AUTHOR'S NOTES:
This is my first fic in this fandom and my first fic ever, so please be gentle?
Also, English is not my native language so sorry for all errors.
CHAPTER 1.
Hamish William Watson was born three minutes after midnight on a snowy December night.
He got 10 points on the Apgar scale and was generally a healthy, tiny pink bundle of joy like any newborn is.
But there was no joy in anyone who welcomed him on this world.
Because the night little Hamish saw the world for the first time was also the day his mother saw it for the last time.
Mary Watson died in childbirth.
In John's memories everything was like floating in dense fog. He felt empty, like someone has taken away his heart and his soul.
He remembered sitting on the plastic, uncomfortable chair in st. Bart's waiting room, and waiting for what felt like ages.
Only to discover at the end that his newly married, beloved wife was dead.
He felt betrayed. First, his best friend commits suicide only to come back to life two years ago. A miracle, one more miracle.
But there will be no more miracles, not now, not ever, he thinks. It was over. Everything was over. Mary was dead and no one on earth or above was in power to bring her back.
John remembered looking at his tiny, newborn son and not seeing a new life, but death, death everywhere, all over the place.
He barely remembers coming home with his baby three days later. He doesn't remember at all calling Sherlock and telling him what happened. But surely he did?
He sits in his chair, watches little Hamish sleeping and he wishes bullet that crashed his arm took his life.
John gives up his job at st. Barts, cause he can't look at the place where two people he loved the most on the whole world were taken away from him.
He spends time at home, he takes care of Hamish, sleepless nights and identical days all blurred into some kind of haze.
He hardly notices Sherlock risks his life more and more every day.
He doesn't notice at all when his friend relapses and goes back to cocaine.
He wakes up every day wishing he didn't.
Years pass quickly when you have a child to take care of. But all the same years feels like ages when you mourn after someone.
John finds himself torn between these two feelings, like on rollercoaster where pace and speed changes constantly.
But, as the saying tells, every new day brings new hope. Every day it's a little bit easier. Slowly, slowly good doctor emerges from his cave where he have hidden after Mary's death. He watches little Hamish grow and realizes he loves being a father to this tiny creature with his whole heart.
His son is so much like Mary in some ways, John's heart aches when he looks at him. Fair-haired, but his hair is mop of curls, inherited probably after Mary's parents, since no one in John's family has curly hair, with deep blue eyes, just like his father, and brilliant smile, Hamish makes every John's day worth waking up.
He feels alive again. Broken, yes, still not whole, but alive.
He doesn't even notice that his mourning left him with new silver strands in his hair.
He begins to see Sherlock more often. Sherlock, who is clean again, who managed to get rid of his addiction one more time, and knowing that he was no help with that makes John guilty when he thinks about it. So he tries not to think. He discovered through last two years that not thinking is sometimes the best way to cope with things.
To everyone's surprise, Sherlock falls in love with Hamish instantly, and with reciprocity. John finds himself visiting 221b more and more often. So it comes with no surprise at all when one day he decides to stay overnight and couple of days later moves back to his old room upstairs, only changed by Hamish's cradle taking the honourable place.
Cases come and go, Sherlock is still Sherlock, not eating, conducting weird experiments on the kitchen table, shooting walls and playing the violin in the middle of the night, and John finally stops feeling misplaced. It's almost like his old life brought back. Almost.
The dull ache in his heart still remains, but it's not even half that painful as it used to be.
He takes back his old job at surgery. Mrs. Hudson takes care of Hamish and he loves her almost as much as she adores him, being his unofficial but beloved grandmother.
At first John tries to stay away from cases and dangerous part of his old life. But he's not a man made for peacefull, middle-class life and he knows that, he loves danger and needs it as much as he needs air to breathe. Soon enough he follows Sherlock to crime scenes like nothing has ever changed, praising him and chasing criminals all over London's streets.