THis will be a 5+1 fic. Five times Hamish was sick and one time someone else was. Hope you'll enjoy

The phone rang three in the afternoon and Sherlock opened his eyes after the short rest. The room was empty, only him sprawled out on the sofa and the phone vibrating eagerly on the coffee table John was nowhere to be seen. Work then, Sherlock remembered slowly and blinked a couple of times to get rid of the thick wail that bothered his sight. With a loud sigh he reached out for the phone and looked at the name blinking away on the big screen.

Lynn Sawyer. Their seven months pregnant surrogate that they had carefully picket out amongst ten other women that needed money for education or simple survival. It was an awful thing the whole business in both Sherlock and John's mind, but also the only way to go to get a child of their own, and after all the girl they chose would be set for life after their payments. The detective didn't know if this was a good deed or not.

He answered the phone and brought it to his ear, expecting the weekly update of the so called 'Bump', the most discussed topic amongst friends and relatives and also the most exciting thing going on in Sherlock's life at the moment. But this wasn't an update.

"Yes." he murmured and cleared his throat that craved a cup of hot tea.

"Sherlock Holmes?" a male voice asked, by the sound of worry in his voice it sounded like someone close to Lynn, a brother perhaps.

"Speaking." he answered with a deep frown before sitting up in the sofa, already feeling his stomach tightened. With a quaking breath the man on the other side fought bravely to keep back the sobs.

"Lynn's at the hospital. Something happened." The detective was quickly on his feet, stepped into his shoes and never bothered to tie them before slipping into his coat. "The think the um... I don't know. Something tore and she was bleeding. She was rushed to emergency ce-ces... c-section." He took two steps a time down the stairs, not even thinking about his pyjamas or bed head. His son or daughter needed him, there were no time for modesty. "They..." the man continued. "They don't know if the baby will make it."

Sherlock hung up. He'd got the information he needed and he was obliged to forward it to John. He called as he hailed a cab and felt his heart pound behind his ribs, it was beating for his child and right now he'd never been so scared. How could something that yet never had a chance to exist have such a great impact on a grown man? There was no logic, no simple explanation to this and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

"You never call." a known voice chuckled on the other side. "You always text."

"Lynn's having an emergency c-section." Sherlock breathed heavily and rubbed a hand across his chest, almost feeling the pain these news caused his husband. John would take this harder than him, and Sherlock was taking this pretty hard. He heard the chair being ruffly pulled out from his husband's desk and the rattling keys and tapping on the computer. "I'm on my way there right now. Shall we meet at the reception?"

"Yeah.." John gulped. "Yeah."

John was already there when he arrived, he hardly recognised him. He was a bundle of tensed muscles, burning on the inside with fright and sorrow and light about to go out in his dark blue eyes. The sunburn had left him months ago but right now he was as pale as a living man could be. Sherlock gathered him in his arms and held him tight, chests heaving against each other and heart beating in sync like their bodies connected.

"Who called?" was the first thing John asked as his rough hands gripped Sherlock's messy curls. "What did they say?" Sherlock shook his head, he didn't want to be the one giving John the information, he was bad at this, bad at handling people.

"Something ripped." he answered with a low voice, just hoping that those words was the right one. His husband nodded and buried his face to the nape of his long neck, took a deep breath of the dark scent that only Sherlock carried and was blessed with. "Haven't anyone talked to you?" With a deep breath he shook his head and the detective carded a hand through his short hair.

"They can't give out any information yet. They don't know."

After what seemed like hours they parted and the doctor blinked like the world around him would fade and reality would creep back, like this wasn't real. Every breath taste foul his Sherlock's mouth, the air was full of disinfectant, plastic, detergent, paper, perfumes, ink, the list could go on forever if he wanted to, everything was so easy to notice when he was under stress and colours in the waiting room blurred together.

"Sherlock?" John sighed and let his head fall forward until his forehead rested on Sherlock's collarbone. "I'm scared."

