Chapter Text
John met a woman at his new civilian job. She was a nurse. She was his type. They had fun when they were able to talk in-between clients. She was smart. She was funny. She was every thing that he should want, except for one thing.
First time that he introduced Hamish to her was a complete happenstance. He chose that job because the clinic was close to home. Good thing because Mrs. Hudson took ill, and John had to race home. They were in-between daycare’s. Mrs. Hudson stepped in so he could continue working uninterrupted.
John let himself in and found her sitting in the kitchen.
“I can see him napping from here,” she assured him in a deeply congested voice.
John walked right over and have her a paper bag and a paper cup. “Tea the way you like it. And then there’s vitamin C and D. An expectorant, a pain killer, and cough swallows. The instructions are on the bottles. Do get some rest.”
“You’re so thoughtful. And, I’m so sorry, dear.”
“It’s fine. Just feel better.”
John tucked Hamish into his pram. The baby bag had everything that he needed including personal hygiene necessities to distract the boy: the daily paper, Hamish’s tablet, and electronic activity center.
John drove Hamish right into the heart of three cooing nurses. They loved him at first sight. Luckily, Hamish was in a relatively tolerant mood and allowed himself to be handled. He had a kitty cat fleece cap on and his pacifier was in. He almost look like any other pedestrian baby…almost.
When Mary picked him up Hamish began kicking and screaming. He even slapped at her face and spat his pacifier at her.
John rushed to take the hysterical child away. John was agog. He didn’t know either what to say or what to do. For all his personality quarks, he’d never seen Hamish react in such a way.
And the more he thought of it, the less John liked it. She was still funny, smart, and nice. She was still everything he’d seen.
But.
Instead of asking her out on a proper date, as he’d intended, John stayed home.
He spent his time packing for a day trip. Nothing complicated. It was simply warmer now. He could take Hamish now. Again, for the first time.
It had been five and a half months since the weather turned and winter had started to set in. That’s when John had to stop gong to visit Sherlock’s grave with Hamish. And, once the little scamp had started setting fires and creating havoc, he was nervous about leaving him with anyone else unnecessarily. Even if Mrs. Hudson could tell just by looking if he had arson on the mind. It was still a big chance to take with their property values and insurance.
The next day they headed out. Hamish sat in his pram well bundled against the still cold wind. John’s baby bag was loaded onto the pram along with a folding little stool. His back pack was filled with snacks, a blanket, and an emergency fire extinguisher…just in case.
They took a cab to the wrought iron gates. From there John pushed the pram a block down and then 100 yards to the right. Sherlock lay inward. To reach him he had to carry Hamish. He pushed the pram over the uneven, patchy ground until he couldn't anymore.
He picked his son up and carried him. Hamish was tugging on his hair when John spotted it. Black and shiny against the gray of the landscape. It stood so imposing, so final.
John turned to Hamish. The attention stopped his squirming. He smiled showing several baby teeth under his fleece cap. The little fleece kitty ears on top of his cap flapped in the wind.
“Daddy loves you. Do you know who else loves you? Your father.”
“Bylin!” Hamish chirped happily.
John stared at his son. He smiled at that deceptively innocent face. “Smart boy,” John cooed. “Our smart boy.”
John walked the rest of the way saying, “He loved us enough to die so that we could live. I don’t know if he was able to imagine you. But, I do know that you are everything that he could have believed was possible.”
When they arrived, John set Hamish down by the black stone. John dropped his burdens so that he could hold the boy still.
“This is your Father’s monument. We’re going to come here every now and then. I’m going to look really sad here, but only because I love him so very much.”
They were there for an hour during the warmest part of the day. John could have stayed there just staring at the stone forever. It felt infinite. A part of him expected something to happen, but nothing ever did.
Hamish became fussy. He squirmed more than usual. And John knew that it was time to go.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John left work and went straight to the daycare. It hadn’t been hard to make the decision once Mycroft offered to help with the cost. The daycare was part of a program for gifted children that Mycroft had been talking up.
John was doing his best to be understanding but he was more interested in making sure that Hamish socialized properly with his peers. He really wanted to make it a little easier for his son than it had been for Sherlock. Or, Mycroft for that matter.
But, paid for daycare with other children his age who could read and write before being able to walk was attractive. If nothing else John knew that Mycroft had security on the place, and his son was brilliantly entertained while there. And when he disclosed about Hamish’s pyromaniac tendencies they didn’t bat an eye. It was win-win.
