First of all, I would like to thank everyone for the reviews and comments. I really appreciate it and it makes me SO happy when people like what I'm writing. As another review pointed out, this is more of an mpreg story than an omega story. As writing has always been for me, it writes itself out as I go along. I will make sure to change the description to reflect that. Hopefully someday I can actually write a legit Omegalock story on here for you guys. This sequel is in part thanks to those who have given me much enthusiasm regarding this piece.

John would have usually silently cursed himself getting the carpet floor wet with his jacket and umbrella. The flat looking clean was something that came with Hamish. None of that mattered though the moment he walked in the door. His brain and heart could not and would not register what it saw. The men who he carried his child for, the one who he saw die at St. Bart's. The man he cried himself to sleep for months for. The man that he adored, missed, and hated all within the same moments. He was standing there like a ghost from the past. Still wrenchingly beautiful as his eyes still cut his soul. Tears were flowing down the consulting detective's cheeks. His black curls hanging over the eyes.

There were some considerable moments of silence. John was in the mist of the deepest shock of his life, taking all of this information silently in. He had convinced himself all this time Sherlock did indeed die. Half of him had been fighting it though. For the sake of dear Hamish, how he had wished he would come back to see his little boy. Sherlock cleared this grief stricken throat.

"Mrs. Hudson let me in. I hope you… don't mind my presence here," he said in the grieved voice he remembered from the fall. "I wanted to see you and Hamish so much. I wanted to hold him in my arms like I had always dreamed of doing. Telling him I loved him. That I was sorry I had left him."

"I… thought you were dead," said John breathlessly. "I mourned you; I had your child regardless of what anyone thought. I had finally convinced you had died. No matter what I did, I was still haunted by you. I could never love anyone as much as you," the words flowed out of him. "I can't believe you are here."

"I saw Hamish before you got home. He's beautiful. Mycroft sent me pictures of him sometimes. How I longed to be with the both of you. I… couldn't," the consulting detective hung his head and wept even more into his hands. John's thoughts flashed back before his eyes. The fall, giving birth, Afghanistan, this felt too much all at once. His mind was unraveling before his eyes seeing him again.

"Why did go through all of this Sherlock? All this pain and suffering, for what?" John raised his voice slightly. "I had to raise a child basically alone. If it wasn't for Sarah, Mrs. Hudson, and Harriet, and some other kind souls I would have gone mad. Do you even have a clue knowing how hard it was to have Hamish knowing what happened to you?" More silence followed before Sherlock spoke again. He took off his jacket and sat on the living room sofa.

"John, I had to in order to protect you and everyone else who knows me. The only person who knew was my brother. He would send Anthea out to find you two. You take him to the same playground every Thursday morning. Mrs. Hudson also knew. I told her to make sure you got a blood test the last time I saw you. I knew you were with child. I would have done anything including death to protect you and I am sorry for everything," he spoke in choked sobs. John gave up his anger right then and there. There was no use to keep this going.

John sat beside Sherlock and hugged him as tight as he could. He could tell Sherlock was slightly thinner than he remembered. He was a shade paler than he had remembered in his dreams. There was something more human about him now. The baby monitor was set on the fireplace mantle next to Sherlock's skull. He could hear the soft voice of Mrs. Hudson and the coos of his son as she sang.

"Round and round the garden

Like a teddy bear.

One step, two step,

Tickle you under there," she sang and tickled Hamish. His laugh echoed around the room and John could tell melted his heart hearing his voice. It was hard to be so angry and upset when his son was so blissfully happy. The endless amounts of questioning could wait. John knew what Sherlock needed: his son. After bringing down Hamish, at the first sight of seeing Sherlock, hid behind Mrs. Hudson.

"Doesn't be shy love," she spoke calmly to him. "It's your daddy and he has missed you very, very much," she led his tiny hand over to Sherlock over. Sherlock did not hesitate in taking him once more into his arms. Rocking him back and forth on the sofa as Hamish touched his face and hair in awe.

"Why don't I put on some tea?" John spoke as he walked toward the kitchen. Sherlock continued to hold Hamish's attention. He quietly spoke to him, kissing his tiny forehead and cheeks dozens of times. He started to sing to his son:

"Pust' vsegda budet solntse,
Pust' vsegda budet nebo,
Pust' vsegda budet mama,
Pust' vsegda budu ya!"

"You took up Russian while you away?" John grinned as he bought the tea in and filled Sherlock's cup. He had even still kept his favorite mug.

"I took care of a client's children in Moscow for a few months. It worked to my advantage due to the fact their mother was Sebastian Moran's ex wife."

"Who was Sebastian Moran?"

"He worked with… Moriarty," he shuddered at the name. "I was able to track him down and all his henchmen. They can never bother anyone anymore," as he drank their tea slowly. "I went under the name Sven Sigerson. You may have seen me online."

"Now that I think about it," John added. "I have! You shot someone off Mount Everest!"

"That was Sebastian Moran."

"Amazing!" he laughed.

"Though I am happier to be back at Baker Street with you and Hamish," he kissed Hamish's cheek again. "We should take him to a crime scene. I am sure even he is better than many of Lestrade's assistants."

"How about something normal fathers do like the playground? Well, it is almost time for Hamish's bathing would you like the honor of cleaning him?"

"I don't think I can turn that down," Sherlock grinned as he took Hamish's small hand. This was the life he had dreamed since the fall. He couldn't stop smiling at his son. He was home and right back where he belonged.