John walked into the living room to see Sherlock still awake with the baby.

"How long have you two been up?" Sherlock looked up from Hamish's face, still in shock after all that had happened. After she, the woman, had dropped the baby off. Of course, Irene said she was coming back for him, but strange as it was, Sherlock was growing rather fond of his son. He was a smart baby, seldom crying, and always watching for things to interest him.

"Just about an hour."

"Thanks for getting up with him," John said rubbing his eyes sleepily. He shuffled over to the kitchen finding tea had already been brewed. "Did you make tea as well?" John asked pouring himself a cup. Sherlock nodded, not answering. He was too busy examining his son's features for the thousandth time. His nose, his eyes, her complexion, her lips, cheekbones – undetermined. Hair? Hers.

"He tried to climb out of his own playpen. Give him another month, and I think he'll be able to lower the side himself."

"Well he is your son," John laughed. He sat down next to Sherlock and watched. He loved seeing him so fascinated by the boy. "They are your cheekbones by the way. He did get that from you." John smiled. Sherlock glanced over at his friend, giving a short nod and what might have been a smile.

"I do hope he does not get… everything from me."

"What are you afraid he will get?" John said setting his cup down. "As long as he doesn't pop his collar I'm fine." He chuckled. John could see Sherlock was being serious. "This isn't something Donovan and Anderson said again is it?" Sherlock cleared his throat, his eyes moving back down to Hamish as he shifted his weight.

"I… Understand that I'm not exactly social material. I just hope he doesn't have to face the world as a 'freak'." John sighed.

"It was those two, I knew it!" He picked up his mobile and started typing furiously. "You're not a freak! There is only a couple of people who say that and I'm about to kill both of them!" he was angry.

"It wasn't them. I could care less about what they say about me," Sherlock scoffed, but ran the back of his fingers across the child's cheek. "I just don't want that for him. If he gets anything from Irene besides her lips, I hope it is her social skills and ability to fit into the social normality."

"Yes, normality!" John mocked. "I'd die before I see our son become some blackmailing dominatrix!" John muttered before settling back down.

"She's hardly that now," He responded, "She'll be back for him soon… I doubt I'll have an actual say in his career decision."

"No, I wont let her," John said firmly. He didn't like the idea of Irene just dropping him off months ago and expecting to come back and have him back. "He is ours, she can't just ditch him here for months and expect to have him back. Plus her lifestyle, I can say, she is less than an ideal mother. I will go to court if I have to." John said getting really angry.

"A child needs his mother, both her and I know that all too well." He responded calmly. "He's mine, John, and I can hardly say that him being here is a more fitting home. I am certain she will return every now and again, though I am fully aware her motive is simply to keep him away from the orphanage…"

"Oh don't give me that bullshit! He just needs loving parents. You are his father Sherlock! This is a far better home for him. Plus you read the latest science journals, you know just as well as I do that having mal and female parents is no better than having two male parents!" John's face had turned red. He cared for this boy and didn't want to see him taken away by some woman whose life was endangered every other day.

"We're hardly his parents, John, living together would not count," Sherlock responded, "I've made her the offer to stay here before, but London is dangerous for her, and any talk of being domestic that we've come to has ended awkwardly. I trust her with him, and she will have him back when she returns." John was furious, but he knew he was going to get nowhere with Sherlock.

"Whatever." He said. He stood up and walked down stairs slamming the door behind him. He headed to Mrs. Hudson's flat, needing to get away from Sherlock for just a moment. Sometimes he could be so infuriating.

Sherlock's mobile buzzed and he waited till he could no longer hear John's footsteps before he stood and went to the phone, his son still cradled in one arm. He picked it up and read the message.

Done with what I had to do. I've rented out a house in France, can't stay in American for a little while, got to do some things, I'll tell you later. How's Hamish? IA

Sherlock glanced down at his son before responding.

He's fine. What day will you be here to pick him up? SH

John sat at a table with Mrs. Hudson.

"You two have a little domestic?" She said setting food down on the table. She always had food for him.

"You could say that. He just doesn't understand…"

"Understand what dearie?"

"Understand why I don't want Hamish to go, how we could be better parents,"

"Yes, but that's not what's bothering you is it?"

"No, but he would never understand that." He looked to Mrs. Hudson who gave him a compassionate look.

