(A/N: This is the end! I'll probably do a follow up in the same universe, but this is it for Six Steps. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, I hope you'll check back in.)

Six Inappropriate Places to Take Your Baby

"Alphas and Omegas are extraordinarily protective of their pups. They go out of their way to shelter them, often refusing to let the child outside until they are several years old. However, some Alphas and Omegas are the opposite, bringing their pups everywhere and anywhere, believing them safe only when they have them by their side."

Sherlock yawned, feeling a surge in relief as Silas's breathing finally changed and he fell asleep on Sherlock's chest. Thank God. Newborn babies had worse sleep schedules than Sherlock did. Now he finally had the chance to catch up on some rest...

His phone started buzzing and Sherlock could have cried. Carefully moving his weight so he wouldn't disturb the baby, he checked his messages.

I know you're busy, but could you spare a few minutes to check out a crime scene? -Lestrade

Sherlock was tempted but exhausted. It would have to be an eight at least to get him out of the house and way from his baby.

As much as he abhorred being a slave to instinct, he couldn't quite bring himself to part from his son unless he knew that John would be the one holding him. But considering he hadn't left the flat in a week, it might be a good idea to go.

What is it? SH

Provided that John came home soon. He wasn't quite ready to leave Silas with Mrs. Hudson.

Locked room murder. But weird. -Lestrade

Elaborate SH

Two sets of severed hands, grasping each other in greeting. Each hand is from a different person. None of the hands belong to the dead woman. -Lestrade

Sherlock was on his feet and looking for his shoes in seconds, Silas still tucked against his chest. He contemplated the sleeping infant for a moment before deciding that his son was going to have to get used to crime scenes at some point. He had intended to wait until Silas was over seven days old, but it was best to start them young anyway.

He texted John what he was doing and hoped that he didn't find child protective services waiting for him when he returned home.

Miraculously, Silas was still asleep when Sherlock bundled him up and maneuvered him into the carrier. He asked Lestrade for the address and went out the door, hailing a cab and showing his son the city as it truly was for the first time.

Lestrade did not approve of a newborn baby boy at a crime scene. Some of the other officers were frozen in horror when Sherlock proudly presented Silas to them, and he was ninety percent sure that Donovan was actually calling child protective services.

"John was out," Sherlock said by way of explanation. "I expect that it has something to do with our anniversary."

"I can't believe someone managed to tolerate you for a year, Freak," Anderson snapped as he took pictures of the severed hands. "But I have to admit that I'm more stuck on the fact that you took a baby to a crime scene."

"I've got to agree with Anderson on this one, Sherlock," Lestrade said in his no nonsense tone. "Get that baby home. We'll solve it without you."

"No you won't," Sherlock sighed, pushing past them and setting Silas's carrier down near the dead woman. "And his name is Silas, not 'baby.'"

"The Freak's mate is on his way," Donovan announced, putting he mobile away. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. Well, at least she hadn't been calling people with the power to legally remove his child from his care.

"She wasn't murdered," Sherlock announced, ignoring everyone but Silas, who was making very sleepy cooing noises from his carrier. "Powder burns on her hands. She shot herself in the heart, but tried to make it look like someone else did. "

"Where's the gun, then?" Anderson snapped.

"She obviously wasn't alone," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "Someone else was with her and took the gun. Set up the hands, too. I have the feeling that the hands are just for show, likely stolen from a morgue and placed here just to confuse you lot. Her accomplice left via the window. I saw outside that there were small indentations in the dirt. Someone placed a ladder to get to the third story. Took it with them when they left."

"Would someone have reported stolen hands?" Lestrade asked.

"If they were stolen from Bart's, Molly would have assumed I took them and cover it up for me. Such is her habit. She's given up on being my mate, but now I think she's gunning for the position of Silas's godmother."

Lestrade blinked and worked through the information before evidently deciding it would be best to move on. "But why make a suicide this complicated?"

