Hello! Be kind, dear readers. I have posted my meaningless, plotless oneshot on fanfiction! I put this one up on tumblr on a separate account (this is my crazy old account.) But please! Reviews are appreciated! There is Johnlock if you squint maybe, if you want to see it that way. I honestly prefer them to be in friendship. Random fluff! Enjoooy C;

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A baby. A baby was abandoned at a crime scene, with no one to take it. Being the good man he was, John Watson had taken the burden upon himself to take the child home for a night before taking it to the hospital; there was no time for that. Anyways, how bad could caring for a baby in Baker St. be?

Once home, John held the small girl; she was very frail, a bit malnourished from being abandoned. The doctor immediately gave her formulated milk heated up in the microwave, and held her tiny heaving body in his arms. It'd been years since he last held, or tended to, a baby. She was unbelievably small, and he recalled seeing her parent's deceased corpses at the murder scene; they weren't too big either. Sherlock had abandoned him at the scene, leaving him to make this choice on his own. The baby was only a couple months old, at a stage of such dire need for a parent; which he felt compelled to fill-in for this one night. Just as he shared a bonding moment with the darling silent child, the door opened and Sherlock entered the flat. "What's that?" He asked, monotone voice jumping up slightly. John turned, baby in his arms, "The child of Jane and Robert Pingree, apparently named Charlotte."
"Why is it here?"
"She. Charlotte is a she." John replied, narrowing his eyes; why did Mrs. Hudson and him believe that Sherlock would be accepting?
"It. I call it what I want. But why is it here?"
"Abandoned at the crime scene, I'll take her by the hospital in the morning to get checked out. She's far too young and frail to be on her own, Sherlock, it's common sense."
"I think it's utterly ridiculous." Sherlock then turned, finding no real interest in the child; or as far as John could see. The doctor then heard the baby begin to cry, as if she knew of Sherlock's distaste of her. "Shh.. shh." John tried to hush the baby. There was a soft knocking on the door, Mrs. Hudson with the baby supplies they'd need to get through the night. Diapers, food, blankets, an old cradle from the attic, everything they'd need and a bit more than just for one night. "It's only one night, Mrs. Hudson.." John half-laughed, not catching on to what the lady hinted at. "Oh, I know… But I want her to be comfortable. Now, love, shh… Sleep, dear." She kissed the puny girl on the head, but the baby didn't cease her sobs. John gently set the child in the confines of the cradle, which was in the flat's main room, and then began moving the other things in. "A little help, Sherlock?" He sarcastically asked, knowing that the detective would do no such thing.
"You brought that upon yourself, John, I will take no part in it." The other replied.
John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's response, typical. He eventually ended up going to bed, knowing Sherlock would be up in the night. About every hour on the clock he was awakened by a vicious crying, baby Charlotte plagued by nightmares, loneliness, and typical baby needs. She had been abandoned by her parents, and she seemed to sense they were gone. John went to and from his bed, getting grouchier and more stressed each time. He'd really gotten himself into more than he could handle. Back and forth, back and forth, he was about ready to collapse; it was 3:30 a.m.
At 4:30 or so he heard the wails begin again, his eyes shot open and he groaned softly; peeling his weary body from his warm bed once again. All he wanted was to sleep, and he reminded himself to never have children. Quickly, he took back that thought; he liked children once you got past this stage, he knew raising his own would pay off. But this child wasn't even his, but she was so helpless and weak and needed him. The crying escalated, John got out of bed slowly, groggily, and shuffled out of the bedroom with bleary eyes. Then the baby's shrieks died down quickly, suddenly. Had Sherlock killed the baby? What had just happened?
John crept to where the cradle was, hearing something stunning; so stunning he had to see it to believe it. Sure enough, there was Sherlock on the couch, holding the child to his heart so it could hear the gentle and calm thudding. He hummed a familiar tune softly, unaware that he was watched. "Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mummy's gonna buy you a mockingbird.." Sherlock quietly sang in a melodic and strangely good voice, it was nothing elaborate or fancy; just simple sweetness that tugged at John's heartstrings. Then the baby gurgled, Sherlock rubbed the back of her head "Shh… Hush now, dear." He held her closer to his heart, so she could be lulled to sleep by his rhythmic beats and humming of lullabies. The exhausted little girl soon fell into a deep slumber, and Sherlock leaned back against the couch; laying down now with the girl wrapped up on his chest. He had his eyes closed, in deep thought once more. John pondered whether to speak to him or not, but he couldn't believe that he hadn't known how to calm the child; how could Sherlock Holmes do it?
"John, I know you're there." That voice came, and John sheepishly stepped into the other's presence.
"How?" He blankly and bluntly asked.
"She was restless, she misses her mother. So, since I couldn't get any work done with that crying… And you didn't seem to be helping, I took matters into my own hands." John smirked when Sherlock didn't say 'it.' However, he didn't comment on that.
"But… I tried feeding her and holding her-"
"Children need more than just that, they need to feel secure and safe. What better way to calm a child than with the sound of a calm heartbeat and a lullaby? Really, John, I expected better from you."
"I-… Oh, sod off." He grumbled, before turning to go back to bed. Then he stopped, turning to face Sherlock once more "Thank you, by the way. I really appreciate it."
"Go to bed John. I swear, you're just as needy as her." He sighed and close his eyes again. John's lip twitched, but he saw no use in arguing. He was too sleep-deprived. John then fell into his bed again, the memory burning into his mind; forever engraved that Sherlock showed love. Sherlock soothed a baby. Sherlock would make a good parent. He then heard the tune of "Hush Little Baby" being hummed in the other room as he drifted into a deep, dreamless, slumber.

So what did y'all think?! :D