Tomorrow morning. IA

Listen Sherlock, the place I'm renting in Neuilly, you're welcome to come with me. For Hamish. IA

Sherlock stared at the message for a moment, before sitting his phone down and walking off into the bedroom to pack Hamish's things.

"You don't know that John," she said resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I do though," John said sighing. "When I had mentioned that we could be better parents he said living together doesn't count." John started playing with his food. "He just doesn't see it the same way I do, see him the same way I do. I can't ever tell him." John closed his eyes.

Sherlock finished packing up his son's things, laying the baby down on the blanket and running his hands up through his hair.

"What do you think, Hamish? Do you want daddy to come with you? France, of all places?"

"You will have to tell him soon though," Mrs. Hudson said patting him on the back. "If you don't, well who knows, he may run off elsewhere." John didn't want to think about that. He wasn't sure what he would do if he ever lost Sherlock.

"You really think me telling him will make him stay?" John asked looking back up at Mrs. Hudson.

"Couldn't hurt could it?" She gave him a faint smile. John sighed. She had a point.

Sherlock glanced at his dresser, pondering for a moment and walking over and kneeling down to start picking out some clothing, laying it on the bed, still contemplating the whole thing.

"Alright, I'll tell him." John said still nervous and unsure about the whole thing. "But when I fall flat on my face please don't laugh?" John asked.

"Of course not, I'll be there to pick you up darling." She smiled giving him a quick hug. "You know I'm always here for you," John nodded. He took a deep breath. It was now or never. He headed back up stairs seeing Sherlock was no longer in the living room. He stood frozen looking around.

"Sherlock?" John said, that nervous ache in his chest getting worse. He felt like he was going to be sick.

"In here," He called out, picking up his suitcase and starting to pack up a few things. He had about ten pairs of trousers and some button ups, pajamas and dressing gowns. "Have you seen my laptop bag?" Laptop bag? Why did he need his laptop bag?

"Could you come out here, we have to talk," John said shaking his hands and rocking back and forth between his feet. He was anxious and very wound up. He didn't here Sherlock move. "NOW!" John yelled, almost a little to forcefully. Sherlock finished zipping up his bag, sitting it aside with Hamish's as he heard John yell for him. Finally, he made his way into the living room, shrugging slightly.

"Yes, we do have to talk. It's rather sudden, but important."

"Sherlock, I need to tell you something important as well. I don't want any rude comments or sarcastic remarks either!" John said closing his eyes. He wouldn't be able to look at the detective till he had said it. His heart was pounding.

"Okay, but I feel mine is a bit more important." He stated calmly, but he let John go first, his mind racing. How was he to explain that he was leaving? It would be so sudden, but he had to do it. He had to.

"Alright, I'll just say it then…" He took another deep breath. "Just say it Watson!" He muttered to himself. "Sherlock… I love you." John said it and winced, waiting for the sharp sting of rejection. He stood there scrunched up not daring to look at the detective. He was already planning his dramatic escape to Mrs. Hudson's flat. Sherlock froze for a moment, raising his eyebrows in clear shock. Still, he cleared his throat and tried to begin to speak.

"I'm leaving in the morning, for a few months… I don't know when I'll be back exactly." John stared down at his shoes; that was not something he was expecting as a reply. His face turned bright red. Anger and rejection filled his chest and threatened to bring tears. He stumbled for a moment before running out of the flat and back downstairs. He closed Mrs. Hudson's door and he went in the living room curling up in the corner. Had Sherlock just ignored what he said to tell him he was leaving? Sherlock watched him leave with furrowed eyebrows, clearly not understanding why he was leaving. Still, he went back to get Hamish and finish preparing him for the inevitable leave in the morning. A child needed both of his parents; he loved his child so very much. And while Irene would never ask for him to love her, he was sure there was some emotion involved in his decision.

"How did it go?" Mrs. Hudson asked stepping out of her bedroom. She saw him curled up on the floor. "Oh, not well then."

"He didn't even acknowledge what I said, just said he was leaving." John said tears spilling over.

"I'll go have a chat with him." She said heading out.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson yelled through the living room.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock called back. "I'm in my room." He packed up his laptop, Hamish now cuddling with a pillow.

"Get out here now Sherlock Holmes!" She called rather forcefully. He blinked, eyebrows furrowing once more before he walked out to face her.