"They obviously wanted to pin the suicide as a murder on someone. I'm sure once you identify the woman, she's a marine biologist, by the way, she will have a very helpful friend or family member that will point out a lot of evidence to pin the death on the woman's boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

"Yes, he was very abusive. Got her addicted to drugs, stole all her money, physically beat her and emotionally tore her down until she felt suicide was the only option. Helpful friend or family member probably tried to talk her out of it originally, but once he or she, I'm leaning towards a she, saw that the victim would not be persuaded, decided to convince her to put on a show and make the bastard pay instead."

Lestrade sort of just stared at nothing, not even twitching when Silas started to cry.

Sherlock unbuckled him from the carrier and cradled him close. "Shh, love. You're alright. Yes, you're correct. There are hotlines for this situation. Yes, the woman did have other options. Hm? Oh, I think she felt scared and hopeless and alone."

"Are you talking to your baby?" Donovan asked incredulously.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What else would you have me do? Poke him from a distance? Of course I speak to him. I'm attempting to determine if avoiding all forms of 'baby talk' will lead him to fluency earlier than normal."

"He's a week old."

"And I like to talk to him," Sherlock agreed. "Oh, look, Silas. Daddy's here. Oh, he looks very angry. That's not good."

John stormed into the room, clutching the shopping he went out to get in his hands.

"What the hell are you doing? You're taking our child, your son, to a murder scene without consulting with me?!"

"It's a suicide," Sherlock corrected. "And it wasn't as interesting as it should have been. Also, I sent you a text."

"Your text said, and I quote, 'I'm going out with Silas. I'll be home soon.' You didn't mention a crime scene, Sherlock."

Sherlock frowned. "It's not dangerous."

"That isn't the point!" John shook his head. "This is an important milestone for him. You should have waited for me!"

John met Sherlock's eyes and Sherlock used ever once of his acting ability to keep an enormous smile off his face. "Baby's first crime scene."

"The world will someday fear the name of Silas Watson-Holmes," John reminded him. "We should have taken pictures to commemorate the event."

Sherlock finally laughed and John joined him, to the horror of every officer in attendance.

"God," John sighed, shaking his head. "We're going to have him taken away from us. Come here, love. I'll take the baby, you do your thing," John said, setting the shopping down and accepting the still-sleepy Silas. "Hello there," John said as Silas opened up his big blue eyes. "You're right, his eyes are getting lighter."

"I win genetics," Sherlock declared drily "To the victors go the spoils. I shall be the favorite parent."

"Good luck with that one."

"Are you really alright with this?" Donovan asked John when she thought Sherlock stopped listening.

"Yeah," John replied. "I mean, it's indoors. It's not dangerous. Sherlock would never put Silas in a situation where he could be hurt."

"This is a bit disturbing for a child though," Sally insisted.

"Probably," John conceded. "But we read him medical textbooks as bedtime stories. It's already inevitable that he won't be the most normal child. We're giving Silas an environment where he's allowed to be as weird as he wants to be. If he says he doesn't like crime scenes, we won't take him to crime scenes. That's sort of all there is to it."

"You're going to psychologically damage your son."

"Sally, I'm an alpha. My instincts wouldn't let me keep my pup anywhere he shouldn't be. Crime scenes are a part of who we are. And I sincerely doubt that this will be the most inappropriate place we will take him."

"Don't make it a challenge, John," Sherlock called up from his examination of the hands. "That isn't one you will win."

"Probably not," John agreed. "But I bet I could hold my own."

…...

"Sherlock!" John called, patting Silas's back and looking around for his ridiculous husband. "Sherlock!"

John found a note on the table.

Made a major breakthrough. Will be a Bart's. Text if you need me.

John sighed, happy that Sherlock had at least thought to leave something behind. He had to admit that he had probably been expecting too much in assuming that Sherlock remembered that John was supposed to be going out with some of the rugby lads for a pint.

Mrs. Hudson was out as well. John really wanted to take an evening off, but he couldn't leave Silas behind. But he hadn't seen the lads in years...but a baby really was a much higher priority...

John resigned himself to an evening in with the baby when he remembered the pseudo challenge from a few days ago.

It might not be more inappropriate than a crime scene, but John knew what his move was going to be.