Initially, John hadn’t wanted to put his kid in such a strict environment that was attempting to create baby Einsteins. He hadn’t had a problem turning down Mycroft, politely, but firmly.
Mycroft smiled back at John.
That should have been the first big clue.
Instead of arguing the matter, Mycroft had simply handed John a bag and said, “I apologize for missing your birthday. A small token. No need to walk me out. Good day, John.”
The token turned out to be two different kinds of puzzles. He pulled out a jigsaw puzzle first. 1500 pieces worth of big, bright hot air balloons in mid-flight. There was also a jumbled Rubik cube.
At first it just looked like a crappy gift. He left it sitting on the coffee table.
John had to get dinner made.
He popped one of Hamish’s DVD’s into the machine. Today he chose, the three little pigs and the ABC’s. Hamish’s toys were laid out and John left him to it.
John set vegetables to boil so that he could make baby food for Hamish. Cooking and freezing when he could was best. If, he could carve out some time for himself around Hamish’s needs. Dinner would be sweet potato mash and sausages.
The moment he could, John left the kitchen to check on his son.
John got within six feet and went stock still. Shock was his first sensation. He made it to his chair and fell into it.
Hamish was too busy to notice his da. He was focused completely on his task as he absently suckled on his pacifier. Wearing only his diaper, he moved around as quickly as his still chubby fingers and legs allowed. It was clear that his mind was moving far quicker than his little body could manage. The jigsaw puzzle under his hands was almost finished.
John noticed the other gift on the coffee table, off to one side. John reached for the multi-colored cube. All six sides were complete. At his very best he’d always gotten stuck with that one odd cube that he could never maneuver into place.
John calmly picked up his mobile and dialed Mycroft.
“John, how nice to hear from you.”
“You’re a prick. If your brother was a cock, then you’re a prick.”
“I see you opened my gift and Hamish then enjoyed it.”
“He shouldn’t be able to do this,” John said a bit lost.
“Both Sherlock and I always exhibited advanced problem solving and pattern recognition skills…among other characteristics.”
John bit his lip until it hurt. Finally, he said, “Fine. He can go to Einstein daycare.”
“Please consider the school, John. There’s no reason why Hamish can’t skip a few grades and-
“Don’t push it. He isn’t mature enough to interact with older kids. He has to learn to socialize with children his age first.”
Dryly the man responded, “You can’t be serious?”
“Social skills are important.”
John could hear Mycroft rolling his eyes.
“If you insist, John,” he said only with a bit of sarcasm coming through.
“I do. Send me the daycare information. I’ll take him tomorrow so that we can register.”
“No need. It’s all arranged. They shall be expecting you. Good night, John.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John arrived at Hamish’s private and exclusive daycare to find his son receiving a piano lesson. Mycroft and he had already discussed matters. They settled on a private violin tutor. John felt it important, more so than the piano which Mycroft insisted on. Mycroft insisted on piano first to build up the strength in Hamish’s hands. He insisted that it was crucial, and so John had agreed.
John was not musically inclined. But even he could tell that Hamish was doing well. He seemed to enjoy his piano lessons. He gave the little keys his utmost concentration. It was rather amazing to watch. John didn’t get tired of recording him on his phone. He simply wanted to remember it all, and preserve it for posterity.
John waited quietly until the lesson was over. The moment that Hamish realized that there would be no more piano for today, he began crying. He even threw his pacifier. John had learnt that it was a sure sign of abject emotional self-destruction.
“Hamish,” John called calmly.
The baby turned to his daddy’s voice and ran to him crying, hands held out, saliva running down his face. John scooped him up and held him. He inhaled his baby scent.
“I love you. I missed you today, so much.”
“Dada. Pano. Nusic.”
“I know. But we have to go home and you can practice what you learnt on the key board that uncle Mycroft bought you.”
Thought the crying lessened, Hamish didn’t look convinced.
Hamish hid his face in John’s shoulder.
“Mr. Watson,” Hamish’s teacher called. She held up Hamish’s pacifier saying, “I rinsed it.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you. I’m sorry about that. He’s still learning to deal with disappointment.”
She smiled prettily, “I’m used to tantrums. Hamish is actually doing rather well for his age, even emotionally speaking.”
