John Watson considered himself a man with a great many virtues.

Life had shown him what he was capable of- hard work and intelligence (med school), loyalty and bravery (the Army), patience and understanding...

There was a crash from his flat upstairs.

Oh yes, patience was definitely the big one- that crash had sounded vaguely irreparable- recently...

He took his time on the stairs, putting of the inevitable battle with the dustpan and the pile of broken crockery that had just hit the floor. He opened the door with a speech about Not-Being-A-Total-Jackass-Please already half formed on his tongue before he froze.

Sometimes, thought John Watson, patience and understanding are simply not enough. He took a deep breath.

"Sherlock." He paused, words failed him for a moment, then started again, glaring.

"Sherlock. You stole a baby?"

Sherlock Holmes steadfastly refused to wilt under the power of his housemate's glare. He had been glared at by far more terrifying men and would not be intimidated by someone a whole 5½ inches shorter than himself. However, judging by the intensity of the eye contact and the rapid increase in heart rate coupled with mild reddening of the face, he though perhaps he had better clarify.

"Don't be ridiculous, John."

John gripped the door frame far too hard and opened his mouth- perhaps it was time to clarify faster.

"Don't be ridiculous, John, of course I didn't steal the baby. Due to an unfortunate coupling of a vicious double homicide in the small hours of this morning and inconvenient guardian laws, he was given to me," Sherlock paused a moment to allow John to raise his eyebrows, "Legally."

Sherlock watched from his chair as John visibly tried to regain his composure, hoping desperately there would be no shouting. The child in his arms had only just fallen asleep. There was a deep breath.

"Ok, ok, right," another deep breath, "Ok, so. A baby?"

"Yes"

"One that you haven't kidnapped."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I said that"

"Ok. Right. Well," breath.

"Yes, John?"

John glared and Sherlock reconsidered, perhaps now was not the time to push his luck.

"His parents died, John, killed in fact." He saw John about to interrupt but decided to press his advantage. "He's only a year old, he has no other family- well, none that want him..." Sherlock paused for a moment and hoped he wasn't laying it on too thick, "he's all alone, John. He has no one."

This time he let the pause build on itself. "Remind you of anyone?"

Sherlock waited quietly, staring at his flatmate, hoping against hope that this would end well. The look on John's face was not encouraging.

"Sherlock, we can't afford a baby, there's so many things they need- a crib, clothes, toys, doctors appointments- and then they get older and there's school and books and child minders and sports and then cars and university. Not to mention that this entire flat is nowhere near childproof-" John let the steam behind him build as he spoke, "there's so many toxins and sharps hazards and clutter literally bloody everywhere. Not to mention, we don't have a spare room- not unless you want to convert the attic- because I sure as shit am not- and it's all just so..." John trailed off into a very large sigh and stared moodily at the floor. Sherlock sat nursing the infant let the silence grow, and hoped quietly from his corner.

"There'll have to be changes, Sherlock. You do know that, don't you?"

Sherlock didn't let one inch of the joy exploding in his stomach show on his face- it wouldn't do to have John know.

"Yes of course I know that," he replied briskly, "I'm not a total imbecile. Everything I've read so far says that a child turns one's world completely upside down, but, well..." He rolled his eyes to the heavens, "If the vast fools of the world are capable of raising a child, how could I not be?"

John shook his head and smiled. It was not a nice smile.

"You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, oh great detective."

Sherlock dismissed him as over-dramatic with a flowery wave of the hand.

"Of course I do, now, come and say hello," he raised the infant carefully and was gratified when his friend walked over and gently picked him up, cradling him close to his chest. Oh yes, this would work. He and John could do this, he knew they could- he just needed to make sure that John knew it too.

He stood up, placed one hand on John's shoulder and one the baby's head. He wasn't generally prone to physical closeness, but all the articles said that children needed it to feel loved and accepted in their environment. He squeezed the doctor's shoulder comfortingly,

"We'll be absolutely brilliant, you and I. Absolutely brilliant." He smiled a real smile and looked at the boy they were holding.

"Young Harry here won't know what hit him."