"Yes?"

"How dare you Sherlock Holmes!" She said marching right up to him, her face inches from his. "John confesses his feelings and you completely disregard them and tell him you are leaving?" She raised a hand to smack him. While bringing her hand in towards his face she switched to her pointer finger shoved up against his nose. "You have some nerve." He made a surprised noise, before pulling away.

"I'm leaving, Mrs. Hudson, there is nothing else to it. I have a child, and, believe it or not, I have intentions of being a father. I have to go."

"Then we will just drop your stuff off at Mycroft's. I'm sure your bother will be happy to handle that until you decide to return. But just know you haven't a home here now." She said walking towards the door. "I hope you are happy Sherlock."

"It's not that I disregarded his feelings, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock called after her, adjusting his shirt.

"Then what do you call it Sherlock?" She said turning back around, a cross look on her face. "You said nothing to the boy. He laid his heart out for you, and now you are going to leave taking it with you, not having said a word to him. He's heartbroken, sitting downstairs in a ball crying. He loves you and that child. And he would be a much better parent than that tramp of a mother he has now." She said. Rarely did she use such language but she felt it was appropriate.

"I don't return the feeling, Mrs. Hudson. And I would rather leave without verbally rejecting him. And do not call Irene a tramp, you don't know her." Sherlock replied, fighting a sharp tone. "She's the mother of my child for a reason."

"Saying nothing is worse than rejecting him Sherlock, and she is what she is. Do you even know how many she has been with? How many people want her dead? Always on the run? If it were anyone other than you I would call Protective Services for that poor child." She said.

"She's been with plenty of women, I'll give her that, but two men. Yes, I do know. I know a lot more about her than you would think, and you have no right to call her that." Sherlock replied with a clenched jaw.

"I never said what gender Sherlock. I said do you know how many she's been with, people in general. She uses her whiles to get whatever she wants. And obviously with your poor social skills that are being displayed now I doubt you know her was well as you think you do." She said staring him down. Nothing could frighten Mrs. Hudson. "You at least owe him an explanation; that is if he will even talk to you, which I won't blame him if he wont. John has been a better father to that boy then she will ever be a mother to him. That boy is his world." She took one last look before heading back down stairs. John was still huddled in a corner shaking violently. She could hear him gasping for breath in-between tears.

"I know everything about her, Mrs. Hudson, I…" he stopped himself. Did he lover her? The woman he allowed to take him, give him an heir. He knew of her orphaned childhood, the people she had seen dead, her flee to England, how she got started in the dominatrix business. He knew she was trying as a mother, and that she had never once asked him for love. Frowning, he cleared his throat and followed down soon after her, his posture straight. Mrs. Hudson grabbed a blanket and laid it over John before retiring to her bedroom.

"Call me if you need me dear," She said before shutting the door. John took a deep breath and grasped the blanket, holding it tighter to himself. What would he do now? Could he bear to stay in the flat?

"John?" he called out, his eyebrows furrowed in question. John heard his name being called, that voice causing more heartache now. He couldn't bring himself to answer. He curled deeper into a ball pulling the blanket up around his face. He wasn't in the mood for talking. Sherlock sighed and shook his head, running his hand through his hair. "If you want to say goodbye to Hamish, I'd suggest you do it tonight, we're leaving rather early." Why was he doing this to him? Leaving him hanging and taking Hamish. He wanted to see him, but he wasn't in the mood to talk to the detective.

"Mrs. Hudson!" John said loud enough for her to hear. She came out.

"What is it, what do you need?" She said walking over to John. She saw Sherlock out of the corner of her eye.

"What did you do this time?" She questioned.

"I didn't do anything. I simply inquired if he wanted to say goodbye to Hamish." Sherlock shrugged casually.

"John," She knelt next to him leaning in.

"I want to spend time with Hamish, but I'd rather not deal with the prick who is standing at the door." John mumbled low enough for only Mrs. Hudson to hear.

"Right," She nodded. She stood and walked to Sherlock. "I'll come and get the lad," She said looking Sherlock in the eye. "You can have him back in the morning." She said curtly. Sherlock stopped her, shaking his head.

