So this idea came from AltoOwl, as do most of my prompts nowadays, and I pretty much wrote this all this afternoon. Hope it's all right, I only really gave it a once-over after I finished it.

Disclaimer: As much as I want to own Sherlock and make him "Molly Hooper" kiss me, it's not going to happen.

This would take place in season 2, aka the pre-Mary era.

Sherlock could hear Mrs. Hudson calling for him, yes, but he didn't move from his spot. John would see to her needs.

She attempted to summon him more. Sherlock sighed. "John, go see what Mrs. Hudson wants."

When there was no response, Sherlock's mind entertained the possibility that John wasn't here. However, he shrugged the thought off. Sometimes John just doesn't answer him.

"Sherlock Holmes, are you honestly going to make me climb up there?"

Sherlock opened an eye. After a swift scan of the sitting room, he noticed that John wasn't, in fact, sitting in his chair reading the paper. He groaned as he remembered how John was actually at a girlfriend's house on a date, and possibly spending the night. "What?" he shouted back, his deep voice carrying down the stairwell to Mrs. Hudson.

"Get down here this instant!"

Sherlock unclasped his hands and grouchily rose from his spot on the couch. He was still in his dressing gown—hadn't bothered to change since he had no need to leave the flat—so he languidly stomped down the stairs to where Mrs. Hudson was surely waiting for him. Slightly flustered and stressed, by the flush of her cheeks and the grey hairs that were astray all over her head. "Now what do you think you were doing up there?" she yelled. Yes, make that extremely stressed, as the gentle landlady never took to raising her voice unless she was burdened. And her posture was all wrong, Sherlock noted. The way she was fingering the hem of her skirt and tensing up her shoulders gave Sherlock a slightly maniacal feel, one he did not usually receive from Mrs. Hudson.

"Stop deducing me and look here!" The elderly woman crossed her arms, and her foot tapped meticulously. A whiff of something unpleasant caught Sherlock's nose, a smell he couldn't place, much to he irritation. "I need to go out and run some errands. I'm sorry, I wouldn't do this if I felt I didn't have to. I have to go pick something up so that he doesn't make a fuss."

Sherlock studied a pale stain on Mrs. Hudson's blouse. That, along with her eyes that kept flicking anxiously towards the door of 221A and the lingering smell of a particular substance that Sherlock was familiar with, suggested only one thing.

"No," he said.

Mrs. Hudson huffed at him. "Sherlock, I'm not asking you. I would ask John, but he's out, as I'm sure you've noticed.

Sherlock nodded tensely. "I know, but my answer is still no. I'll go fetch what you need, and you can stay here."

"Whenever I send you to the market, you always return with some kind of chemical or body part, saying that you've forgotten what I needed." The riled-up landlady glared at him. "I'll be back as soon as I can, I bet he'll sleep through it anyway. I've just gotten him to settle down."

"But—"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head and pointed. "Get in there. You'll be fine, and I'll be back." She lightly shoved Sherlock in the direction of her flat before going out the door, leaving Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, to babysit an infant.

Sherlock took a deep breath and entered Mrs. Hudson's living room, which stank of dirty diapers and talcum powder. Laying in a makeshift crib of blankets and pillows was a baby, seemingly in a deep sleep. Sherlock studied the child warily, reminding himself that he didn't have to entertain it, feed it, or clean it, only watch it. He hoped that Mrs. Hudson's speculation about it sleeping the whole time she was gone was correct. Sherlock had no idea what he was to do with a child.

He subconsciously kept track of the minutes that passed since Mrs. Hudson left. It was reaching twenty minutes, and she still hadn't returned. Sherlock glanced at the baby, noting how it was now fidgeting in its sleep. It hadn't been doing that moments prior, and was clearly having a dream now. Either that, or it was trying to wake itself. Sherlock hoped not.

However, the thing ended up opening up it's clear, blue eyes. Sherlock froze, watching its movements cautiously. The baby blinked exactly six times before opening and letting out an ear-piercing scream. Sherlock jumped; were they supposed to do this?

He didn't move, afraid he might mess something up, but the disheartened child continued its wailing. The dreadful smell of an unclean diaper wafted to Sherlock's nostrils, and he instinctively stiffened. No. This was not a part of the deal. Sherlock glanced at the wall clock again, though he knew it was no twenty-five minutes past Mrs. Hudson's departure. Honestly, how long did it take her to pick up a few things from the store? From 221B, in a cab, it took approximately five minutes to get to the nearest store. Five minutes there, five back, and fifteen for her to go pick up whatever she needed. Sherlock was beginning to think that he would have been quicker in retrieving whatever the woman wanted, no matter all of the distractions he may encounter.

The child, curse its strong lungs, kept crying, despite the fact that it should have figured out by now that it was being ignored. It should be common sense that no one was going to change its diaper. Why couldn't the infant see that.

Sherlock scanned the room. He couldn't see a single diaper. Not that he was thinking of changing the thing, of course, but he might have to resort to desperate measures if the crying didn't stop soon. Sherlock didn't even want to think about what kind of mess it was if the child was still howling at the top of its lungs. Sherlock drew his knees up to his chest as he sat on Mrs. Hudson's love seat and rested his chin perched on his knees, placing his hands over his hears in a frantic attempt to block out the awful sound. He couldn't think, couldn't do anything as long as the child kept wailing. He considered shooting Mrs. Hudson a text, but knew that the old woman wouldn't answer him if she even did have text messaging on her phone.

Maybe he should risk a phone call for once. This was a dire situation, and he needed reinforcements immediately.

The cries were not stopping. Sherlock gave up on plugging his ears. He abandoned his fortress on the couch and crawled towards the child where it was laying on the floor. Streams of tears were flowing down the child's pudgy face, and Sherlock reached out to touch it. Maybe all it really wanted was human touch. The child's head turned to the side, its blood-shot eyes glaring at Sherlock as it let out another round of obnoxious bawling. Okay, no. Sherlock backed away from the thing, and resumed his former position. This was a battle he could not win.

He lost count of the time. The baby's howls subsided to a quieter whimpering after a while, but Sherlock didn't dare to move.

He heard the sound of the front door opening, and saw that Mrs. Hudson had returned from her endeavour to the grocery mart. He sent her a pleading face, as the child had resumed its crying at the sound of her reentering the flat. "Help," he said.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head and pursed her lips. "Oh, now Sherlock..."

Sherlock jumped up from his seat, gave Mrs. Hudson a quick peck on the cheek, and ran up the stairs back to his sitting room. He grabbed his violin, hoping to forever rid his mind of that dreadful noise. Never again.

So there you are! Who here wants to hire Sherlock to babysit their kids?

Please review and let me know how you liked it!