Greg had given Sherlock one of those strap on baby holster-things at the baby shower, knowing that neither or them would stop doing things just because they had an infant. Sherlock refused to use it because he said it made him look like a koala, but John liked having his hands free when he was watching the baby. And since the thing was made for newborns, Silas would outgrow it before too long and John liked getting use out of things before they became obsolete.

Armed with a diaper bag and with an alert infant slobbering all over his chest, John went to the pub.

"Sorry, mates, got stuck baby sitting," he announced as he entered the establishment. "But I made it." He took a mental role call of everyone present. There was Arthur, Nick, Mark, Roger, Evan, Brad, and...was the Craig there off to the side?

"Oy! Johnny! It's true then?" Roger said as a way of greeting. "Three Continents Watson really got mated and had a pup?"

"If not, then you should be concerned that I have a baby with me," John pointed out. "I doubt it would go over well if he wasn't mine."

Arthur leaned over the table, sloshing his pint in the process, trying to get a better look at Silas. "He's just a wee thing, isn't he?"

"Ten days old," John agreed, working Silas out of the pouch so he could show him off more effectively. "Meet Silas Hamish Watson-Holmes. Looks more like his Papa than me." Every day Silas's eyes grew lighter and greyer. And the shockingly thick mop of tufted black hair spoke for itself.

Most of the lads were alphas, and there was a distinct current of jealousy at the mention of Sherlock. "I'd heard you found yourself an omega," Mark said, sounding a tad wistful. "How did you manage that?"

"We were both unbonded and our paths crossed," John said with a shrug. "I courted comically quickly and he, miraculously, went along with it. A year later and I'm still a bit dazed. Our bonding anniversary is the day after tomorrow, actually. Wedding anniversary in a few months."

"Got any plans?" Arthur asked, still examining Silas with a look of wonder. "God, he's gorgeous."

Silas took the opportunity to favor Arthur with his wide eyed stare of scrutiny before reaching out with one chubby hand. Arthur took it, looking chuffed as Silas gripped his finger.

"Yes he is," John agreed. "And I figured I would take Silas off Sherlock's hands for a full day, let the madman do whatever he wanted without worrying about the baby."

"That's it?" Nick asked incredulously.

"Well, fuck him over the table too," John amended, putting a hand over Silas's ear as he cursed.

Evan laughed. "Jeez, I can't believe you have a pup. Out of all of us, I was convinced it would be me."

"'Cause you're such a charmer," Craig said, rolling his eyes. He downed the rest of his pint. "Anyone want more. Watson, you want a round?"

"I'll stay sober," John said, shaking his head. "I have to watch a baby."

"Speaking of," Brad started, looking the most concerned out of everyone present. "Are you sure you should be bringing out a baby to the pub?"

"That reminds me!" John exclaimed, handing Silas over to the utterly infatuated Arthur. The six foot five hulking mass of muscle looked like he would worship Silas, given half the chance. "I need to text Sherlock. He's still winning, but this will put me in the running. Arthur, smile for the camera."

John took a picture of Arthur holding Silas in the middle of a pub. He sent it to Sherlock with the message:

Your move. JW

"Yes," he said, turning to Brad. "It is horribly inappropriate, but Sherlock took him to a crime scene that involved severed hands. Now we're competing."

John took Silas back just as he started receiving text after text on his mobile. He cradled his son one armed and scrolled through them. All of them said that strangers were not allowed to hold Silas ever. Under any circumstances. Ever.

"Afraid that the husband didn't appreciate you holding Silas," John informed Arthur. "But here, what he doesn't know, won't hurt him."

John passed Silas back to Arthur and handed the man a bottle a moment later. After a quick tutorial, Arthur was feeding Silas like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Conversation soon turned to other topics. John laughed and made bawdy jokes with the rest of them, turning quiet each time he glanced at Silas, comfortable with whoever wanted to hold him at the time.

And although by the end of the night all of his mates had had a turn with Silas, John hadn't taken his hand off the diaper bag.

The diaper bag that had his Sig hidden in a secret pocket Sherlock had sewn in himself.

John was still an alpha, after all.

He wasn't going to let anyone hold his child without having a loaded weapon at the ready.

…...

John had Silas in the carrier pouch-thing when he was gently but firmly ushered into an anonymous black car and driven to a warehouse on the outskirts of the city.

