Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, or any of the characters mentioned.

Hello! This is my first full length Sherlock fanfiction, and I would appreciate constructive criticism.

1: Explosions and Bees

"You want another baby,"

John stiffened against Sherlock's back, suddenly glad his face was burrowed into his husband's dressing gown. Sherlock, determined to make a point, disentangled himself from John and rolled over so he would pierce John with his calculating gaze. Even in the semi-darkness, John could feel it analysing him.

"What makes you think that," John murmured, reaching out for Sherlock's fingers. Sherlock intertwined their hands, but naturally didn't let the subject go.

"I know, John. We've been together for four years, and I've known you even longer. I can read you like a book," he said, his voice devoid of sleep. It was only 11pm, but John had already slept for a few hours. If he was lucky, Sherlock would stay until about one, and then leave to do experiments until Hamish woke up and demanded his father.

"Well, I've been thinking that Hamish would like some company, and he needs to speak to other children more- he doesn't get on very well at his play group," John said, carefully. One could never predict what would set Sherlock off into a spectacular mood.

"Why on earth do you still send him to that awful play group," Sherlock replied, which was pretty mild for him. John pulled the taller man closer, and wrapped his arms around his lanky frame.

"Because although you're convinced he's going to be the next Einstein, he still needs to learn how to talk to other kids," John reasoned, thinking of their incredible son, with his dark curls and azure eyes and intelligence that was already exceeding children's twice his age. Hamish was already abnormal, even if he wasn't being raised at crime scenes and being read medical books instead of fairy tales- John wanted some normality in their three year old's life.

"We'll sort out another child, then," Sherlock said after a few minutes. John wondered how his husband's brain functioned several times every day, and this was one of those times.

"It's not that simple, Sherlock. Hamish was a surprise, we didn't plan him," John said into Sherlock's curls. Sherlock shrugged, and looked at John.

"I know you're concerned about the biological aspect, and that's no problem. I'll recruit Mycroft to do something," he explained. John nodded, but didn't expect Sherlock to act on that plan. He simply curled into Sherlock and drifted lazily, thinking of how they would spend the day with Hamish tomorrow. They'd just returned from their honeymoon, which had obviously involved murder, and although Sherlock didn't admit it, he'd missed Hamish desperately.

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"Do you think Mrs Hudson did anything stupid?" Sherlock asked, glaring out the taxi window. John rolled his eyes, and put down his phone.

"What on earth makes you think that Mrs Hudson is incapable of looking after our son?" the doctor snapped, more harshly than he intended. The holiday in New York had ended with Sherlock being hospitalised with a minor knife wound, and John was still slightly miffed that he hadn't had a calm, peaceful getaway like he'd imagined. Still, he'd married Sherlock Holmes. What did he expect?

Obviously Sherlock didn't notice John's frayed temper, and began talking again, more to himself than John.

"She's less intelligent than us both, so Hamish will have been exposed to a more mudane way of life, with more useless prattle and less useful experiences. He could have picked up on anything there- what if he started having a television soap preference?"

John sighed, and checked the time on his phone. Only roughly three minutes until they were back at Baker Street.

"Sherlock, Hamish is three. His mental capacity won't be ruined by a week with Mrs Hudson," John said. A part of him secretly hoped being 'exposed' to normality would benefit him. He would never tell Sherlock, but he was scared that Hamish wouldn't develop the necessary people skills, even with John's influence.

Sherlock carried on staring stonily out the window, but reached for John's hand, and John took it, regardless of how exasperated he was with his boyfr- no, husband. John would never get used to that.

The Taxi pulled up at 221B, and Sherlock practically leapt out of the car, only pausing to grab his case, which he didn't trust John with. John was used to paying the driver by now, and picked up his smaller case before following Sherlock into 221B. He found Sherlock standing outside Mrs Hudson's flat, Hamish snuggled into his chest and chattering into his father's ear. Sherlock, for once, didn't seem to be listening, just drinking in the appearance of his son. Mrs Hudson was standing to the side, watching fondly, and she smiled with watery eyes at John when he entered.

"Daddy!" Hamish called when he saw John, and Sherlock strode over to his husband and transferred Hamish into his arms. Hamish wrapped his skinny arms around John's neck, but didn't deem him intelligent enough to start rambling about his observations over the last week, and just relaxed into his daddy's arms.

"Did you have a nice honeymoon, boys?" Mrs Hudson asked, handing Sherlock Hamish's bag of toys and books.

"Yes, thanks, Mrs Hudson," John replied pleasantly, "How was Hamish?"

"Oh an absolute pleasure, dear," their landlady reassured John. Sherlock didn't look like he could care less, and was clearly dying to get back up to their flat.

"Come on up for dinner later on, Mrs Hudson. We just need to get settled," John said, as he began to carry Hamish upstairs. Hamish still hadn't said much, but John was used to him having minor mood swings, like his father. Well, his father's weren't as minor. Sherlock grudgingly picked up both his and John's cases, and followed them up to 221B.

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"Daddy!" John was jerked into consciousness by a small boy bouncing on his bed. Hamish was still wearing his pajamas (striped like a bee) and his hair was even unrulier than Sherlock's.

"Alright, Hamish?" John said sleepily, holding out his arms. Hamish immediately slotted his little body into John's embrace, and began chattering about bees and father and whether they could collect some honey samples today. John nodded, still semi-conscious, and ran his fingers through Hamish's curls. They lay happily for about fifteen minutes, before the door was flung open to reveal Sherlock, wearing his lab coat and a sheepish expression. John's eyes narrowed, not needing Sherlock skills of observation to deduce what had happened. Hamish laughed, and sat up onto John's chest, before leaning down and whispering into John's ear.

"Father has blown something up,"

Sherlock pretended not to notice, and crawled onto the bed, curling up against John and entangling their legs.

"John, you know I love you," he began, shooting a glare at Hamish when the toddler opened his mouth to inform John of exactly what had happened. John groaned, thinking of the amount of times he'd had to spend days cleaning up the kitchen due to one of Sherlock's experiments.

"Just tell me how bad it is," he groaned, bracing himself. Sherlock hesitated, before mumbling something unintelligible.

"Clearer this time," John chided. Hamish giggled, and began playing with Sherlock's hair. Sherlock pushed Hamish's hand away, before realising parents usually allowed contact like that, and pulling the little boy into his chest.

"We may need a new fridge," Sherlock admitted. John reluctantly pushed Sherlock and Hamish off him, and went out to inspect what was left of the kitchen. And life continued as usual at 221B, the subject of another baby seemingly forgotten. That was until Mycroft showed up.