“That’s good. His father could be a total drama queen at times. Please don’t let him get away with nonsense.”
John instantly realized what he’d said as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
“Father? I thought you were his father?”
John grew upset at the question. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
With that John turned and left with Hamish in his arms.
And John didn’t stop running until he got home and could lock the door.
Before he even put Hamish down, John pulled out Hamish’s practice keyboard. He rolled out the electric mat on the coffee table and plugged it in. He set his son down in front of it. Like a maestro the baby set his fingers down over the keys and began playing at the lowest sound setting.
John let him practice as he sat in his chair and stared out mindlessly at the empty expanse of the sofa.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John took Hamish to the park.
Hamish was a bit confused by it all. The other children seemed a mystery to Hamish. Though that was the point of their exercise. Ordinary children. Hamish seemed out of his element and utterly lost.
It took some time but finally, he tried playing in the sand. He didn’t seem to mind it too much. He even ate some of it. But the rest of what was happening around him was beyond him. He did however observe the other children at play, which was a fine start.
However, before they left John sat Hamish in a baby swing and pushed him for awhile. At first, Hamish didn’t seem to ‘get’ it. But then, he smiled around his pacifier.
He knew that the boy would want to come back. As far as John was concerned, it was a big wind for normalcy, socialization skills, and simple human interaction.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was a Saturday.
They started their day by walking to their favorite tea house. John had Hamish in his pram, but only because of the weather. The cold of early autumn was starting to set in. They were working on phasing out the pram but Hamish, much like his Father, liked being lazy. He seemed to enjoy laying back and enjoying the ride as he sucked on his pacifier. It seemed to be his current and most favorite thinking position.
John ordered an herbal tea with lots of dairy free almond milk and a few biscuits. He added a bit of his tea to Hamish’s sippy cup. Hamish made a mess but he ate the biscuits that John gave him and he drank his warm vegan milk and tea.
Meanwhile, John read the paper out loud. Greg was in it again.
“Poor uncle Greg,” John said shaking his head. “These bank robbers are really giving him a run.”
“Water gang,” Hamish said picking up his sippy cup.
“Yes. Waters Gang, and they are very bad. You’re not supposed to take things that aren’t yours. Otherwise, you wind up in the time-out chair. No piano. No biscuits. No toys.”
John finished reading the pertinent sections of the paper.
When they left it was to go to the park.
They didn’t stay long, only 30 minutes or so.
John found a nice group of ladies who didn’t ask a bunch of questions and didn’t flirt with him. All were nannies, they didn’t mind him and Hamish showing up now and then. Even better, Hamish seemed to not out right hate the children that he got to play with. So they showed up.
John sat for a while and watched Hamish.
Hamish did his part. He dug furiously in the sand box. After, he ran around after two other boys. He even climbed up on the playset with the others and slid down the slide for the first time ever.
John got so excited that he jumped up and cheered.
When they left, John situated Hamish in his pram.
Their next stop was the grocery. John pulled a trolley behind the pram. He did his shopping as Hamish lay back and watched a science documentary about how plants grow. It was meant for children about six years old, but kept his attention.
The daycare membership had its advantages. The daycare’s online library was huge and multi-age. As long as they could pick up a wi-fi signal, John could download all kinds of videos for Hamish to watch. If nothing else they kept him calm and focused on something of interest to him. That meant John could go about doing the mundane things that kept the world going round.
Getting home was the usual struggle. He learnt the hard way that cloth shopping bags were best for all weather situations. John pushed the pram as he carried a full bag over each shoulder and a third was strategically placed strapped over the pram’s handle bars.
Hamish was deep into a video about the history of the violin. John chose it with purpose. Hamish’s new violin tutor was supposed to start soon. Mycroft supposedly couldn’t give him an exact date yet, but he said that the teacher would be worth the wait.
A part of John couldn’t wait for the violin classes to start. He hadn’t heard violin music in the flat in far too long, and a part of him longed for it again. Logically, he knew that it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing could ever be the same, but it wouldn’t be difficult to close his eyes and pretend.
Once the groceries and the baby were inside, John closed the building door. It was custom now to always set all the locks just in case Hamish decided to make a break for it.
He left the groceries with the pram and took Hamish upstairs.
“Would you like something warm to drink when we get up?” John asked as he climbed the stairs with his son in his arms.
“Yes. Sippy,” Hamish said absently as he continued to play with his tablet.
