Kidlock

The Antidote

"Right then." John shook the baby bottle to mix the three drops of antidote into the the formula. "Time to get you back to normal." He carried Sherlock over to the sofa and gently sat him down.

For just a moment, John hesitated. He suddenly realised he hadn't even gotten a picture today. Not like your flatmate turns into a baby every day of the week. John was secretly disappointed that Mrs. Hudson hadn't taken a snap of Sherlock holding the baby version of himself on his hip...now that would have been one hell of a sight. And against all expectations, Sherlock Holmes was one of the most adorable babies John Watson had ever seen. Not that Sherlock was an unattractive man - and not that John noticed such things, anyway - but the last thing in the world he had ever expected the world's only consulting detective to be was cute.

The big blue eyes that took in every detail of his surroundings - details the rest of the world overlooked - seemed absolutely huge in Sherlock's baby head, giving him a look of constant surprise. The mass of curly hair framing his little face was unexpectedly blond; so blond it was almost white. When he smiled, which was rarely, two dimples appeared in his cheeks like two little raisins in a pudding. And his nose was frankly adorable. Baby Sherlock Holmes had a little snub nose that just begged you to try and capture it, despite the cooly bemused looks such a game was likely to earn you from its infant owner.

And they'd had fun today. Sherlock was a remarkably easy baby. He didn't cry, and he hardly ever fussed. In fact he was so quiet it was almost eerie. The only time he made any noise was when you took the ever-present dummy from his mouth, and then it was like uncorking a police siren. Leave it in, though, and he was placid as a lamb. The only slightly trying thing was that he had to be entertained constantly. Being carried would bore him and he would wriggle to be let down. He'd crawl like a demon all over the flat or the park or the market or wherever they happened to be, then he would tire of crawling and demand to be carried again.

So, only two rules to follow in the Care and Feeding of Sherlock Holmes the Younger: let him have his vices, and never let him get bored.

John chuckled. Plus ca change.

But it really was time to give him the antidote now. It was well past dark, and Sherlock had said to give him the potion in the evening. Because John was the only one he trusted. John had some idea of how rarely that sort of trust came from a man like Sherlock Holmes, and he intended to show himself worthy of it.

With one last pang, he gave Sherlock the bottle.

While his flatmate gulped the formula, John fetched Sherlock's dressing gown and laid it across the sofa, where it would be within easy reach once Sherlock grew back to normal. Then he grabbed a chair from the dining room table and sat down to watch.

Sherlock finished the bottle and held it out to John: his way of saying he had finished. John took it but stayed where he was. He didn't want to miss this. The doctor in him was intrigued to see how this could possibly work. He was also vaguely curious what the re-growing process had looked like when it happened to him. Must have been freaky as hell.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then baby Sherlock hiccuped, flinched...and fell backwards onto the sofa. He sat up again, blinking, looking as though some invisible hand had pushed him down, and that it now owed him an explanation.