Marill: Heya! This is a story that I've been working on over at the kinkmeme, and I didn't think that I should deprive the here. And, obviously I know that there is nothing logical about the situation. Let's just call it a SciFi/AU and enjoy it, k? ^^

Watson loosened his thick winter scarf from around his neck as he hobbled into the foyer of the apartment. He heard Mrs. Hudson in the next room, bustling about and called out a greeting to her.

He trudged upstairs and entered the sitting room, not really expecting Holmes to be around as his friend had claimed to have had business in the city that day. Watson collapsed into his chair, exhaustion evident in his posture. The cold was dreadfully bad for his leg, which ached and protested any further movements.

Watson reached for his journal which lay on the side table. He halted his hand in mid-reach when he saw a huddled shape under a dark coverlet across the room. The shape was making some indiscriminate movements and was roughly the size of a small child. Quirking an eyebrow, Watson went to investigate.

As he grew closer, Watson could see a small head peeking out from under the coverlet, and two tiny arms holding up an impossibly large medical dictionary. Clearly a child, and most likely one of Sherlock Holmes' street gang waiting to converse with the detective. But how had he gotten in? Surely Mrs. Hudson would not let one of the street urchins upstairs when neither of the tenants was home.

Watson knelt down on the side of the child who was very implicitly ignoring him. The child had dark hair and intense eyes that were scanning the pages of the book as if he were lost in the illustrations and sentences.

Watson cleared his throat to gain the child's attention. "Excuse me, but are you waiting here for Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

The boy glanced over at Watson. "No. I—" The small boy blanched as he looked up at Watson's face. Watson stared back, unsure of what had spooked the boy. Without warning, the little boy dropped the book with a heavy thud and scrambled on hands and knees underneath Holmes' desk, screaming as he went.

Watson was quite amused and concerned at once. "Is everything all right?" he wondered softly. "I just wanted to find out why you're here, that's all."

The little boy was sobbing and hiccupping pathetically in his huddled position, pressed as far into the side of the desk as he could. "P-please don't get me!" he wailed.

Watson backed up a little. "I'm not going to hurt you, son." He called for Mrs. Hudson, unsure of how he would calm the panicking child. "Where are your parents?"

"I don't KNOW!" the boy cried.

"It's all right," said Watson. "Everything will be fine."

Mrs. Hudson entered the room and asked, "What's going on up here, Doctor?"

Watson had momentarily turned around and the little boy took this opportunity to dash across the room and behind Mrs. Hudson. He clung to the back of her skirts, begging for her to save him from "that man". She hushed him and looked at Dr. Watson with a furrowed brow.

"Mrs. Hudson, did you let this boy inside? He was upstairs when I arrived home," Watson explained.

"No, sir. We haven't had anyone come to the door all morning," she responded.

"I just woke up here," said a small voice from behind her. "Please, I want to go home…"

Watson took a few steps toward them, causing the boy to cry out again. "No, no, NO! Don't come near me!"

"Why are you afraid of Dr. Watson, young man?" Mrs. Hudson asked in a kind voice.

"Because his mustache!" the boy exclaimed. "I don't want him to get me!"

"Dr. Watson will not harm you, dear heart," said Mrs. Hudson. "He and I would both like to help you."

The boy looked at Watson, as if taking him in and assessing him. Watson stared back into big, grey eyes. There was something very familiar about those eyes. They were intelligent and old for their age. As Watson looked into them, he could almost feel himself being evaluated and reflected back accurately to himself.

A realization overcame the doctor. "Oh my word…"

When he was certain that the boy would allow it, Watson moved closer, while still maintaining a comfortable distance. "Could you tell us your name?" he asked.

"You said it earlier," the boy replied. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh my goodness!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. She looked at Watson with wide eyes. "Mr. Holmes has a child?"

"I don't think so, Mrs. Hudson," Watson replied. To the boy he said, "Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes," answered Holmes. "My brother Mycroft. He's eleven, but I'm only four." The boy held up four fingers to corroborate his story."

Mrs. Hudson's face became pale and her mouth dropped open. "Dr. Watson?" she said.

"It's all right, Mrs. Hudson," Watson assured her. "We can't do anything at the moment. Let's just try to take things slowly. Please bring us up some tea…well tea for myself and some milk for young Sherlock here."

Holmes looked up at Mrs. Hudson who patted him on the head and removed his remaining hand from her skirt. "Don't you worry," she whispered to him, "Dr. Watson will take care of you until I get back." With that said, she left the two alone.

Watson slowly walked to his armchair and sat, giving Holmes an amiable smile. Holmes stood in the same spot he had been when he was hiding behind Mrs. Hudson.

"You can sit down on our sofa if you like," offered Watson.

Holmes shook his head, avoiding eye contact.

"Ok, then. Sherlock, can you answer a few questions for me?" Watson wondered. Holmes nodded. "Thank you. First, why are you so afraid of my mustache?"

Holmes' bottom lip quivered and he briefly glanced up to meet Watson's eyes. "Because b-bad men have a mustache."

"Bad men?" Watson repeated, frowning. "Why would you say that?"

Holmes' eyes filled with tears and he swallowed a mass in his throat. When he began to sniffle loudly, Watson held up his hands to calm him. "It's all right," Watson said, softly. "We won't talk about it right now if you don't want to. I just want you to know that I may have a mustache, but I'm not a bad man, and I wouldn't hurt you for all the money in England."

"P-promise?" Holmes said, barely above a whisper.

Watson was taken aback by the childish request. However, he quickly acquiesced when he saw how much the promise meant to the small boy.

Mrs. Hudson quickly brought up the tea tray, and even managed to coax Sherlock into sitting on the settee to drink his little cup of milk.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Watson said as she exited the room. He sipped his tea slowly, wondering what he should do next.

The next thing Watson knew, his friend's four-year-old voice was talking to him from another part of the room. "I like your dog," said Sherlock, patting the bulldog on its stomach. "He's very fat." Watson wondered how Holmes had managed to get that far in such a short amount of time.

"Thank you," Watson replied. "His name is Gladstone."