"You know I give you my utmost respect, Mrs. Hudson, but my child is staying upstairs with me tonight. If John wants to see him, he can come back up." With that, the detective turned and made his way back towards the stairs. Before Mrs. Hudson could turn around John was already walking past.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, running into the living room enraged. He walked straight up to the detective and got as close as he could. "You decide to ignore my feelings completely, and leave taking Hamish with you to a very unfit mother. The only one who thinks she is okay is you, and we all know how clear your judge of character is. But if you are going to offer to allow me to say goodbye, then I will do it alone and without you in the room." He said very loudly. "You are a right prick, a real ass, but saying I can't say goodbye, not without your constant supervision is low even for you. I would like a bit of happiness before you rip my world apart is that to much to ask?" He said seething. He turned on his heel, frowning.

"Hamish stays up here. You can come up and see him, even if I'm not in the room, but he stays up here. And don't say another word about Irene, you don't know her; John, you didn't even know she was alive until she dropped off Hamish. I did not ask your judgment, but I know her better than you, I know that she loves Hamish, and has given up a lot for him."

"I will say whatever I god damn please about that woman. If she is constantly worrying for her own life who is to say that she wont end up dead one day and Hamish will be left alone because he was with her? Anyone else could see that is not a good situation for a child. You did say once that caring was a disadvantage. It leads to unfit judgments and distractions. Well here is a perfect example. A man who cares for someone he claims to know and then has a delusional belief that something bad wont happen to his child. Well if one day I happen to hear about the funeral for you two because of her I will be sure not to attend! You are a sick bastard Sherlock Holmes!"

"You don't know her John! You don't know anything about her! You don't know a goddamn thing and you have no right to say anything like that, because you're jealous! She's living in a steady house, she has money, and she is just as fit as anyone else to raise a child. Above all else, she would never let anything happen to Hamish. My mother neglected me all my life, John, and Irene had it much worse. I have never said it won't be dangerous, but she deserves him."

"A good mother would realize that putting her child's life in danger is wrong and would know that she would rather have him safe than in her life. There are tons of mothers who are a lot stronger than she is because they gave their child up so they could have a better life. I'm not jealous of her either Sherlock. I'm scared for Hamish. He means more to me than you will ever know. But whatever, you don't give a shit." John said calmly sick of arguing with a wall. He walked into the room with Hamish and shut the door behind him. He held the child gently in his arms, tears spilling over. "I'm so sorry Hamish," John whispered through tears. "So very sorry." Sherlock sighed and took a seat, picking up his phone to respond to the woman he had avoided giving a set answer to.

We'll be waiting. Call me when you get here. SH

After a few second, she responded.

You're doing the right thing. Besides, I hear there have been some good and gruesome murders recently in France. They need a detective. IA

John sat with Hamish for a couple hours, so jealous that he could be so happy and unaware of his situation.

"I love you Hamish," John said softly watching the boy play with his fingers. "Just know that I love you. I wish I could tell you that you'll be safe, and cared for, and protected, but this isn't the time for lies. What you are going to be, Hamish is very, very brave. Can you do that for me? Remember that wherever they take you Hamish, however scared you are, I promise you that you will never be alone. I'll be here." He only wished that Hamish could understand. Sherlock knew that his best friend was angry with him, and he couldn't blame him for being. But Sherlock did have a defense. Irene, upon finding that she was pregnant, caught the first flight to America. He remembered it well, her calling him to confirm her location. She was staying with a few people that had raised her, a woman with a deformed face, and a man who was known for remembering everything, and two twins who were only seven years older than she. All of them had worked in a show together, and had taken her in when she was left on their doorstep. She there, in New Jersey, gave birth to Hamish. Of course, some things came up, both of the twins ending up dead, and her name carved into their wrists. Panicked, she had dropped Hamish off. But everything was settled now, it would be fine. They would be fine.

This was supposed to be the time John enjoyed with Hamish but all he could think about was how he was about to lose the things he cared for most in the world. He would rather join the army a thousand times over again, get shot everyday, than let Hamish leave with Sherlock. But he hadn't a choice. Calling child protective services had crossed his mind tonight but he wasn't sure he could do that. He hated Sherlock for taking Hamish away and back to that woman, but he also cared for Sherlock as much as he hated himself for it right now. He didn't want to let Hamish go.