He hadn't seen Mycroft since the rather rushed wedding ten months prior, but he had the feeling that he was about to become reacquainted with his brother in law. He sincerely hoped he was about to. If he wasn't then he was being way too calm over the fact that he had his son had just been abducted.

The same pretty beta from last time met him outside the warehouse escorted him to the annoyingly posh looking man with an umbrella.

Yeah, time to introduce Mycroft to his nephew.

"Hi," John said, making sure that Silas was secure in the papoose-thing. "It's been a while."

"I'm aware," Mycroft said, looking at John like he was a lesser being. "I've been keeping an eye on the situation, unfortunately I've spent the last nine months in America. Please forgive me for not checking up."

"I can't honestly say that I mind," John said sincerely.

There was a beat of silence.

"Is there a reason you couldn't just come to the flat, or..." John was holding Silas very closely, the situation feeling hostile even though Sherlock had assured him that Mycroft would be mostly harmless towards Silas.

"I wanted to meet my nephew without Sherlock glaring at me, for starters," Mycroft said mildly. "And I want to offer you an opportunity."

"Is this the 'pay me to spy on Sherlock' bit? Because while I didn't let you get that far last time, my answer is still no. Thanks for not offering at the wedding, by the way. That would have lacked some tact."

Mycroft looked surprised. "But I haven't even-"

"Yeah, Sherlock said you'd do it. He told me to take the money and feed you false information, but I have to say no on a principle thing." John was getting irritated. All he wanted was a nice afternoon out with his baby. Sherlock had taken him up on the anniversary deal and was sleeping like the dead at the moment. Were he awake, he probably would have materialized by now, somehow already knowing that his brother had taken his husband and his son to a really shady warehouse in the middle of-

"Oh!" John cut off whatever Mycroft was starting to say. "A shady warehouse is a completely inappropriate place for a baby."

"Well, I suppose so," Mycroft said, sounding confused.

"Here, hold Silas, I need to take a picture." John handed Silas to a very befuddled looking Mycroft and snapped a picture on his phone. "I won't send it yet. It's still his turn. But I'll save it for next time."

"Should I ask what-" Mycroft gagged mid-speech as he caught a whiff of Silas's nappy.

"Yeah, babies do that," John said ruefully. "I've got the things to change him, though. Don't worry."

"Please don't change it in the back of the car," Mycroft requested, handing Silas back quickly. John put him back in the carrier, bid his farewells, then changed a nappy in the back of Mycroft's car.

…...

Sherlock had Silas with him when Wiggins met his eyes across a crowded street. Sherlock nodded in acknowledgment and the homeless man slunk off into the shadows. Without considering the fact that he was cradling a one month old child against his chest, he followed.

Wiggins was leaning against a skip at the mouth of a darkened alleyway. Sherlock stepped up to him, hugging his son close and trying to deduce his contact's purpose.

Wiggins was edgy, but not desperate for a hit. His clothes did not show recent wear or damage, he had not been involved in an altercation of some sort. No...he was upset about something, but on behalf of someone else.

"Who's dead?" Sherlock asked without preamble. Silas stuck his fist in his mouth.

"Messy Jess," Wiggins said, wringing his hands. "Murdered, she was. Can't figure out why. Didn't deal, didn't use, didn't trespass onto anyone else's turf."

"You want me to...what, avenge her? I'm hardly an archangel."

"No. It's just...Suzy P. was killed last month. Real similar. Thought it was just a random thing, killing a homeless woman, cops don't really care all that much. But now Jess is gone and I was thinking that it might be a pattern and that it was, well...more up your street, yeah?"

"Right," Sherlock sighed. He figured it was best to root out a potential serial killer before some of his more valuable informants were targeted. "Has the body been moved?"

"Nah, I started looking for you as soon as I found her. I thought about Suzy, see, and I figured best to let Mr. Holmes take a look before the cops sweep it aside."

"Good job, Wiggins," Sherlock praised. He adjusted his hold on Silas. "Lead the way."

"No disrespect, Mr. Holmes," Wiggins said hesitantly. "But should you be bringing your baby to Jess's hideout? She wasn't called Messy Jess for nothing."

