"Absolutely, categorically, no," Sherlock Holmes growled, his voice lower than John Watson had ever heard it go. "Impossible. Not to be considered, not for a moment," Sherlock said dangerously.

John sighed. "It's not like we have a choice, Sherlock. Harry hasn't regained consciousness. Alex is fine, but needs a place to stay for a few days. I'm the only next of kin."

"Clara, was it?" Holmes said, shortly.

"Moved on, no contact information available," John answered.

"Neighbors."

"They live in Blackpool," John replied. "Too far away to help tonight."

"Friends here, then."

"They don't know anyone else in London. I didn't even know they were in the city. They were here for some kind of evaluation for Alex and weren't planning on visiting me. But, well, I'm listed as Harry's emergency contact."

" 'Evaluation?' " Sherlock pounced on the word. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"The name, Sherlock, is Alex. Well, nothing, exactly."

"Hardly reassuring," Sherlock all but snarled. "Try again, John."

"Harry says the diagnosis is on the autism spectrum," John explained. Seeing Sherlock's lip curl, he added, "High-functioning. Not that that should matter, to a compassionate human being."

"Super. Brilliant. A mentally retarded brat running around the flat. Just the thing for maintaining a professional atmosphere for the clients."

"As if you ever cared about "professional", or clients for that matter," John retorted, looking around the untidy room. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, tiredly. "Sherlock, it's just for a day or so. Donovan's coming over with Alex now. Harry's ex – the one before Clara, I mean, her former husband - is flying in from Canada to take over until Harry gets out of hospital. Until then, we'll stay out of your way, I promise. I've set up a cot in my room. And, Sherlock," John began.

"Yes, yes," Sherlock said, grumpily. "Be kind, hard time because of the accident, only nine years old … I know, don't be myself."

"Please, please, for once," John pleaded. "This has been traumatic enough. I don't want Alex's time afterward at Uncle John's to add to the list of things that must be gotten over in therapy later."

"Fine, then," Sherlock threw up his hands in resignation. Sarcastic, he said, "Next I suppose the precious tot will be calling me Uncle Sherlock."