"I assume you're here to meet Hamish Watson-Holmes?"

John shuffled his feet nervously and clung onto Sherlock's arm as the woman at the reception typed at her computer. The reception was a colour Sherlock referred to as institutional magnolia and there was nowhere to sit down. The silence in the plain reception was oppressive to say the least and it just made the ball of nerves in the pit of John's stomach tighten. He couldn't help but let his mind run wild, as it had done almost constantly over the last two months with things he could have done to make it him instead of Hamish. Why had they let him come with them anyway? It was a stupid idea. It was Sherlock's idea... John's train of thought was mercifully interrupted by the woman at the reception desk.

"He's coming down now and I've been told he has all of his bags." The women barely made eye contact when she spoke which puzzled John. How can she work in a hospital specifically for the Deaf when she couldn't even meet someone's eyes when they spoke? As far as John remembered, that was the first thing he'd learnt at the classes he'd attended with Sherlock. Rule One: Always make eye contact with someone when they're signing otherwise it is considered that you are completely disinterested in what they have to say or just incredibly rude.

Seeing the doors of the lift in front of them begin to open, Sherlock felt John's grip on his arm tighten. "It's going to be fine, John. He wants things to revert back to how they were before, which seems a bit farfetched to me but it's the least we can do for him to try."

John's head was immediately filled with ways in which Hamish's life would never be normal again. He let out a short bitter laugh, which he instantly regretted. This wasn't Sherlock's fault. None of this was Sherlock's fault. It was just coincidence. He knew Sherlock didn't deserve his scorn and sarcasm and so he apologised quietly taking the other man's hand and squeezing it reassuringly.

As soon as Hamish appeared from the lift flanked by two hospital orderlies carrying his bags John's bitterness disappeared. His son was coming home after two months in hospital, which were spent learning as much as he could about Deaf culture and studying BSL, which he had now mastered, thanks to his ability to absorb information and retain it completely, a trait undoubtedly inherited from his father.

John was startled as Sherlock began to stride forward across the sparse reception area to meet up with his son again. John went with him unsure of whether he could actually let go of Sherlock's arm. Why was he afraid with meeting up with his son? Two months ago everything had been ordinary or as ordinary as you could get living with Sherlock Holmes but now John felt as if he barely knew Hamish. He hadn't even managed to master basic BSL and he couldn't keep up with the pace at which Sherlock signed let alone Hamish. John tried to forget about his insecurities as Hamish walked up to them.

They both signed hello, Sherlock more confidently than John, before they each in turn pulled him into a tight embrace. 'How are you?' John signed, pointing his thumbs into his chest before bringing them forward in front of him in one motion. He was aware that he would soon be excluded from the conversation. John decided he'd probably take both of Hamish's bags so he could chat with Sherlock on the way home to Baker Street.

'Happy to finally be going home.' Hamish signed, smiling now, as he stood beside his parents. As much as he'd enjoyed making friends at the hospital he was desperate to return back home where he hoped everything would be as it was before.

After Hamish had said goodbye to the hospital staff he'd made friends with during his time at there, they walked to the nearest tube station. Sherlock and Hamish spoke to each other the whole way there, leaving John feeling useless and excluded. He tried to focus of what was being said between them but their hands flew so quickly that he barely recognised a sign before they'd completely changed subject, something which John still struggled with. It was strange thinking that it might be years until he could speak to Hamish properly again. John knew he'd have to work hard on BSL but he could never remember a sign for more than a few days unless he practiced it constantly. Sherlock quickly grew impatient of the speed at which John learned at and became reluctant to help because he found it 'infuriatingly slow'.

The tube was surprisingly empty on the way home to Baker Street. Hamish sat in-between his parents with his bags at his feet. Sherlock attempted to translate their conversation for John but he couldn't sign and translate at the same time so he only told John the important parts. Sherlock found it intriguing that as the train screeched through the underground tunnels that both John, himself and the seventeen other passengers in the carriage would wince but Hamish would continue to sit still. He knew exactly why but it was still strange to think that his son could not hear a single sound after his inner ear was completely destroyed on that day that he still hadn't properly spoken about with John. Sherlock banished the thought from his mind: He did not need to dwell on the past, especially that part of it.

'Mrs. Hudson's looking forward to seeing you again.' Sherlock signed. He was forced to finger spell her name for now because they needed to think of a sign that would suit her. A sign name is a certain sign that already means something that is also used for someone's name. It is usually based on a characteristic or personality trait associated with a person. At the hospital Hamish had been known as 'Curly' to his friends, much to his annoyance, because of his hair but he didn't want that name to be carried home with him. So they would be forced to think of another name for him. Mycroft's sign name was the sign for umbrella- Putting one fist on top of the other before raising the top fist upwards. Lestrade's name was the sign for a fox- Opening the palm in front of the face and quickly pulling it away while closing your fingers.