"Oh! That reminds me!" Sherlock shifted Silas to one arm and reached for his mobile. "I need to take a picture." Sherlock took a picture and sent it to John. "Now it's his turn."

There was a response before Sherlock even had a chance to follow Wiggins. Sherlock swore at the picture of Mycroft holding a slightly younger Silas in the middle of a warehouse.

Your turn again. JW

…...

Silas was two and a half months old when he and Sherlock were kidnapped. The amateurs behind the attempt let Sherlock keep the diaper bag after Sherlock insisted that unless they wanted to deal with a screaming, smelly baby, they would give him access to formula and nappies. They didn't know that there was a handgun and an emergency mobile hidden in a secret pocket within the bag.

As soon as he was left (locked in a room, but untied so he could keep Silas from crying), Sherlock dug into the bag and pulled out the phone.

He took a picture and captioned it Kidnapped. Try to beat it. SH before sending it to John. Then he texted both him and Lestrade his location and the expected number of assailants. He tucked the gun into the waistband of his trousers, picked Silas up from the small blanket Sherlock had laid out on the floor, sat down with his son in his arms and recited the alphabet while he waited.

Sherlock paused in his recitation as he felt the exact moment John read the text. Pure fear and panic assaulted Sherlock across the bond, too strong for him to block out. He did he best to project calm and comfort, but only managed to dull John's emotions slightly. Sherlock sighed and returned to the alphabet after reassuring Silas. "Don't worry, Dada's on his way."

Speech still proved tobe beyond Silas, aside from some basic sounds, but it helped to pass the time until there was the distinct sound of shouting outside the room in which he was being held.

He calmly pulled out the gun, keeping his left arm around Silas, thumbed off the safety, and held it to the door as one of his kidnappers unlocked it and threw it open.

Silas jumped at the noise, but didn't start crying. The child was used to much worse.

"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock calmly told the man, pressing a kiss to Silas's wispy black hair. "I'm an omega. Threaten my child, and you will die. No one would even consider arresting me for it, and I can't say that I'm known for my morals. Your decision."

The kidnapper ran away.

Sherlock packed up their things and was ready to go when John burst into the room. He didn't speak, he just crowded Sherlock and Silas against the back wall and breathed in their scent, wrapping his arms around Sherlock so that Silas was sandwiched in between them.

"Are you alright?" John finally managed, his voice rough.

"They were idiots. I have a bruise on my arm but otherwise both of us are completely fine. I didn't fight, not with Silas, and they weren't cruel."

"Good," John breathed, burying his nose in the crook of Silas's neck.

"Da?" Silas babbled, looking up at John in confusion. "Da?"

They both froze.

"Since it's months early for him to be speaking, that's probably just a random syllable that means nothing to him, but given the circumstances, let's just pretend that Silas said his first word."

"Thank you, Sherlock."

"You're welcome, John."

Silas got stuck on a certain syllable for a day.

"Da?" he inquired every time John left the room.

"Da!" he greeted, every time John returned.

"Dadadadadada," he babbled, every time John held him in his lap.

Just when the proud parents were convinced that their son had grasped speech at two months old, Silas decided to return to other syllables again.

"Babafalaloo," he cooed around his first. "GoyabalaaaAAAAAA," he screeched when Sherlock tried to give him a bath.

The parents, still just as proud, accepted that perhaps speech was Still a bit much for them to expect from their infant.

But sometimes, after John kissed his baby boy goodnight, Silas would mutter a sleepy, "Da," and slip into oblivion with a small smile on his face, knowing on the most basic levels that no matter what happened, Dada would always barge into the room and save everyone. That was just what Dada did.

…...

"I'm out of ideas," John finally admitted when Silas was five months old.

"Dada?" Silas asked, looking up from his blocks. He had started using a few words the week before; a bit early, but Silas was a very intelligent baby.

"Papa beat me with the kidnapping thing months ago," he sighed. "I can't think of anywhere I could take you that wouldn't be a direct risk to your health."

"Papa no," Silas said, throwing a block.

"I don't want him to win either," John agreed. "But I honestly have nothing. I mean, you're getting too old. I'm afraid that something might actually mentally scar you."

