A/N: This is my first Sherlock Fanfic so if I've done something you don't like, then I apologise. This fic is set after Richenbach Falls in the BBC Sherlock universe. Inspiration from a post on tumblr, cant remember who it was from now.

All bold Italic text is from a text message, none bold italic text is from a memory.

Hope you enjoy

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Sherlock universe either the ACD books or the BBC show. This is a fan made work of fiction made purely for entertainment purposes.

Let's have dinner – IA

Sherlock had a moment of fear. The number was unknown but only one person would send him a text like that. The woman had promised not to contact him unless there was urgent need. Until now, she had kept her word.

"John, I'm heading out," He called into the quiet house, though before John Watson could reply, Sherlock had left the building.

Sensing the man's fear, John picked up his phone.

Something's happening. Be on red alert. – JW

Two phones buzzed in reception of this message – one in Scotland Yard and the other in a parliament building. Both men sprung into action immediately.

Sherlock ran through the streets of London, hailing down a cab as he did. He jumped in one and held an address out to the driver. "Take me here, as fast as you can. It is of utmost importance." The cabbie drove off at speed, Sherlock sitting in the back fearing what was happening. If the number she had texted him from had really been unknown then that could mean her real phone was out of her hands. If that were the case, she didn't have long left.

"He got in a cab on the end of Baker Street. That's all I know." John was telling Greg Lestrade what was happening, Mrs Hudson sat in the corner of the room, all ignoring the cups of tea she had brought in.

"What could have set him off John? I do worry about him..." Mrs Hudson seemed genuinely scared for her younger tenant.

"I don't know. He got a text, moments before he left. I don't know who it was from, but his face. His face was identical to the night when he came back from seeing...her for the last time." John knew Sherlock and Irene had been seeing each other after both of them had been presumed dead. He supposed it was a mutual need for someone who was going through the same thing – having to start all over again. When they had stopped seeing each other Sherlock had come home with a shadowed look over his face. It was like she'd done or said something he couldn't compute. It reminded John of the night when Sherlock had 'seen' the 'Hound of Baskerville' and he could no longer trust his own body. Nothing had ever been said about it. Nor was her name ever again mentioned in the house.

That had been around 4 years ago now.

John started to pace the floor. This was not looking good.

Irene Adler picked up her son and ran up the stairs with him. He was only 3 years old now and very precious to her. Running into the master bedroom she closed the door behind her, leaning against it, holding her son close to her.

"Mother, what's wrong?" He looked up to her, looking at her with his eyes. They'd be here any moment. When they were, she'd be ready.

"Nothing baby, nothing at all." She stroked his hair soothingly. Thinking quickly, she sat him on the front of the bed, kneeling in front of him so they were eye to eye. "You remember when I told you if Mother ever told you to hide, you had to do it really well and hide till I came to find you?" the boy nodded, all be it hesitantly. "I need you to be a big boy now and hide until I come to get you. Can you do that for me?" His usual sarcastic comment about how he couldn't be bigger than he already was, was forgotten, the boy being more concerned about the fear in his mother's voice; A voice which had never wavered. He nodded again and didn't struggle when she lifted him into the large wooden wardrobe. She placed him in the corner and kissed his forehead; a silent goodbye. Before he could say or do anything else, Adler had withdrawn from the wardrobe and had shut the door, silent tears running down her face. She knew this was best for her son. Even He had a soft side. She knew He'd be a good father, with a bit of practise. Swallowing the guilt and fear that had built up inside her throat, she went to meet the men who would certainly leave death in their wake.

Through the large wooden door of the wardrobe, nothing much could be heard. The boy could have sworn he had heard loud voices then gunshots. He didn't want to think about it so he just curled up in the corner of the wardrobe until it was safe to emerge.

Sherlock threw himself out of the taxi, chucking his wallet through the open driver's window. "Keep the change," he shouted over his shoulder, running towards the one door that could possibly be hers. He burst through the door, drawing his gun and holding his poised, ready to fire. He heard voices coming from the floor above and a gunshot, followed closely by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor. He'd run out of time. He ran up the stairs, glad he trusted his own aim and shot a black clad leg through the banister rails. "POLICE, EVERYBODY DOWN!" he yelled, knowing they wouldn't call his bluff. He ran the remaining stairs, training his gun on the man left standing, the other man on the floor clutching his leg where Sherlock had shot him. His eyes darted to Her, lying on the floor. He felt his heart miss a beat. She wasn't moving.

John. Get here now. Bring Lestrade – SH

The following text held an address.

"Greg! I know where he is!"

He heard sirens coming down the street. "If anybody moves, you're dead." Sherlock's voice had an edge to it that plainly said 'don't fuck with me'. He moved to Adler's prone body and felt for a pulse. He couldn't find one. His own heart skipped another beat. This couldn't be happening. The only woman who he'd ever shown himself plainly to was now dead. He didn't have time to dwell on this though as thundering footsteps sounded the arrival of 'backup'. "Arrest these men," He told them calmly, turning his mind to the unfolding situation. The use of an unknown number meant she'd lost her means of protection, but he'd known that already. That's why the men were here. From his limited medical knowledge, he assumed she was dead, but even Sherlock would let the medical professionals decide that ultimately. But why had she brought him here? She knew she was going to die. There was no sign of a struggle and that worried him even more. He sifted through his memory banks. He'd long forgotten why he'd stopped seeing Miss Adler, only knowing it was 'better that way', or so John would say.

