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From Hamish ch. 5

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The cab ride to Mycroft's was a struggle, especially since John was having a hard time installing Hamish's car-seat and the driver was becoming impatient. Sherlock walked silently to the other side of the taxi, grabbing the seatbelt out of John's hands and quickly pulling it through the belt guides and fastening it securely.

"It's not rocket science, John." He muttered, earning a glare from the young father. After making sure his baby was in safely, John closed Hamish's car door and went to Sherlock's side of the car, forcing him to slide over.

"I've fastened more car-seats in my life time than you ever have, thank you, so I don't want to hear it." Sherlock snorted.

"Clearly. That's why you seem to be incapable of installing the simplest of carriers in the backseat of a car without a base." He noted dryly, taking no notice of the foul expression that crossed his lovers face. They rode in silence for a long while, Sherlock every now and then leaning over and making sure Hamish's little head wasn't being shaken up too much as they went over bumps and pot-holes. Sherlock hadn't noticed that he'd made John angry, as he was simply being himself, and saw no wrong in casually slipping his hand into his companions. John sighed, knowing all too well that his friend wasn't being a jerk on purpose, and leaned his head on his shoulder.

"You don't have to watch over him like that." John said softly, sinking even more comfortably into his boyfriend's side.

"I'll always watch over him." It sounded as if Sherlock were talking more to Hamish than to John, but John smiled anyway. Sherlock was unaccustomed to John being openly affectionate, and even more unaccustomed to feeling an intense need to protect a child. But if he was being honest, he didn't hate it.



There was a deep sense of unease in the air as the cab pulled into a darkened parking lot. The couple had kind of fallen into their own thoughts, jumping harshly as the annoyed cabbie blew his horn.

"You can get out now." John and Sherlock weren't the only two who seemed violently forced from their minds, Hamish flinching and whimpering loudly.

"Don't worry, Hamish, I will notify your uncle that the driver is NOT to be paid!" He shouted, his voice returning to more of a mumble as he snapped his head quickly to look from the cabbie back to John.

"It's hard to find good help these days…and Mycroft bloody well better have me a case or I am shooting his dog―come now, John, speed it up, we haven't all day and my legs are too long for this." Sherlock's long winded rambling went largely unnoticed (John was more than used to it) as John slid out of the car and held the door for Sherlock, who took Hamish from his car-seat with ease.

"Mycroft said it was safe to bring the baby?" John asked anxiously, shutting the door and walking forward a few steps.

"So he claims." Sherlock held Hamish to him tightly, just in case, and took John's hand. They walked through a set of large glass doors and to a lift, taking it up to the 25th floor. John kept his hand that wasn't entwined with Sherlock's ready on his gun, the eerie atmosphere putting him on edge. John had killed for Sherlock before, and with Hamish potentially in danger as well, he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. John stepped in front of Sherlock when the lift opened, kicking the door open and aiming the gun at the first person he saw.

"You can both stop being mother hens, you know. When I said this place was safe, I meant it." John lowered his weapon and let out a sigh of relief when he laid eyes upon Mycroft, whom was sitting at a mahogany desk amongst loads of paperwork.

"He's a bit paranoid that one, was it the war or did being with you make him that way?" Mycroft asked sardonically, earning a smile from Sherlock that didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Tell me what we're doing here, Mycroft." The elder Holmes brother shrugged, a small smile on his lips.

"How about you explain that little bundle over there first, hmm? Why didn't I receive a happy announcement? He's my nephew you know." John opened his mouth to respond but shut it again as there was a sudden bang heard and an 'ouch!' rang out from under Mycroft's desk. Something of a smirk twitched at the corners of Sherlock's lips and he cocked his head to the side in amusement.

"Seems like we deserve a happy announcement of our own, wouldn't you say so, John? Who is under the table, and don't play games with me, you know you won't win." Mycroft folded his hands together and reclined back lazily in his chair.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock didn't respond, analyzing his brother's face and the clutter all around the office space. Mycroft's blood pressure was up, lips bruised, it had been a slow day and all the work on the desk was obviously a front, there were remnants of cake crumbs on his tie and his coffee was sitting a little too close to the edge of the desk. That wasn't all Sherlock could deduce but it was enough and he knocked into the desk hard, the coffee spilling all into the floor.

