disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

(A/N) I can't resist writing this.


Sherlock is…adorable, he has to admit. John won't say it out loud, because if he did then a game of hide and seek would surely be his punishment, if Sherlock didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. They both avoid the subject of Sherlock's transformation and even though Sherlock only comes up to about waist height on John and looks like he's about 8, he still has the brain of the world's only consulting detective and isn't afraid to use it in defense of his current stature. Except, for all his big talk, John can still see the subtle changes that have accompanied his flat mate's new body, Sherlock sleeps next to him at night, with the reason that his bed is too big and cold now and John doesn't mind it, Harry and he had to share a bed when they were little.

He's notices that Sherlock has more of a sweet tooth now and John stops at Speedy's to buy a treat when Sherlock has been exceptionally good while they're out. He's noticed how Sherlock still uses his blue dressing gown even though they bought him a new wardrobe and it's rather amusing to watch him walk around in it with most of the fabric dragging behind him like cape. John doesn't mind, and honestly he enjoys it, when Sherlock clamors onto his lap and tucks his head into John's chest and clasps his little hands together to think. When he asked the reason for it, Sherlock simply replied "It's comfortable" and there was no more discussion about it after that.

All of Scotland Yard has seen and no doubt gossiped about the consulting detective's new body, and John is thankful that Lestrade keeps most of the nosy ones out of the crime scenes. Speaking of crime scenes, John nearly laughed his head off at the sight of everyone's faces when they showed up for the first time, with Sherlock looking like a mini version of himself in a replica of his coat that had showed up on their doorstep (Mycroft's doing no doubt). Explaining everything had been rather difficult, Sherlock didn't necessarily believe in magic and voodoo and the like, but after pissing off a woman deep into the occult on their last mission, he was beginning to believe after waking up a few days later a few feet shy of what he used to be. Everyone has skeptical looks on their face, till Sherlock starts deducing the hell out of the scene.

John watches quietly, like a silent guardian, he hovers near Sherlock and makes sure to listen to everything he says, no way was he going to let the kid run off after criminals in his current condition. That didn't stop him from trying though and John promised himself it wouldn't happen again when they ended up chasing a killer from his apartment through London's streets. John hadn't hesitated a moment to scoop Sherlock up before he got too far ahead and heave the kid onto his back. Small hands locked around his neck and he supported the detective with one hand as he took off after the killer. Sherlock spoke right into his ear, quickly explaining the man was unarmed or he would've turned on them both, all John had to do was incapacitate him and call the police. Yeah, easier said than done with a kid on your back that weighs about 40 pounds.

They corner the guy down in the underground and John doesn't let Sherlock argue when he pulls the kid from his shoulders and tells him to wait at a bench and not to talk to strangers, which Sherlock immediately takes offense to, but John is already gone. He watches John disappear among the night travelers and wrings his hands nervously and when he realizes he's doing it he shoves the infernal things into his pockets.

The minutes pass by painfully slow and Sherlock feels his phone buzz, a phone call from John and when he answers it the man sounds out of breath.

"I got him, we're by the next-"

"Yes John," he's just glad to hear his flat mate.

"Come over, stay on the phone okay?"

Hopping down from the bench Sherlock huffs loudly, but the exasperation is lost under his childish voice, "Really John, it's unnecessary."

"Indulge me alright."

"If I must."

A pause.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm still here and no one has kidnapped me yet."

"You say it like you're expecting someone to."

"There's barely anyone here, I'm a child all alone, it-"

"You're hardly a child."

"And yet you insist on treating me as such!"

He hears John chuckle and Sherlock brushes some wayward curls from his face and sees John up ahead, he hangs up the phone.

The case is wrapped up quickly, Lestrade thanks them again and they take a cab home, Sherlock falls asleep on the way and John has to carry his deadweight up the stairs. Not that he minds, he finds it endearing to watch sleepy, kid Sherlock brush his teeth and make a mess of his face. After they're cleaned up and changed into sleep clothes John turns the lights out as they head upstairs to his room. The stairs barely creak under Sherlock's small feet and when he gets to his room the kid is already under the covers, only a mop of curly hair can be seen and after fumbling around in the dark he finally finds the bed and gets in.

John lays on his good shoulder and feels Sherlock scoot closer, hesitating even though they've been doing it for a week now and he reaches out because he knows if he doesn't, the kid will wait until he's fallen asleep to cuddle closer. Sherlock feels like he's all knees and elbows and ridiculously thin when he curls up into a fetal position against John's chest, but he doesn't say anything, just whispers goodnight and hopes the next case won't drag them around London.

/

Days with kid Sherlock go a little like this for John, he wakes up at 7 like clockwork, sometimes Sherlock is still next to him, but today he isn't. John goes downstairs and sees Sherlock sitting in front of his laptop, dressing gown wrapped around his small body like a blanket and probably emailing clients. He takes a shower, gets dressed and comes downstairs again only to have Sherlock breeze past him to go take a shower too.