"Dada," Silas said skeptically.

"I know, I know. I just feel like I'm supposed to be the moral one. Anywhere potentially dangerous or emotionally damaging is out of the question. So I'm trying to think less of a where and more of a who. You've already got a picture with your Uncle Mycroft, so I need to think of someone else that Papa hates."

"Papa yes."

"Yes, your Papa does hate a lot of people," John considered. "Unfortunately, most of them want to shoot Papa. That falls under the category of things that are not safe."

"Dada." Silas was looking at John liked he was missing something obvious.

"Who?"

"Dada!"

"Alright, I'm thinking." John picked Silas up, ignoring the squeal of protest, and settled the baby in his lap.

Then it dawned on him.

"I know where to go!"

Anderson looked very confused when he answered the door.

"Watson? What are you doing here?"

"I can't explain," John said, pushing into his house. "Just stand next to me and smile for the camera."

Silas gave a big smile as the flash on John's phone went off. Anderson still had an utterly befuddled expression on his face.

"Thanks, you've been a great help," John said, smiling widely. "I think I've just won."

"You're crazier than the Freak," Anderson breathed, as though that was a brand new discovery.

"Yup," John agreed cheerfully. "Bye!"

John sent the picture attached to the message: I'm waiting.

Ten whole minutes passed before John received a reluctant Conceded. SH

John and Silas celebrated their victory for about thirty seconds before he stopped to wonder, for the first time during the competition, if he was a terrible parent.

…...

John was watching Silas sleep when Sherlock entered the nursery and wrapped his arms around his husband's waist.

"I can't believe you went to Anderson's house."

"I won."

"But at what cost?"

"Silas was the one who suggested it."

Sherlock pulled back, looking offended. "Why was Silas on your team?"

"I told you winning genetics didn't make you the favorite."

Sherlock looked like he was on the edge of an epic strop when something flickered in his expression.

"What?" John challenged, crossing his arms.

"You win this time," Sherlock said, an odd tone to his voice. "But I'll be the next one's favorite. Wait and see."

"Bit early to start thinking about that, isn't it?"

Sherlock cleared his throat and fidgeted.

"What?"

Sherlock smiled hesitantly. "Admittedly, we still have seven and a half months, but I would say it isn't too early to start thinking about these things."

John most certainly did not pass out. He simply decided to get reacquainted with the effects of gravity and suddenly crash to the floor.

"JOHN?!"

"DADA?!"

John blinked several times and looked up at his concerned mate.

"We're having another baby?"

"I was just at the doctor's," Sherlock confirmed, sounding more like a soldier with orders of deployment than a proudly expecting parent. "We have a 'whoops' baby."

"For Christ's sake, you've had one heat since Silas was born."

"The pill isn't one hundred percent effective. But it would have messed up my heat, keep it from ending when I conceived."

"I didn't even know that was a side effect." He got back to his feet and something registered. "Wait, you went to the doctor alone?"

Sherlock shifted, looking uncomfortable. "I didn't want to worry you unnecessarily. Or get your hopes up. Honestly, I wasn't sure how you would react. Considering you fainted-"

"I did not faint," John insisted, shaking his head. "So you're six weeks?"

"Yup," Sherlock said, popping the 'p.'

"Dada! Papa!" Silas whined, annoyed that he had been ignored for so long.

John turned to his son and lifted him out of the crib. "I'm afraid you won't be the only baby in this flat any longer," John sighed. "You'll be just over a year old when he or she is born. You probably won't remember being the only baby."

Silas made a scoffing sound, as though it was ridiculous that his memory wasn't already fully developed.

"Hm," John hummed in disagreement. "Going to be awake now? Fine then, let's play with your blocks and let Papa take a nap. He's going to need to take very good care of himself from now on."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Please avoid coddling me further, John."

"Can't help it," John said, pressing a kiss to his mate's cheek. "Sustenance and Protection are courting instincts, after all."

"No need to court me when I'm yours."

"Yeah, but I like working for it now and again. Take a nap, love. I've got this baby. You focus on taking care of the next one."

"Fine."

"Good."