Sherlock lowered his eyes, licking his lips. What was he to say? He couldn't leave Hamish here, not when Irene deserved her son. Every mother deserved their child, and every child their mother. So he remained silent, giving John time to say goodbye. Morning came and John laid Hamish down on the bed. He walked very quickly up to Sherlock.

"You will never convince me that she is good enough for him, and I'm even starting to think you aren't. If I even hear the smallest clue as to Hamish being in danger, so help me god, I will call the Protective Services on you and have Hamish taken away." He stood still looking Sherlock in the eyes. "And if god forbid something ever does befall Hamish before I hear about it, I WILL make it my personal goal to hunt you both down and skin you myself. I was in the army and I will do what it takes. " John then walked out the door and back down to Mrs. Hudson's flat. He couldn't stand to watch them leave. John couldn't breath and he felt as if he should be crying but he hadn't any tears left after the whole night. Sherlock was quiet as John spoke to him, standing and going into the bedroom to get his son. A knock on the door set him tense, but when he put Hamish in the carrier and picked up their suitcases, he walked down the stairs with calmness and pulled it open to reveal the woman. She flashed a wide smile before reaching for the carrier, the look in her eyes reading nothing but joy. Her baby was back with her.

"The flight is in an hour…" She told him leaning down to kiss Hamish's forehead. "We'll get there a bit early, but I didn't think you'd have any objections." John could hear the voices at the door, only in mumbles through. Mrs. Hudson came over and wrapped her arms around John.

"I'm here," She said rubbing his shoulders. "I'm here John," She said leaning her head against his shoulder. John placed a hand over hers and laid his head on hers.

Irene arched an eyebrow.

"Are you ready? The cabs waiting."

"Yes… Just, give me a moment." He told her, leaving his bags on the doorstep and moving towards Mrs. Hudson's area. "I supposed this is goodbye, for a little while." She stood and said nothing. She didn't want to say anything in front of that woman. She knew if she did she wouldn't be nice. She just nodded looking down.

"And goodbye to you, John." He nodded at his friend, a farewell. John refused to look at Sherlock; he just curled up trying not to show anything, no emotion.

"Piss off." John mumbled. Sherlock cleared his throat with a nod and turned to leave, ignoring Irene's confused expression as he picked up his bag and moved towards the cab. John hoped that Sherlock would have to explain why John had said what he said. He really wished he could hear that conversation. He wish he could just tell her himself. He would, but it wasn't going to change anything. He hated Irene and he was starting to hate Sherlock.

As they slid into the cab, Irene reached for his hand, giving it a short squeeze and admitting, taking his pulse. Quickened, though she suspected it wasn't from arousal.

John heard the door close. He let go of his control, grabbing a pillow, he screamed as loud and as long as he could. John fell over and closed his eyes. He would sit here for weeks, months, however long. He didn't care anymore.

Irene didn't ask, she didn't need to. He confessed it in moments.

"He loves me. And I left." Irene simply gave him a nod.

"The guilt will only last for a little while… believe me."

"Who was it?" Sherlock inquired with an arched eyebrow.

"A girl I once considered my best friend… her name was Penelope. She devoted her life to me, and I left her without looking back." She leaned forward to kiss at his jaw. "He'll get over it one day, when he meets someone else, someone to love and take care of him, and you'll feel good when you see him happy."

"It will become easier," Mrs. Hudson said to John. "Give it time,"

"No," John said choking on his words. "After the military I thought I would be alone forever. I miss the war, Mrs. Hudson, the violence, the thrill. What normal person would want to spend their life with someone who misses violence and the thrill of war? He knew no girl would, and no guy would. The only person who could possibly like those things would be a killer or a psychopath. If he wasn't crying because of his current situation, he would believe he was a psychopath as well.

"And if he is never happy?" Sherlock asked with raised eyebrows.

"He will be." Irene assured him, taking hold of Hamish and his bag as they got to the airport.

Mrs. Hudson knew that talking wouldn't do him any good.

"How about some nice deserts and a film?" She said taking ice cream out of the freezer. John smiled weakly to Mrs. Hudson.

"Thanks for everything Mrs. Hudson. I'm sorry if I'm not tolerable for a while…" he said wiping his eyes.

"Oh, don't fuss dear, we all have our low pints, and we all need someone there for us." She smiled setting his bowl of desert in front of him.