"Think, Sherlock, think! What was it she'd said to you?"

That was when he noticed the necklace. It was one he'd bought her as a present so he knew the pendent was actually a small disguised locket. It was supposed to hold some form of defence for her, just in case; a pill, potion or otherwise, designed to kill instantly. But she hadn't used it for that, he knew. He once saw her gazing into it and spotted two small pictures, one of her and one of himself. Her hand was wrapped around the pendent tightly. This was her last thought before she died. Unfurling the tight fist of delicate skin revealed the locket to him. He opened the clasp and found a surprising picture. It took him a moment to realise that in the half where his face used to reside, the picture had changed. But the face looked almost familiar. The hair had the same curly quality of his own and the eyes…

The Woman, His Woman, was sat across from him at the dining table. She set down her wine glass after emptying it. Sherlock sat back in his chair, watching her, analysing her like he always did. Only after spending time with this woman did she start to become more readable. He had started picking up the signs of when there was something wrong. He sat quietly, waiting for her to speak first.

"I'm pregnant Sherlock. With your son."

Sherlock stepped over her body and into the closest room that had the door closed. He would be hidden somewhere in here. Listening carefully he heard a quiet whimper coming from the large wooden wardrobe. He stepped towards it slowly, not wanting to scare who or whatever it was inside. He opened the wardrobe door slowly, putting his gun back in its holster as he did so. He heard a whimpering again but much louder this time. Whatever was hiding, Sherlock had found it.

"Whoever's in here, it's okay. You can come out now." He adopted the same tone of voice he'd heard John use when dealing with small children and distraught parents. There was a rustling from behind some coats and a small head appeared.

Sherlock had risen from the table without saying a word and was heading for the door. Irene had expected a bad reaction, though maybe not quite as bad as this. She followed him to the door and halted his exit with a light hand on his shoulder.

"I'm going to name him Hamish after the ... other love in your life. You don't have to be involved, but he will always be your son"

After hearing her final words, Sherlock left the building, never turning back.

He remembered her words now as his own eyes stared back at him. It was mildly frightening how much the boy looked like him. It was like looking into a mirror that showed you yourself as a toddler. "You're Hamish, aren't you?" His voice was still soft, calling out to the boy to come closer. The boy nodded and crawled towards the older man. Sherlock picked him up and placed him on his hip in a natural fatherly gesture. He didn't quite understand why he did this other than it feeling natural to do so. He supposed it was a natural automatic response to seeing your own child frightened. "You're coming to live with me now, your mother has… put you into my care." The boy nodded again, his sad eyes seeming to indicate he'd taken in Sherlock's hidden meaning. "When we go out of the room, I want you to look at me and keep looking at me okay?" Sherlock brushed a lock of hair out of his son's eyes, accepting now that he did have a child of his own. It had taken a long time to rationalise it to himself it seemed, but now he was there holding the young boy in his arms, it felt like he'd been doing it for years. Hamish blinked and nodded his understanding once again.

Sherlock rushed from the room and down the stairs, making sure Hamish was watching him the whole time. It must have been disturbing enough to have lost his mother without having to see her lying dead on the floor outside her own bedroom. Once outside, Sherlock spotted John stood next to Lestrade, both leaning against an unmarked police car. Seeing the small child, John rushed forward to take it from his flatmate and friend, knowing that the consulting detective didn't care for such 'creatures' as he called them. When Sherlock didn't hand him over, John was shocked.

"Sherlock, what's going on?"

"This is my son John. This is Hamish Holmes, Son of Irene Adler and I. She's dead John and he's all I have left of her. I'm all he has left…." John couldn't quite comprehend what had happened to the Sherlock Holmes he knew. That man would have left the boy wherever he had been found before today. He knew Adler had had an effect on the man, but apparently it was much more profound than the doctor had first thought.

"Are you sure about this Sherlock? I mean you don't know the first thing about child rearing. How are you going to take care of him? We don't exactly live the safest of lives..." He trailed off, knowing Sherlock could fill in the gaps.

"John this child has a spark. He has my blood in him, if we send him anywhere else he'll be starved of the attention he needs. He's my son John...He could be our son if you'd let him..."

Sherlock gave John the only truly pleading look he'd ever given. Hamish was leaning his head on Sherlock's shoulder like he belonged there, eyes half closed with exhaustion and glistening with knowing tears. The young boy was looking at John curiously but without an ounce of fear. This was defiantly a child with the blood of Sherlock Holmes.

Sighing John gave in.

"Okay," he said nodding slightly. "Let's go home."

A/N: so what did you think? Please R&R so I can improve my work.

Thanks for reading =)