A/N: I've never been the most responsible of people. Doing thing like starting another story even though I've got two already in progress, I'm far from being responsible. But plot bunnies have special author-traps, where they lure unsuspecting writers and hold them prisoner until we fulfill their demands.

Why Sherlock being the son of Tony? Why not? Though they certainly don't look like each other, their personalities are quite similar. Plus, this hasn't been done before. And that's pretty darn exciting.

"Snap. Crackle. Pop." Sherlock intoned listlessly, stirring his cereal with the cheap plastic spoon.

"Eat your breakfast." Mycroft chided.

"They put so much emphasis on snap crackle pop," Sherlock argued, "And it doesn't even sound like that."

"It's a marketing strategy," Mycroft said, "You know that. Now eat."

Sherlock slumped in his chair, "Not hungry."

"Try to eat. You need it." Mycroft insisted.

"Cro-oft!" Sherlock whined and crossed his arms.

"Today is very important." Mycroft said sternly, "You're meeting your father, and moving to America. That requires glucose, so you perform cellular respiration, so your body can produce ATP, so you will be able to react sufficiently to the stimuli that is most certainly incoming today. Eat."

Sherlock huffed and titled his chair back on two legs, looking around the cafeteria of the boy's home they had been staying in ever since Mother had died of cancer a month ago, "When's he gonna get here?" He complained.

God help Tony Stark if Sherlock would be this difficult and rude when he got here, "Mr. Stark is a busy man, and it's only seven. For God's sake, be patient Sherlock!" Mycroft glanced down at Sherlock's still full bowl, "Eat!"

Sherlock nearly lost control of his chair, but was able to righten himself just in time, "Let's play I Deduce." He decided, mostly to distract Mycroft from being cross. And from forcing him to eat.

Mycroft was well aware of Sherlock's tactics, but looked around anyway, "I deduce someone who had a black and white dog."

"Easy. That one, with the long hair. The dog died in the fire along with his parents." Sherlock scoffed, "Make it a challenge, Croft! I deduce someone with a complete lack of intelligence and a rod in their butt."

"Sherlock, you just want to insult the lawyer."

"Still a valid deduction. Take your turn."

"I deduce... Someone who stole from you." Mycroft stood up and made his way to wear Preston(a bully who had tormented Sherlock several times before) was sitting, an angry Sherlock not far behind.

"Excuse me," Mycroft said as politely as he could, given the circumstances, "Did you tamper with my brother's luggage?"

"What's it to ya?" The delinquent acted tough.

"Did you hurt my violin? What about Aceus?

"That dumb hedgehog?" Preston gave a pleased smile, "It's headless."

Before Mycroft could react, Sherlock pounced at Preston, clawing and biting. Both boys tumbled to the floor, surprise aiding Sherlock at first, though Preston gained the upper hand due to superior size and strength. Poor Mycroft could only try to separate them, with no luck.

At that precise moment, the door to the mess hall opened and one of the matrons entered, followed by none other than Tony Stark and Pepper Potts.

"Holmes! Preston!" The matron said sharply(and in an embarrassed manner-famous people were here!) though neither boy payed her any attention.

Tony rushed forward, grabbing Sherlock around the midriff and pulling him off Preston. Sherlock struggled briefly before giving up and allowing himself to be pulled away. Mycroft heaved a sigh of relief. No kicking and no tantrums.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr. Stark." The matron apologized sweetly, then turned to Sherlock and Preston with fire in her eyes, "Explain." She demanded in a steely tone.

"I was mindin' me own business when Holmes jumped me outta nowhere." Preston lied rapidly.

"Not true!" Sherlock looked like he might take another swing at Preston, "You stole my hedgehog! Witnesses heard your confession! Ask Croft!"

"Yeah, how'd you know? You stalk me, Freak?" Preston goaded, feeling safer now that the matron was there to protect him.

Sherlock was practically foaming at the mouth, but Tony once again stepped in, rather forcibly. He didn't like bullies. Mycroft grabbed Sherlock to physically hold him back. Just in case.

"Listen here," He said angrily, jabbing Preston in the chest, "One wrong move, and I won't care that you're a kid. My suit's in the car. Give him his stuff back."

Thoroughly intimidated, Preston adverted his gaze and muttered, "I'll get the hedgehog."

Tony winked at Sherlock confidently(though his stomach was doing flips-this boy was his biological son) and received a blank stare in return, before the boy ran after Preston to reclaim his hedgehog.

Pepper smiled after him and turned to the matron, "Do you have the required paperwork for Mr. Stark to sign?" She asked.

The matron nodded, and led Pepper towards the back of the building, "Normally, there would be far more stricter regulations for adoption, but since Juliet Holmes stated in her will that Sherlock was to be left with his father, there is a bit more leeway. Naturally, there will be weekly inspections for a few months to make sure Mr. Stark's home is the ideal environment..." She prattled on

Pepper turned around and pointed to the door Sherlock had left through, mouthing that Tony should follow.

