She was only about three years old, and about two feet tall.

And she was also trouble, much to Sherlock's observation and irritation. She was small, blonde, and took after her mother. Very much so took after her mother.

John and Mary were out at dinner. And as a result, Sherlock was left to babysit.

"Babysitting...what does that even mean?" Sherlock had asked out loud when John was present. John gave Sherlock an exasperated glare.

"Please, Shelock, just this once. Our regular couldn't help out tonight...and the reservations..."

And that was when Sherlock had sucked in his cheeks and finally muttered "Fine. But I'm not putting my experiments on hold."

And now they were here. John and Mary were at dinner, here was Sherlock...with a three year old little girl.

"Look at this!" the little girl yelled, holding up a vial of human blood.

"Put that down," Sherlock commanded seriously, not even looking up from his microscope. "And stop touching my stuff."

The little girl looked over at him, her eyes wide and round, and calm. She gentle placed the vial down, and slowly wandered toward the kitchen. Sherlock continued to look down his microscope.

"What's this?" the little girl asked, opening the fridge.

Sherlock's head snapped up from the microscope, turning toward the kitchen.

"Close that! Now!"

Sherlock rushed over, gently pulling the girl back from the fridge and closing it.

John would not appreciate it if Sherlock let his daughter get into the experiments. Not mildly irritated, but legitimately angry. Sherlock sighed.

"Let's go. To the park, or something." Why did he have to have a daughter? Sherlock thought calmly. So illogical...

There was a low rumble of thunder. Sherlock slipped into his overcoat, and beckoned for the girl to come to the door.

"Daddy saws that we shouldn't go out in the rain."

Sherlock looked down, eyebrows raised.

"We?" he asked.

"Daddy saws that you would be the one that pushes to break the rules."

"By now, your 'daddy' should know that some rules were specifically made to be broken."

The girl smiled, walking over to the door, and struggling with a small raincoat.

Sherlock sighed deeply, and finally leaned down to roughly help the girl into her coat.

"Thank you," she said slowly, looking up at Sherlock. Sherlock glared back at her.

"Let's get this over with."

They walked out of the door, with Sherlock nonchalantly striding into the rain and John's daughter following him with much clumsier steps. As Sherlock quickly glided down the sidewalk, he looked beside him to notice that the girl wasn't beside him. He sagged his shoulders, and turned back around to see the girl stumbling a few feet away.

Right as he was about to call out, Sherlock watched John's daughter with sudden intrigue, and his voice remained caught in his throat. As the little girl began to ramble toward him, and then look down at the street, the puddles of rainwater captivating her attention. Sherlock crossed his arms, frowning, and watched.

John's daughter leaned over the sidewalk, grinning when she saw the puddle, and took a few steps back. With a shrill laugh she began to run to the edge of the street and jumped so that a moment later, both feet were submerged by the puddle and a satisfying splash sent water up as high as her small shoulders. She giggled and clapped in delight.

Sherlock raised one eyebrow, and uncrossed his arms. He slowly and emotionlessly began to make his way back to the girl, watching as she kept stomping her feet in the water and laughing. Rain kept pouring down.

"You're so stupid. Don't you know that being in the rain will give you a cold?" Mycroft said. He was only about twelve years old.

"No," Sherlock said quietly. His hair was flattened with the weight of water, and his cloths stuck to him like a second skin.

"Mummy will be angry that you were out there. Don't do that again. If you get sick, then she'll get us both in trouble."

Sherlock blinked, and looked back at the little girl who was laughing and playing in the rain puddles as water poured off of the sides of the street. He stared down at her for a moment before he lunged forward, and planted both feet in the water with one jump. The little girl's face scrunched up when it was hit with cold water, and she burst out in hysterical laughter, stamping her feet and waving her arms.

At that moment the girl jumped up into the air, her feet landing back in the puddle and rainwater splashing onto Sherlock. Sherlock felt a small smile break onto his face, and without even realizing it, he and the girl began taking turns bouncing up and down, splashing water onto the other person.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's head snapped upward as he stared at the entrance to his flat. Mrs. Hudson was standing in the doorway, one hand raised above her eyes to shield her face from the rain. There was another loud clap of thunder, and Sherlock felt himself shiver. He looked down at the little girl standing beside him, who at some point had delicately begun to clasp his hand, and watched as she sneezed.

Knowing only panic for a full split second, Sherlock took the John's daughter in his arms and ran back into 221b Baker Street while Mrs. Hudson held the door open for him.

"You're so cute," Mrs. Hudson gushed, scrubbing the little girl's blonde hair with a towel. John's daughter waved her arms and gave a toothy smile as Mrs. Hudson pulled the towel away. "If only we could get you out of these soaked clothes."

Sherlock stared at John's daughter, sitting in John's old chair as Mrs. Hudson doted over her. His hair was dripping and his cloths clung to his skin as if they were hanging on for dear life, but he dared not smile at the scene unfolding before him.

"Sorry we're back late! Sherlock? How did everything go with Iris?"

"Oh, that was her name? I forgot," Sherlock said, looking down at the coffee table and picking up an article that was splayed on top of it.

John shook his head. "You've got to be joking," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Hello, Iris!" Mary gushed as she walked into the flat.

"Mummy!" Iris squeaked, hopping off of John's chair and wobbling over to where Mary stood with her arms outstretched.

"You're soaking wet," Mary mused quietly, lifting Iris off of the ground. John nodded, and pointed over at Sherlock.

"He doesn't look much better," he said quietly, but found himself smiling faintly. "Thanks for baby-sitting, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded, frowning. "If you ever have to have me baby-sit again, tell me," he murmured, almost too quietly to hear. His eyes remained fixed on the article he was reading.

Mary smiled faintly at him. "I'll remember," she said, and walked toward the door with Iris in her arms. "Come on, John, we have a cab waiting outside."

Sherlock glanced up at Iris from where she sat in Mary's arms one last time before they walked out the door, and allowed a smile to graze his face.

"I hope she remembers," he said with a small, devious smile.

John smiled as he climbed into the cab beside Iris and Mary.

"So," he asked, almost afraid of the answer, but continuing to smile. "Did Sherlock teach you anything new?"

Iris giggled. "He told me that your name is Hamish."

John shook his head, but still smiled faintly. "I'm gonna kill him," he said softly, but smiled at Iris. "Don't call daddy by that name."

"But he said that some rules should be broken," Iris argued, and giggled again.

This story is specially dedicated to the story writer Cumberbatch Critter =) Thanks for reading