“Do you want juice? Or, chocolate almond milk?”
“Milk,” Hamish confirmed.
“Fine. You finish watching your video and I’ll fetch you your sippy cup,” John said fishing in his pocket for his keys. “Later, you need a bath. We’ll put those new toys in the tub and see if they’re as fun as they looked at the store.”
The key turned and they went inside.
John stopped seven steps inside his threshold.
He instantly could see that someone had been there. The first thing that he saw was that all of Sherlock’s lab equipment had found their way from storage in John’s old room back to the kitchen table.
It only took a moment for John to notice that someone had moved Hamish’s blanket and had stretched out on the couch. The decorative pillows had been thrown aside.
Sherlock’s violin which was forever enshrined in it’s case was no longer in it’s safe place high on the shelf, away from Hamish’s grasp. Instead, it was sitting on the small table next to Sherlock’s chair.
John continued to stare haplessly.
His head shook of it’s own volition.
“Hello,” Hamish said to someone behind them.
John was frozen to the spot. He felt tears in his eyes that were so heavy they blurred his vision. But, he felt little else.
A dead sob escaped him.
A long arm snaked around him securing Hamish. He felt a tall, warm body press against his back. A moment later, that warmth spread as that body pressed even closer. Breath warmed his neck as a deep, baritone voice said, “Careful. He’s a good looking boy. You don’t want to drop him.”
John started to cry.
“No! Cry! No! No!” Hamish cried as he picked up his electronic tablet and swung it with all his baby might.
“No, Hamish,” John chastised as he pulled the boy away. He pulled away as he put a hand on Hamish, pulling him close.
He turned.
For a moment nothing felt real. The man standing in front of him holding his eye. A bruise above his eye was swelling slightly.
Sherlock wiped at his face. He took a few steps so that they were standing closer.
“I had too,” he said.
“I know,” John gasped.
“There was an assassin.”
“Two years?” John asked in utter confusion. “Why?”
“I had to make sure Moriarty’s network went down. Or, we never would have been safe.” Sherlock looked right at the boy in John’s arms and smiled with more affection than John had ever seen. “He’s beautiful. He looks just like you.”
“He’s you,” John gushed. “I survived your loss because he’s you.”
Sherlock picked the electronic tablet off the floor. “He has a good arm.”
“He’s protective. We should put some ice on that.”
“I’d rather you tell me that you can forgive me. That we can move past this.” He looked away. “Mycroft told me that you’ve had a hard time of it…I…don’t…like that.”
He stepped closer to Sherlock. “Is that you saying you’re sorry?”
Sherlock looked up. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
John smiled a little. “I can wait.”
Suddenly, Sherlock looked annoy. “You’re really going to make me say it?”
“Yes,” John said easily. “I thought you were dead for two years. I should punch you in the nose. Or, you can give me one simple apology. Take your pick.”
Sherlock looked put out, but finally she said, “Sorry.”
“What? I’ve grown a bit hard of hearing. You’ll have to speak up.”
Sherlock grew a bit dark but did repeat it a bit louder.
John smiled a little. He turned to Hamish and said, “Hamish, in case you can’t tell. This is your father. This is uncle Mycroft’s brother.”
“Bylin,” Hamish insisted happily.
“Yes. He’s the one that play’s the violin for you. He can play when ever you want and he can even teach to how play.”
Hamish looked at the tall, dark haired man with utmost curiosity and far less animosity.
“What do you think, Hamish? Should we keep him? He can sleep next to Dada. Instead of playing videos of him playing while you eat we can just have him play for real. It’d be nice, huh?”
Hamish picked up his pacifier at the end of it’s lanyard and put it in his mouth. He rested his head on John’s shoulder.
“Well,” John said satisfied. “I think that settles it. I think we’re going to keep you.”
Sherlock took two steps closer. He hesitated and then moved back.
John stopped him. He took the step that closed the space between them. First, he rested his face directly on Sherlock’s chest, just above his pecks. The warmth that he found there made him want so much more. He breathed in inhaling the scent of the man.
John turned his face to one side. He whispered, “I’ve missed you, you cock.”
“Cock!” Hamish chirped.
Both Sherlock and John perked up and turned to look at him. Baby teeth shone as a happily delighted boy stared back at them.
“That was my fault,” John said seriously. “I forgot for a moment. He’s really, really smart.”
