A one-shot of Sherlock BBC. Post Series 2. (This was written before Series 3 came out, so.. disregard it? I don't know.)
I own nothing besides my OCs and the story itself.
He had a speech prepared, a long speech that explained why he did what he had done and why he was gone for so long. But when he saw Monika with their two year old son beside his bed within the walls of 221B Baker Street, he couldn't speak. He let Monika stare in disbelief, let their son call for him with loud laughter, let her yell at him until she could no more- tears pouring down her face.
He said no words, only held her close and kissed her curly red hair. The child was picked up, buried between their chests. With the newfound warmth, the boy soon fell asleep and was tucked into his bed.
Sherlock took her back to bed that night, his hands caressing her skin and his mouth selfishly tasting every inch of her skin. Words were exchanged, tears spilled. They fell asleep in the early morning, their bodies covered by a single sheet.
John Watson came the next morning, a file in hand. He seemed surprised by how calm the flat was. Sherlock was seated on the couch near the door, watching as his German lover and their son played together on the floor. They were rolling a bright green ball back and forth between their open legs, though Hamish kept getting distracted by watching Sherlock.
"Da!" Hamish called out, reaching for his father. Monika, dressed in pajama shorts and one of Sherlock's button down shirts, stood and went to greet the good doctor. Sherlock was hesitant but picked up the child, holding the boy on his lap. A small but surely there smile formed as the child curled against him, playing with his long fingers.
Sherlock knew it would be a long time before he was forgiven, but that was alright. He was home, and that is all that mattered.