John cooks breakfast and makes an extra cup of tea and just as he's sitting down to eat Sherlock appears dressed like a miniature adult and his hair…well, John tries not to laugh. Apparently, Sherlock had very uncontrollable hair as a kid because even though it's dry now, it looks like he stood in a tornado and then tried to comb it, his hair is positively bouncy and curly and John looks away when Sherlock glares at him.

With no case to keep Sherlock occupied for the day he asks Mrs. Hudson to check in on him from time to time, because John doesn't want to think of the messes that might occur if he's left alone for hours on end. He leaves the house for work and has to push the worry that keeps cropping up to the back of his mind and tell himself that Sherlock may look like a child, but he still thinks pretty much like a 37 year old man. John receives the occasional text throughout the day, mostly things like "Stop asking Mrs. Hudson to check on me" and "I want (insert some kind of desert here)". He doesn't answer any of them, he has paper work to do and patients to see.

The day is long and boring and John has the urge-which has been happening a lot recently-to go to the store and buy whatever kind of cake Sherlock has asked for that day, because really, he wants to indulge the kid a little. So when he shows up with a bag of goodies and Sherlock smiles, actually smiles at him, well, John can't resist smiling back. Mrs. Hudson appears in their kitchen a little later on and tells John what Sherlock has been up to, which he finds rather amusing how their landlady describes Sherlock's behavior. She'd apparently walked in to see him sitting upside down on the couch, with his head touching the floor and Skull resting on his chest while they chatted about something.

Eventually she leaves them and John cooks dinner and here is another thing he's noticed, Sherlock offers to help, but only if he's in the kitchen and doing an experiment. The kid actually offers to help cook and John doesn't turn him away and he hopes the habit will stick. After dinner is done, eaten and the dishes are cleared away John sits on the couch to watch crap telly and Sherlock discreetly slips onto the cushions beside him, already changed into his dressing gown and John throws an arm around the back of the couch so his flat mate can nestle closer into his side, because god forbid Sherlock ask to sit beside him.

They watch a few shows, he listens to Sherlock complain about the horrible writing in his cute voice until its bedtime and John has enforced the rule of a proper bedtime for the little detective. Even though Sherlock heaves and haws about it he goes willingly and soon they're in John's bed falling asleep.

/

Nights with Sherlock, are sometimes quiet and sometimes John finds himself woken up by little sobs. He isn't used to it just yet and he realizes that Sherlock is having a nightmare and then he realizes that the poor kid has wet the bed. John sighs quietly, he remembers those days, gently he wakes Sherlock. His little flat mate gasps and tries to wipe his face before he freezes and John knows he feels it too.

"J-John," Sherlock sounds so small and meek and it tears into John's heart like the bullet that pierced his shoulder. "I'm so-"

"No, stop, don't worry about it."

Silence.

"Come on, go take a quick shower while I change the sheets."

Sherlock goes quietly while John bundles the blankets to be washed and makes a mental note to have Mrs. Hudson help him the with mattress tomorrow. He grabs a pair of pajamas and heads downstairs in time to catch Sherlock wrapped in a towel coming from the bathroom.

"We'll sleep in your bed, kay?"

His flat mate nods and disappears. John washes, changes into fresh clothes and when he goes into Sherlock's room the kid is standing by the bed, in different sleeping clothes with his arms wrapped around his chest as if he's cold.

"John, I'm sorry, I di-"

"I already said don't worry about it, let's go to bed."

He's too tired to hear Sherlock apologize and then no doubt launch into a speech about how his body acts without his consent and blah blah he just wants to go to sleep. John gets under the covers and he's hit by the faint smell of Sherlock's cologne in the blankets and feels the little detective get in beside him.

They're silent for a while before Sherlock speaks up, "I dreamt you'd been shipped off to Afghanistan again, which is entirely preposterous seeing as how you were right next to me and-"

"Sherlock," John stops him there, "separation anxiety isn't uncommon in children."

"I'm not a child John. My body is deceiving you."

"No, I think it's a lot more than that, being this small your brain hasn't fully developed and even though you're still wonderful at deductions and such, it's still the brain of...what did we decide you were again?"

"Between 7 and 9."

"Exactly and I'm sure you've noticed it too."

There's a pregnant pause and John thinks Sherlock has fallen asleep, but then he speaks, "I become tired more easily, I crave sweets, I feel anxious when you're away from the house all day, I feel the need to eat more often, Anderson gets on my nerves even more now," John gives a soft laugh, "Not to mention I'm insufferably short and…"

John waits, listens to Sherlock breathe quietly before he feels the kid scoot over and then there's a face pressed into the side of his neck and Sherlock speaks so quietly he has to strain to hear.

"I want your attention all the time," though Sherlock won't say it out loud, it was like that before he was turned into a child, "I want to hug you, I want to hold your hand when we walk down the street and I want to play hide'n'seek and I want more piggy back rides."

In the dark John smiles and wraps his arms around Sherlock to bring the little detective closer, "You could just ask for those things you know."

"Yes, because that's what normal flat mates do," Sherlock mutters.

"I think it's safe to say this whole situation is as far from normal as you can get."

He feels Sherlock nuzzle closer, "Fine, I'll ask whenever the mood strikes me."

"Alright, g'night Sherlock."

"Good night John."