They both new that one of John's deepest desires was to once in his life become a father, to have a little son or daughter to raise into a good human being. The world needed more of those. As years passed that dreamed seem to slip away from him, further and further until he would never reach it again. Things just always seemed to get in the way and slowly he'd started to accept that maybe it wasn't written in the stars. Girl after girl left him, man after man. The day he came to the acceptance that he would never become a father was the day he hadn't felt love for five years. Maybe he just was unlovable. Then he'd met Stamford that day in the park. Stars rearranged.

Talking Sherlock into having a baby had been surprisingly easy. Four years of a steady relationship, marriage, shared bank accounts and undying friendship the longing for a child started to grow once more and even if he was old he'd popped the question. Sherlock had said yes. John asked the same question two weeks later, just to be sure that Sherlock's decision wasn't a hasty one. The answer hadn't changed. The third time Sherlock had cursed and picked up the laptop, joined him on the sofa and opened several tabs. Suddenly they were looking for a surrogate mother.

And now they were here. Frightfully close to becoming parents. Or giving up. John didn't want to do this again.

Then a nurse stepped out of the big doors, dressed in white and looking like an angel with her blond locks draping over her shoulders. Sherlock could read worry, but not the news of death.

"Mr and doctor Watson-Holmes?" she asked with a soft voice and John lifted his heavy head from Sherlock's heaving chest, not daring to open his eyes just yet. "I'm here to inform you that the operation went well. Ms Sawyer will recover quickly and..." There was a short pause, painful and awful that tightened the iron claw around the couple's hearts and John opened his eyes to look up at the nurse. "You two are the parents of a little boy." Legs went out under the man and Sherlock caught him before he hit the floor, gathered him in his arms and held him tight. "He's a fighter, screamed loudly and kicked away. He'll just need some help breathing for the next two weeks or so and then he'll be ready to come home with you."

John cried. He didn't care who heard him or saw his reddened face. He just cried. These were tears that hadn't fallen before. He was used to tears, he'd shared them many times in his life until they'd suddenly stopped. Today was the first time he cried since Sherlock came back. Maybe it was the same tears. Relief, love, happiness. It felt good. Needed. And Sherlock's arms gave him just the support he needed right now. He was a father, they both were. They had a son, and even if he was teeny, too teeny, he still existed. John felt complete, like a puzzle that just had gotten it's last piece placed.

"John." Sherlock murmured with his perfect lips pressed to his temple. His voice was filled with hope and joy, not characteristic to the detective John had married but none the less unwelcome. "We've got a son." John bursted into manic laughter and nodded fanatically.

"About fucking time." he grinned and looked up at his husband, saw the tears clinging to his dark, long lashes and eyes glittering with an emotion Sherlock never felt before, he couldn't name it either, but it felt good.

The ward was warm and full of incubators. The light was dim and spread its yellow shine over the flailing, pink infants that missioned to grow, get healthy and strong. It was a new sight for the detective, he couldn't believe that all those little humans would one day grow up, be set free in the world and then bother him like everyone else. This ward was filled with fighting lives, struggling to become someone, to have their clean minds filled and bodies developed. He clung convulsively to John's hand, brushed his thump back and forth over his skin as they followed the nurse to the end of the room.

This moment would never be forgotten. In that incubator, amongst those blue and white blankets, beneath those tubes and IV's was their little, pink son. A hat pulled over his ears and a tape stuck to his little face to keep the tube to his nose and mouth in place, one for air, one for formula. He was so small, not bigger than Sherlock's hand and the teeny sparse toes attached to his feet wiggled in the warm air, showing how much life there was in him.

"Oh..." John gasped and pressed a hand to the warm plastic, tears falling freely down his cheeks. "Look at you." Sherlock smiled, not knowing what else to do. All he wanted to do was touch him, open those little windows to stick his hand in and rub a finger over that little hand that grabbed into one of the tubes.

"That's the smallest human I've ever seen." Sherlock murmured impressively and leaned forward to get a better look of his son. With a small chuckle he pressed his fingers to the glass. "Hello handsome. You're quite the fighter, aren't you?" Their little boy made a small sound that was choked by the respirator and squeezed and relaxed his hand just like he was waving and John giggled happily, waved back and felt like an idiot. It was merely a reflex but John saw it as a greeting. Their son's first hello.