Tony opened the door and saw Sherlock holding a stuffed hedgehog in one hand and its head in the other.

"Hello," he said, honestly a bit nervous. He was Tony Stark, dammit! He didn't do nervous, "I'm Tony."

"Hullo Tony," Sherlock said, "I'm Sherlock. But you already know my name and I yours, and thus all introductions are rendered obsolete."

Adorable, hilarious, and a smartass. Tony liked Sherlock already.

Tony laughed, "I've never thought of it that way." He admitted, "Wish I had. Life would've been easier if I didn't have to introduce myself to everyone."

Sherlock smiled rather shyly, but still proudly, "A great many people don't realize the blindingly obvious."

"And you do?"

"Of course."

"Got any luggage?" Tony changed the subject, "I'll help you carry it."

Sherlock nodded, "Upstairs. Mostly clothes and my violin."

"You play the violin?" Tony asked, following Sherlock up the stairs.

"Four years." Sherlock responded rather proudly.

Started when he was four. Must be good. Of course, Starks were always amazing in their chosen fields, so Tony shouldn't be surprised.

"You ever try to build anything?" Tony asked.

"No," Sherlock replied, "Never had the parts. I've always wanted to."

That was good, "If you'd like, I could help you build one." Tony suggested.

Sherlock smiled smally, "Thank you."

"So, what else do you like?" Tony asked as they reached the top of the stairs.

"Chemistry, mostly." Sherlock said, "I steal Croft's textbooks all the time, and I've broken into the lab at school a few times to mess around."

Sherlock put Aceus under his arm and shoved open a door at the top of the landing. He entered and quickly made his way over to one of the many bunk beds and scrambled up to the top. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a spool of black thread with a needle stuck into it, and, ignoring Tony as the man tried to see what he was doing, began stitching up his stuffed hedgehog. He had done this many times before. Aceus was liable to lots of damage, either from bullies or from being Sherlock's companion in his many adventures. It only took a couple minutes, during which time Tony zipped the open suitcase on the floor next to the bed shut. He pulled it up and dragged it to the door to wait. Sherlock finished stitching Aceus up and shoved the needle and thread into his pocket before grabbing his violin case and jumping off the bunk. He trotted past Tony and down the stairs, letting him carry the suitcase.

Mycroft was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, "I deduce someone who is scared."

Sherlock bristled, "Am not!" He denied, then added, "I deduce someone who doesn't want me to leave. Don't be such a sissy, Mycroft."

"I deduce a twat," Mycroft countered.

"That's not even a proper deduction!"

"Am I missing something? Because I feel like I've been left out of some inside joke." Tony interrupted.

"A game." Sherlock responded, not glancing at Tony, "I Deduce. I Spy, but actually fun. You make a deduction of someone, and they guess what it is."

"So you subtract someone?" Tony joked.

Sherlock ignored the joke, ran toward the door to the mess hall, and threw it open, pointing without looking, "See that guy? With the black hair and red shirt? Mother died early in his life, dad choked to death six months ago. He's suffering from hallucinations right now." He paused to breath, "I know because he's chewing every mouthful more than twenty times and swallowing only a bit at a time. He's glancing around, always to the same place. This could be paranoia, but he's not looking at the people. He's probably seeing something disturbing, but not altogether frightening. I hacked into the database for fun yesterday, and found his records. He's been in and out of foster care since his dad died."

"Awesome!" Tony said sincerely, "You can tell all that by looking at someone?"

"More than." Sherlock muttered, hiding his pleasure, "I didn't tell you everything."

"And that is as modest as he gets." Mycroft said, "Pleasure meeting you, Mister Stark. Sherlock...Goodbye." Mycroft put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, looking down at him.

For once, Sherlock didn't try to annoy his brother, "Bye, Croft." He said seriously.

With that, Mycroft ran up the stairs rather abruptly. Tony didn't need to be as keen an observer as Sherlock to see the teenager was holding back tears.

Pepper and the matron entered the entrance hall together, followed by a stiff-looking man holding a thick stack of papers to his chest.

"If you two will come with us," the matron instructed, "We'll need the both of you to finish the paperwork."

Sherlock and Tony made almost identical faces of disgust at the prospect of paperwork, making Pepper smile. But they followed them anyway.

To tell the truth, Sherlock zoned out for most of the conversation. It was boring, a bunch of legal talk, and the lawyer was an idiot. He kicked his feet and grasped the sides of his chair tightly as he waited for it to be over.

"Sign here, please." The lawyer pushed a page over to Sherlock, making his head snap up in response.

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked, then glanced down at the paper. It was confirming his consent to this change of guardians. He glanced at Tony and Pepper, then the matron and the lawyer. He took the proffered pen and, only after a moment's hesitation, signed his name.

And just like that, Sherlock Holmes legally became Sherlock Stark.