"Shit!" A far too familiar face popped out from under the table, in pain and more embarrassed than either Sherlock or John had ever seen. Lestrade buttoned up his shirt quickly and shot a panicked look towards his lover.

"How the hell are you even here?! Weren't you just at the station…" John's mouth would have hit the floor if it were able, a horrified, and frankly judgey look filling his eyes. Lestrade tried to answer him but was cut off by a vicious glare from Mycroft.

"Keep your mouth shut, Gregory." Sherlock didn't seem surprised, seemingly having and intellectual conversation with his brother silently while John tried his hardest to process this.

"Wait…you….and you? Mycroft Holmes…kisses people? Dates….people?" Lestrade donned a suggestive expression.

"Bloody well good at it too." He immediately regretted opening his mouth however, as Mycroft's head snapped toward him, a venomous look engraved in his face.

"And are you just okay with this?" John asked Sherlock incredulously, who rolled his eyes in reply.

"Of course, John, I've known about it for years, though they tried their best to hide it. I don't know what Mycroft expected, honestly. Never thought I'd catch them in the act though, you're getting sloppy Mycroft." Mycroft didn't answer, but he didn't have to, Sherlock wasn't done. The detective neared his brother's desk, narrowing his eyes and leaning on the end of it with one arm.

"I'm done playing games. You're wearing clothes that are just business enough to say 'I'm important' but not fancy enough to qualify for official government business, and from the amount of time you seem to have on your hands I'm assuming you're job has been just as slow recently as mine has, which brings me to my next point, Mycroft, crime never sleeps. So do please enlighten me as to why everything is so god damn boring? Well I'll tell you why, calm before the storm, and you know that. Something big is about to happen, and the government knows it, you know it, I know it, so can we please all just cut to the chase and stop waiting around here like stupid, dull, and unimportant sods equivalent to the detectives in Lestrade's division? Tell me what you know!" Lestrade began to retort but a gentle look from John urged him not too. Mycroft sighed heavily, a certain nervousness suddenly about him.

"There is a body in Miss Hooper's morgue that you're going to want to see. I had Gregory transfer it to that hospital earlier this morning. I think the case will interest you." Lestrade nodded in agreement, deciding to interject.

"The hospitals address had been carved into the John-Doe's arm. It was almost as if the killer wanted it to be sent there. We can't fathom why." Sherlock smiled down at Hamish and then shot a sly look at John, who was grinning back at him.

"Are we interested, Dr. Watson?" John reached for Sherlock's hand once more.

"I think we are."



John wasn't so sure, however, when they reached the hospitals morgue, about bringing Hamish inside. Something about bringing an innocent young child into a place of decay didn't feel right to him.

"Sherlock, is it alright if Hamish and I just stay outside? I don't think we should bring him in there." Sherlock didn't understand, having no real sense of sensitivity when it came to the dead, or in this case bringing a child near the dead.

"Why? They're just corpses…and Molly will want to see him. I've observed that women are particularly fond of babies, in the majority of cases. High levels of Oxytocin in the brain cause this sort of maternal instinct among females, and considering Molly has always struck me as an affectionate person I can confidently say she is not short of this chemical." John fought the urge to laugh at his partner, putting his face in his hand that wasn't holding Hamish.

"Oh good lord, Sherlock. You're serious aren't you?" He asked, unable to help the goofy smile on his face. Sherlock smiled and opened the door to Molly's lab, gesturing with his head for John to go inside.

"Dead." John laughed, walking into the morgue with Sherlock on his tail. Molly wasn't paying any attention, seemingly working pretty hard with some sort of autopsy report, and jumped when the detective addressed her by name.

"O-Oh, Sherlock, I'm sorry! I suppose I should have been expecting you, Lestrade told me Mycroft thought you should be assigned to this case. I don't think even Lestrade trusts his detectives sometimes, not with cases like these." There was a rosy blush tenting Molly's features as she spoke, such innocent love in her eyes as she gave Sherlock a once over. Sherlock paid no mind to her, callously beginning to open the metal slabs in the walls in search of the victim.

"Where is he? The one with the carvings?" Molly turned a deeper scarlet, pointing to the chamber to the left of the one he currently had open. He grinned brightly at her.

"I was close!" He clapped his hands together excitedly and pulled the other chamber opened. While Sherlock was going his thing, Molly's eyes wandered over to John, who was absentmindedly rocking Hamish.