"We've got something for him." the nurse smiled and put on a pair of white gloves. "All our prematures gets a little present." The reached into a small box and fished out a little green squid with two big, round eyes. "It's an experiment we're doing. The babies misses their cord so they hold on the the tubes, pulling and squeezing. So they're all getting a little squid now." She put her hand in, bent their little son's hand away from the tube and brought the little fists over to one of the eight arms on the squid. He latched on quickly, holding it tight and let out a small sigh.

It was beautiful. Their son was only a couple of minutes old and already doing an experiment of his own. Sherlock smiled proudly. What a perfect beginning. His husband sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"He's wonderful." he beamed and brought Sherlock's hand up to his face, kissed it dearly without looking away from the little baby. "He's truly amazing."

"He's perfect." Sherlock agreed, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. The need for a child had never been there until John had brought it up. The decision had been simple, almost obvious. The first time John asked him Sherlock had asked himself something else. 'Why not?' He had a legacy to pass down. He looked at his son, the cleanest mind in the world ready to be filled what whatever John and Sherlock wanted. This little boy would become something astonishing. Something amazing. Something beautiful.

He turned to John, smiled wide and true and not knowing what to say, if there was anything that needed to be said. He brought his husband to his side and placed his head upon his, rested there for a moment as he took his all in and John chuckled happily.

"We've got him." he cried with his hand pressed to the glass, stroking his thumb back and forth as he imagined how soft his son's skin must be under his touch. "How I've waited." Their son fidgeted on his thin mattress and made a soft sound, both his hands grabbing onto the squid and his little feet kicking in the air. He sighed and looked up at the nurse who at the moment made herself busy by checkin vitals. "When can we um... make contact? Touch him. Hold him." He wanted nothing more than just that but he knew it would take time.

"In a week he wont be in the risk for infections anymore." she informed them. "Then you'll be able to touch him and if he's strong enough we might be able to disconnect the respirator. Maybe, just maybe you'll be able to hold him then. But for now we'll have to wait." John nodded, this wait would kill him and this week would be sufferable. But he could do it, for his son. The nurse picked up the chart and looked it though quickly while Sherlock for the first time reached out and touched the glass, feeling the warmth and longing to be able to touch him. "Is there a name to add?" They both looked up from the little boy when they heard the question and stared at the nurse who'd made herself ready with ready with a pen. "So we know what to call him."

John opened his mouth but not a word left him. The hadn't planned any names yet, not even discussed it. He hadn't even had any in mind.

"Hamish." Sherlock said and John jerked where he stood, turned to his husband with teared eyes and a shocked expression. "Let's call him Hamish." He didn't know were the urge came from, but no name seemed more fitting than John's middle name. Family was one had in the end after all, why not cary n the legacy of names then. Hamish was also a name one could carry with pride, just like they would carry him with pride.

All John could do was nod as new tears and sobs forced their way out and once again Sherlock gathered him in his arms, kissed the top of his head and sighed happily. He might now know exactly what was going on inside his blogger but he knew that the joy he was feeling was as big it was ever going to get and Sherlock had to agree. The pride he was feeling right now beat every case and mystery he'd ever solved. This was his proudest hour.

Baby Hamish fought for his life like a brave little trooper. John visited every day before at after work, just standing by the warm incubator with his hand caressing the glass while his son pulled the arms on the little squid, kicking his feet and squirming in his blanket. Even if he couldn't touch him yet he felt close and connected to this little soul. He had high hopes for him, but then the thought of that he might loose his son was a thought he never turned to.

Sherlock turned up once and a while when his mind let him go. He would join John's side with not as much as a word, never being noticed as he slipped into the ward and sat down beside his husband. This had happened three days of seven, but John didn't blame him. Seeing something so small and fragile fighting for his life was hard, maybe Sherlock avoided it as much as he could.

It wasn't until later that John found out that Sherlock had actually been there every day on his own while he was at work. That would always bring a smile to John's lips.