“Of course, he is! He’s my son!” Sherlock said incredulously. A second later, he reached out to stroke Hamish’s too long curls. Still very blonde and baby soft. “Has Mycroft tried to indoctrinate him into one of his baby farms yet?”
John just looked at Sherlock for a moment too long. Finally, he said, “We needed daycare. Unless you’re willing to watch him every moment while I’m at work there’s nothing to discuss. If he get’s bored, he sets fires, or sets off fire extinguishers.”
“As usual I wish you wouldn’t work outside of our work. Honestly, John. Which do you think is more important?”
“Putting food on the table and paying bills, Sherlock. It isn’t just us any more. He expects food when he’s hungry, diapers, a daily newspaper read to him, and heat.”
Sherlock opened his mouth but then hesitated. He closed his mouth.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but this isn’t a game. This is about as heavy a responsibility as it gets. I have to think about him first. You can’t get high or throw a tantrum if you want to be in his life.”
“Well then,” Sherlock said as bit unsure. “I suppose you’ll have too update the blog so that we can start earning a paycheck again.”
John placed the flat of his hand against Sherlock’s chest. “Are you sure?”
“I’m ready to work, John.”
“I’m in love with you.”
They both went quiet.
John met Sherlock’s eyes.
It took a few long moments but Sherlock finally said, “Good. Then it’s appropriate to share a bed.”
John smiled. “We already do.”
John took the tablet out of Sherlock’s hands and said, “Bring up the groceries. You’re going to play for us and I need to make dinner.”
John settled Hamish on the couch rather quickly. He removed both their coats and Hamish’s fleece cap. John logged into their wi-fi and then restarted Hamish’s video on the history of the violin.
John had hung up their coats when Sherlock came up with the three cloth shopping bags.
“I assume that enormous baby wheelbarrow resides on the ground floor. I saw no evidence to the contrary.”
“He loves his wheelbarrow,” John said taking the bags from him. “He’s lazier than you when he’s in deep thought.”
Sherlock sniffed haughtily, but didn’t challenge John’s observation.
John made himself busy. He put the groceries away. He pulled one of the trays of chicken pot pie out of the freezer that he’d pre-made on Sunday. He let it on the counter while the oven pre-heated.
John wandered into the living room to find Sherlock with Hamish. He was sitting on the coffee table holding his violin as he quizzed Hamish on the parts of the violin.
John quickly went to the closet. Mycroft had brought a gift with him on his last visit. John has put it away for safe keeping. But, it was now time.
“Holding it is very important. Look where my fingers are on the neck. Your left arm must be fluid and relaxed. You must always put your thumb in the same spot. It’s very important.”
John arrived with the little violin case. He opened it and revealed the child sized violin to all. Hamish squealed around his pacifier and clapped happily. He eagerly reached out for it.
“Mycroft?” Sherlock asked with a curl to his lip and a wrinkled nose as if he’d smelled a truly bad smell.
“He’s been very good to us.”
“And no doubt trying to create a mini-Mycroft.” Sherlock looked right at Hamish and assured him, “We won’t ever let that happen.”
Hamish instantly took his new violin in hand. He tucked it under his chin and began to make hideous sounds on it.
“I’ll leave you to it,” John said happily. “Just remember that he isn’t two yet. Gentle. Very gentle.”
For the next fifteen minutes, John heard them playing together. Sherlock occasionally would give Hamish instructions on his stance, fingering, and general playing. Mostly, Sherlock showed Hamish by playing for him.
It only took John a moment to realize that if he hadn’t already been in love with the man, it would have happened then and there.
Dinner was warming, John had nothing better to do. He went to the couch and sat since the other furniture had been moved for the concerto.
Sherlock put his violin down. As he walked over to John, he said, “Good. Hold your wrist straight. Watch your fingering.”
Sherlock sat down next to John. “Me too,” he said.
John looked at him questioning.
“I love you too,” Sherlock clarified. “I thought you’d want to know.”
John reached for the man and pulled him close. He meant to kiss Sherlock. But his lips landed against closed lips that didn’t do much of anything.
John pulled away. “Was that too much?”
For a moment, Sherlock looked speechless. Then he simply said, “No. I’ll do better next time.”
“I just want to be with you Sherlock. I don’t care how.”