"I didn't know you had a baby, John, how wonderful! May I hold him?" She asked happily, extending her arms out. John nodded and handed Hamish to her.

"Of course!" John was pleased that Molly wanted to hold Hamish, it gave him free arms to go over and help Sherlock, who was looking at him expectedly. John gave the body a quick examination before giving Sherlock what he wanted.

"Time of death was approximately 48 hours ago, cause was asphyxiation, there are lacerations on the neck consistent to that of chain links. What do you make of this?" John pointed to the carving, not on his forearm, but one across his chest. In big bloody letters it read 'From Daddy' and there was an arrow pointing upward.

"Well obviously the arrow is indicating that the killer intended for us to pay attention to the facial region of the victim's body, and considering this man's mouth has been sewn shut I believe we are meant to open it up. I'm going to need some surgical scissors, please, John." John dutifully went to Molly's desk and rummaged around a bit, pillaging in some draws for a bit before finding what he was looking for.

"What's his name?" He heard Molly say as he handed the scissors to Sherlock.

"Hamish. Hamish Sherlock Watson." Both Sherlock and Molly turned to face John at the same time, uttering 'excuse me' simultaneously.

"You never…you never told me you named him after me." John tried to hide the flirtatious smile threatening to break onto his face, feeling it unethical to flirt over a dead body.

"Yeah well…just because I was with Mary, doesn't mean that you weren't always Hamish's other parent. At least to me." Sherlock stared at him for a few good moments, John breaking eye contact to look just about anywhere else, kicking himself for admitting something so cheesy and stupid. Sherlock grabbed John by his coat and pulled him over the body and towards his face, crushing their lips together. The kiss was brief and only lasted a few seconds, put the emotion behind it was huge, and it left John a little light headed.

"Right…so um….the stitches." Sherlock shook his head in amusement, child-like happiness radiating off of him.

"Right, John. Of course." Molly, however, didn't seem to be taking the kiss too well, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She supposed she'd been a fool to not see what was going on from the beginning…the relationship between those two.

"What a lovely name." She whispered, forcing a smile in their direction. John's eyes immediately filled with guilt as what he'd just done dawned on him.

"Oh, Molly…" She shook her head no and let out a strained laugh, walking over and kissing them both on the forehead.

"I am so happy for the both of you." Sherlock pecked Molly on the cheek in thanks, still not fully grasping the emotion it truly was that his friend was feeling. He turned back to his work without another thought and clipped the victim's stitches easily. John wanted to say something to make Molly feel better, but he couldn't fathom what in the world could console someone who was in love with a man that was his. His attention however was quickly turned to Sherlock, who was pulling something out of the John-Doe's mouth. It was a balled up piece of paper, damp, but not in danger of crumbling since it had been allowed some chance to dry during the time the man had been dead.

"Does it say anything?" John asked once he found his voice, a little anxious as Sherlock, of all people, looked a little perplexed.

"To Lory. That's all it says…" The paper smelled rancid, especially as Sherlock unballed it completely and Molly gagged loudly.

"You alright?" John asked, placing a concerned hand on the small of her back. She only shot him a bittersweet, yet kind, smile and stifled a dry heave.

"I'm fine I just…do you have any aspirin, please?" John shook his head no, walking back over to the desk where he had found the surgical scissors.

"No, but I saw some in your belongings over here. Catch." He threw her a bottle and reached out for his son, whom she gave back a little reluctantly. John checked his watch, noticing that it was getting pretty late, and Hamish needed to be fed.

"Are we done here, Sherlock? We need to put the baby to bed." Sherlock nodded and shut the body back into the wall.

"We'll be back once we've had some time to reflect." Sherlock said this, but he didn't really mean it. He knew that pathetic man's whole life story at first glance, and he knew how ordinary it had been. The answer to how and why this man died didn't lie with his body, this was much more complex than that, but he couldn't test any of his theories until morning.

When they arrived back to their home at 221 B, Hamish became a little cranky. Sherlock wasn't used to having a baby be so inconsolable, so he was a little distressed by the situation. The detective knew, however, that it was because the little one was tired and hungry, noticing that the clock read 8:30 PM.

"I think the bottle should come first John, he isn't happy." John shook his head no, grabbing the formula down from one of their kitchen cabinets.

