asked, walking into the nursery. Molly didn't even turn to face him, and shook her head no. Moriarty walked over to the crib and picked her up, rocking her. "You must be getting hungry sweetie. Daddy can't let you starve." He said softly. He kissed her head and rubbed her back.

Molly just quietly laid her head on moriarty's shoulder. She closed her eyes and let him hold her, hoping that Sherlock was okay.  There was a sudden pressure on her bladder and she looked up at Moriarty sadly.

"Whassa matter, little one?" He cooed, bouncing her.

"No!" Molly cried out, but it was too late. She wet her nappy. Molly started crying, and Moriarty rubbed her back.

"Alright poppet, let's get your nappy changed." Moriarty cooed, laying her in the changing table. He cleaned her up and replaced the old nappy with a fresh one, placing a clean onesie on her. "There we go. I think it's time for a nice nap." He said, picking her up. Moriarty put molly back in her crib and turned on her mobile, leaving the nursery after turning off the light.

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Lestrade sat on the floor in front of Sherlock, who was laying on his tummy. He was trying to show the detective some of his belongings, hoping it would help him come out of his infant headspace. Sherlock just looked up at lest ease, confused, but then smiled.

"Oh Sherlock, I guess you're too little." Lestrade said, scooping the detective up. He held him in his arms and hummed, swinging Sherlock gently.

The door opened and John walked into the flat, smiling at the sight of the two. "I went back to scope out moriarty's hideout, but there was still no one there. I really want to rescue Molly." John said, walking over to the couch and sitting sadly.

"It's alright John, we'll find her." Lestrade said, resting a hand on john's shoulder. John sniffled and nodded.

"You're right. It's just that I feel so helpless right now, especially with Sherlock being regressed and all... it's just a lot to handle." John said.

Sherlock babbled suddenly, startling both the others. The detective started crying, making the others concerned.

"What's wrong Sherlock?" Lestrade crooned, bouncing Sherlock. He checked the other's nappy, which was wet. "Okay, I've gotta get him changed." Lestrade said, walking down the hall to sherlock's room. "It's alright, uncle Greg's got you." Was the last thing John heard before lestrade shut sherlocks bedroom door. He smiled. It was always nice to see the caring side of lestrade.

A couple minutes later, lestrade and Sherlock returned to the living room. The detective was dressed in pajamas and looked very sleepy.

"I'm gonna get him a bottle and then put him down for a nap." Lestrade told John. John nodded, stifling a smirk.

"Okay." He replied, watching as lestrade disappeared to the kitchen.

The inspector returned and sat next to John, propping Sherlock up in his left arm. He brought the bottle to sherlock's mouth and the detective latched on, drinking the milk slowly. He could only manage half of the bottle before falling asleep. Lestrade removed the bottle from sherlock's mouth and replaced it with his dummy.

"Uncle Greg?" John asked, a smirk on his face. Lestrade nodded.

"Yeah, well, I figured he's little, so why not just call myself by something a guardian would?" The man replied. John chuckled, but nodded.

"You're a softie, Greg, but I guess soft is what Sherlock needs right now. Keep it up." John replied. He got up and made himself a cup a tea, lingering in the kitchen just a bit longer to give lestrade some more bonding time with Sherlock.

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Mycroft jogged on the treadmill, trying to clear his mind. He hadn't seen Sherlock since the other day, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to at the present time. His little brother wasn't in his right mind, that was certain.

He ended his work out and went to relax a bit before setting back to work. His phone alerted him to a new text message, and he looked down at the screen. He nearly felt ill when he read the words

'Mr Holmes the elder, it would be ashamed if anyone were to find out what happened to Sherlock. I can take him off of your hands, if you want. It's your choice; I can take Sherlock back, or I can keep molly. Let me know by tomorrow evening.'

"Dear god." Mycroft muttered. He exited out of the message and called John: he and lestrade needed to hear this.

"John, it's mycroft. We need to speak, it's urgent." Mycroft said, trying to keep his composure.

"Yes, what is it?" John asked on the other end, sounding worried.

"Moriarty's texted me. We have to choose between molly and Sherlock." He said. His heart twinged a bit. Was he really allowing emotions to overwhelm him?

"Oh lord. Alright, come by the flat tomorrow and we'll talk. We need to find a way to keep them both." John said.

"Right then. See you then." My Croft said, ending the call. Feeling very light headed all of a sudden, he sat down at his desk and rubbed his temples. Choosing between blood and an acquaintance, it seemed absurd. If they chose to keep Sherlock, he could go back to his old life, but if they rescued molly, they'd be subjecting Sherlock to pretty much permanent infancy.

This was quite a dilemma. Mycroft was glad there was no one else around, because for the first time in many, many years, he felt a tear slip, rolling gently and hotly down his cheek.

"Little brother... whatever happens tomorrow, please forgive me."