Sherlock was going to respond when Hamish ran up, violin still in hand. His little violin hit Sherlock’s arm as he climbed into John’s lap. And then Hamish kissed John several times before he was hugged.
“More kisses! I’m so lucky!” John declared.
John stroked Hamish’s hair and held the boy closer. He smiled and enjoyed the simple pleasure of having those he loved close. Then, it happened. John felt Sherlock’s arm slide around his shoulder.
John had to turn and look at him.
Sherlock simply asked, “Is this wrong? Should I be using another gesture?”
“No,” John gasped. After a moment John smiled.
Sherlock quickly mirrored that smile.
Hamish laughed and then yelped, “More bylin, cock!”
“Father,” John corrected immediately. “Call him father.”
Hamish sucked his finger and looked from one man to the other.
Carefully, John explained, “I want you to call me daddy and him father.”
Hamish answered with his finger still in his mouth and then he hid his face against John’s jumper.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Hamish’s first crime scene.
Today, Greg called us to a crime scene. It just so happened that Hamish was with us since we were out buying what Sherlock deemed appropriate strings for both Sherlock and Hamish’s violins.
I arrived on site with great trepidation. With his usual empathic nature, Sherlock simply shrugged off my concerns saying that, “He was bound to join us on a case sooner or later. He might as well get used to the chase.”
We were assured that there was no gore, no blood, or pieces. We entered a dark room to find a clothed skeleton sitting at a table with a manuscript opened up just in front of it. Written on it were the words, ‘How I did it’ by Jack the Ripper.
Much to my immediate horror, Hamish was delighted and wanted to touch everything including the skeleton. It was a struggle to keep him still and in my arms.
Sherlock, for his part, began clicking his magnifying glass open and closed depending on what he saw.
As he walked around it, I was able to get a look at the skeleton…despite Hamish.
Perhaps it was all those years in the classroom, but I didn’t hesitate to tell him, “It’s an articulated skeleton model. Wait. No. It’s human bone. Looks old.”
Sherlock looked very annoyed with me because I had spoiled a part of his grand reveal.
Still he was able to happily declare the scene a fake.
Through out it I tired my best to protect Hamish. In the process I’ve discovered that trying to cover Hamish’s eyes with my hands only annoys him. He actually growled at me. Also, Hamish squirms like an eel when trying to get to interesting evidence. And lastly, when a two year old has to make potty at a crime scene there is no such thing as an off limits bathroom due to plumbing issues. Picking a lock so that the baby can pee in the sink is okay.
John read it over a second time. This time he smiled.
He printed out a hard copy and trimmed the text to fit into Hamish’s baby book.
“A part of me thinks we should tell the world about our family,” John said out loud.
Sherlock was laying on the couch deep in thought. The baby was napping on his father’s chest, spread out limply and occupying an incredible amount of space without a care in the world.
John could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him.
“Don’t worry,” John said. “I’m not stupid. And I have no wish to endanger our boy. With a little luck maybe we can even keep him hidden from the press. God knows we have enough enemies and danger seeking habits between us to create lifelong problems for him.
“He isn’t ordinary,” Sherlock replied. “Neither are we. We will manage. Our family will be fine. You’re worrying for nothing.”
“I hope that you’re right.”
“When am I not? Mycroft’s people monitor the baby farm.”
“Daycare. Call it daycare.”
“And when he’s home, he is with us.”
“I’m more worried about some disgruntled lunatic that we put away coming to get even. Sherlock we’ve trampled all over a lot of bad people who had nefarious plans in mind.”
“And they got what was coming.”
“People have long memories and hold deep grudges. This is my point.”
“John, if you are that worried there are only a few options. First, we move to more secure surroundings. Second, send Hamish away. Or third, give up the work.”
“I know you’re not serious about two of those. Would you actually be willing to move?”
Sherlock shrugged. “I like it here, but if we become concerned about his security and safety, then we must go else where.”
John fell silent again, but this time he smiled a bit. “Thanks,” John said quietly. “Sometimes I can’t stop those worst-case scenarios from going through my head.”
“Now that’s over. I require silence.”
John smirked. “You’ll have all the silence in the world. Till he wakes up.”
Sherlock lay back without a word and John went back to updating the baby book. That morning Hamish had put on Sherlock’s coat and tramped around the flat. John put the scarf on him and had taken pictures. He had video. It was precious damn it and he wanted to record every memory as completely as he possibly could.
Fin.