"If he eats he will fall asleep and believe me, you think he is upset now, he will show you upset if you let him go to sleep only to wake him for his bath. I made that mistake the first week of his life and I will not make it again. Go bathe him right fast and I will have a nice warm bottle waiting on him when you get back, okay?" Sherlock wasn't so sure about this, he'd never tried to bathe a baby before but he nodded anyway.

It was a little difficult for Sherlock to pick up the baby bath one armed, but he managed. He stuck it in the big bath tub and filled it with water and bubbles, making sure the water was only luke-warm and wouldn't burn Hamish's precious skin. Sherlock unbuttoned the little blue onsee the child was in and then carefully, if not awkwardly, removed the child's diaper. This was definitely not Sherlock's thing, even if he pretended around John that it was. Sherlock loved Hamish, but he had never been around children before, and this was hard for him. He cooed to the child in an attempt at soothing him (granted the mere sound of his voice usually worked wonders on Hamish) and lifted him up to put him into the baby bath, unprepared for what exactly was about to happen.

Hamish, like many baby boys before him, peed seconds after his diaper was removed. He peed, and it got all over the very unsuspecting Sherlock, who accidently lost his grip on the small child. Thankfully, Sherlock hadn't been holding Hamish too far up and he had a short distance to fall, water and bubbles splashing all over the already wet detective and Hamish beginning to wail. You would have thought Sherlock's life was absolutely over. He grabbed Hamish up out of the bath immediately and held the soaked and slippery baby up on his shoulder tightly.

"Oh my god, Hamish….I am so sorry, please be okay." Sherlock ran his fingers all along the back of his head, checking for bumps and inspecting the baby's soft spot. He sighed in relief when he didn't find anything, rubbing some shampoo into Hamish's hair and rinsing the baby in his lap.

John had mixed the bottle and heated it under the faucet, feeling a bit guilty for leaving Sherlock with Hamish, whom he could hear screaming from the bathroom.

"Sherlock? Are you two alright in there?" When there wasn't an answer be became a little worried, walking into the bathroom with the bottle. It was there that he found Sherlock, soaked in water and with bubbles in his hair, and Hamish wrapped in his bumble-bee bath towel, which Sherlock had wrapped him in because he was cold.

"I'm sorry John…he…urinated on me…and I dropped him, but it was an accident I swear and he didn't fall far….I just wish I could have caught him. I washed him in the floor so the bathroom is kind of flooded, sorry about that too." Sherlock's eyes were filled with tears and he looked so terrified that John couldn't just couldn't help himself.

"You dropped my son?" Sherlock laid his chin atop Hamish's head and sighed heavily.

"I really didn't mean too John, I'm not used to this sort of responsibility…and I checked him for bumps and bruises, he's fine I promise, just a little cross with me I'm sure." Sherlock kept on babbling and John finally let out the chuckle he had been holding in, walking carefully through the mess and kissing the top of Sherlock's head.

"Oh shut up, Sherlock, it's alright. It's not the worst thing that's happened to Hamish, rolled off the bed when he was three days old. Calm down, alright? Give him here, I'll feed him, you get washed up and go fetch his jammies, okay?" Sherlock still looked kind of helpless but he nodded and handed the baby to John.

John, Sherlock, and Hamish all three curled up in Sherlock's bed, Hamish laying in John's arms while he ate. Sherlock had his long arms wrapped around them both and John was leaning into his chest.

"I'm so bad at this, John." Sherlock whispered, earning another soft laugh from his mate.

"No you aren't. We both have our strengths and weaknesses…just now we know your weakness is most definitely bath time." They both laughed for a while, watching lovingly as Hamish finished the last of his milk and began to drift off.

"Should we put him to bed?" Sherlock shook his head.

"No, he's had a particularly bad night, I think he's earned sleeping with us." John snorted.

"You really feel bad, don't you?" Sherlock kissed John warmly in response and then kissed the side of Hamish's face.

"Good night, John."
John, having issues coming to terms with his love for Sherlock, ends up in an unhappy marriage with Mary. His pride and joy, their son Hamish, becomes the apple of even Sherlock's eye as tension between him and John grows. Will John leave Mary and finally claim his soulmate, or will death wedge itself between them forever? Mpreg, Parentlock

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