Days seven was the day Hamish would be disconnected from the respirator and tubes. Both of them took a free day and arrived at the hospital together, none of them was gonna miss this. There was no discussion of who was going to hold him first, it was naturally John who was having him in his arms first and Sherlock just shook his head when John tried to protest. He was the one who'd waited the longest, Sherlock could hold on a bit longer.

They sat together in a room painted in soft colours, drapes closing out the bright light of the sun and a big sofa standing by the wall. Sherlock pulled John down beside him and grasped his hand. The anticipation was going through the roof, they couldn't believe that today would be the day when they would be able to touch their son. John had this morning showered three times, anything to take himself out of the risk of infecting the small infant that soon would be resting in his arms. They were covered in disinfectant and Sherlock's curls were messy since he couldn't use his oils to sort them out. No perfumes were allowed on this ward and right now they smelled more of themselves than anything else, no aftershaves, no deodorants, nothing what so ever.

All they needed to do now was wait. Sherlock squeezed his hand occasionally, just to remind him that he was there and John turned to him with an uncertain smile before falling into his embrace.

"D'you think he'll have your curls or my waves?" he asked suddenly while resting his head on the bony shoulder.

"It doesn't matter." Sherlock murmured and kissed his temple. "I don't care whose DNA he has, he's ours." That made John smile, whoever this child belonged to genetically he was all theirs. Then at last the door opened and the nurse from yesterday entered while pushing the incubator in front o her.

"Good morning." she sang happily and John straightened himself in the sofa, wiped his already clean hands on his trousers and sighed nervously. "Ready to hold the little poppet?"

More than ready, was John's thought and he nodded happily and held back the tears that wanted to fall. The glass container where there son had lived for a week now was finally opened and she reached down to unplug all the tubes. With a small cry the little boy made his first real sound and John felt his heart clench of desire to hold him. The bundle left the soft mattress as the woman lifted him up and he wailed in protest as the warmth left him. "Here we go." she smiled and hurried across the floor to place the little one in John's waiting arms. The bundle seemed to just fit in his embrace, his weight was just what his muscles needed and and the warmth was just perfect to ease his hurting heart.

"Hello." he smiled while his son cried in sheer panic, face bundled up and red as the screams just welled out of him and John caressed his little cheek with his finger. "There you are." Finally he could touch his son's soft skin and he took his little hand as tears fell. The cries started to calm and turned into soft grunts, Sherlock had never seen something so pretty. He reached out and grabbed the little foot that'd slipped out of the blanket and he felt the soft skin.

"He's beautiful." he chirped and pressed a small kiss to John's temple. "I think he's got your nose." John saw that too and broke down into a mess of tears and snot. That was indeed his nose and he bowed his head to kiss it. He smelled good, not at all like hospital or chemicals, just like baby. Hamish was a beautiful creature in every way.

John sighed loudly and looked up at Sherlock who quickly wiped his wet eyes, even he couldn't hold back the tears and John leaned forward.

"Take him." he whispered. His husband didn't protest, he gathered the small boy in his arms and held him close to his chest. The smile that formed on his lips nearly hurt his cheeks and he stroke the tip of his fingers over Hamish's features.

"Well, you're rather tiny, aren't you?" he questioned happily and let out a big breath. "I'm surprised to say the least." John sniffled and smothered a hand over the little blue cap, carefully peeling it off and they saw the dark hair from Lynn, nearly the same shade as Sherlock's and the detective beamed when he saw it. There would be some resemblance between them after all, maybe he would even get her curls. "He's quite something."

"He is, isn't he." John chuckled and wiped his tears. "I can hardly believe he's coming home with us soon. Can you imagine?" Sherlock nibbled his bottom lip and twinned some of the silky strands of hair, sighed once more before glancing at John.

"He's gonna be a handful." he chuckled.

"I wouldn't call that a problem." John giggled and took the little hand again, kissed it carefully before sniffing the soft hair. This child could scream, throw tantrums, kick and protest all he wanted and John wouldn't care. As long as he existed nothing about him would ever bother him.

So this is the first chapter! Five more to come! Tell me what you think by leaving a review and I'll be so grateful.