Hamish smiled, he'd missed Mrs. Hudson and she'd only been to visit him three times while he was in hospital because her hip had been 'giving her trouble'. Adjusting the bags at his feet, Hamish watched as everybody's attention suddenly turned towards the ceiling. Hamish sighed to himself; there must have been an announcement. It was quite amusing to see how people's attention quickly returned back to their newspapers after the announcement ended but Hamish couldn't help but think about how he would never hear the prim voice of the announcer again. He'd been told at the hospital that thinking like that wouldn't help him and he knew the psychologist was right but it was difficult not to think about everything he'd miss now. 'Announcement?' He asked, eyebrow raised in question.

John nodded knowing he'd be able to answer Hamish's question when Sherlock beat him to it. 'Yes, the next station is Baker Street.' John sank back into his chair, disappointed. How was he supposed to get better at BSL if Sherlock didn't even give him a chance to speak? He bit his lip and promised himself that he would bring it up with Sherlock later.

With that the familiar sight of Baker Street Station came into view and they got to their feet. John took Hamish's bags again and followed Sherlock off of the train.

The walk back to 221b didn't take very long and Hamish soon found himself back sitting comfortably in the living room. He knew it seemed childish but he'd silently greeted the flat as he'd walked in and felt inclined to touch every surface as if making himself known once again. He'd dreamed of doing this for the past few months. Everything was wonderfully familiar and Hamish hated to admit it but he had even missed the mess of case files that adorned most of the spare space in the flat. Now he noticed that mixed in among the files were loose sheets of paper with sign diagrams on them which must have belonged to his dad. Hamish smiled faintly and leaned back into the sofa, tucking his legs up underneath him. He was reading a book that he'd been given to him by a friend at the hospital as a leaving present and was enjoying not having to have his ears checked for infection twice a day or having bandages wrapped around his head, forcing his hair to stick out at various angles.

John stood in the kitchen with Sherlock making tea for them all while the other man checked the experiments that he'd been working on for the past couple of weeks. "He seems quite happy doesn't he?" John said as he poured boiling water from the kettle into the tea pot.

"Yes." Sherlock scraped at one of the cultures he was growing before making it into a slide so he could examine it under his microscope. "Considering the circumstances, he's doing extremely well."

"Hmm." John said. He was unsure of whether to bring up what Sherlock had done on the train earlier or to let it slide this once. Deciding that it would only get worse John decided to bring it up now so it wouldn't happen again. "Sherlock?" He said carefully as he poured the tea into the three mugs he'd laid out.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope curiously, judging by John's tone and the tentative way he was pouring the tea, something was bothering him. "Yes, John. What is it? Something is annoying you and you are unsure of whether to bring it up so as not to hurt my feelings. I can assure you that I am extremely unlikely to be offended by what you have to say."

John's grip on the tea pot tightened. At times like this he hated Sherlock's deductions but at least that got rid of his fear of hurting Sherlock's feelings. "Correct." He stated setting Sherlock's tea down in front of him, perhaps too forcefully and walking back around the kitchen table to sit down across from him. "When we were on the tube, you didn't even give me a chance to answer Hamish's question, when for once I actually would have been more than capable. How do you expect me to get better if you don't even give me a chance to try?" John knew his tone was too cutting now and that he shouldn't have let himself get this angry.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope as John spoke deciding that it would probably be best to give the man his complete attention considering the way he was spitting out his words. "I'm sorry, John. I hadn't even noticed I'd done it. I shall try and give you time to answer in the future."

John was startled by the sincerity of Sherlock's reply. He'd expected at least to have some sort of dispute but Sherlock seemed to realise what he'd done. John smiled, letting out a breath he wasn't aware that he'd been holding. "Thank you, Sherlock. I will get BSL, you know. I will be able to speak to Hamish the same as you do. It just might take me a little bit longer." John stood up from the table and went to the counter to take Hamish his tea. He walked past Sherlock on his way to the living room and stooped down to kiss the other man's cheek wordlessly.

"John? " Sherlock called looking up from his microscope again. His cheeks were slightly flushed, a side effect of whenever John surprised him with a kiss. "You will do it. I'll try to help you more."

"Thank you." John smiled over at him before walking through the archway into the living room. He approached Hamish unsure of how to get his attention. He thought back to the classes he'd attended with Sherlock. Rule Two: Never touch or tap a Deaf person when you're not in their line of vision to get their attention, it would be the same as someone sneaking up on you and shouting to scare you. John placed Hamish's tea on the table in front of him and before going over and quickly flashing the lights on and off again to get Hamish's attention. "Tea." He signed and pointed at the table.

"Thanks, Dad." Hamish said in reply before turning back to his book, it was actually quite good.

John sat down in his armchair and watched his son read while he sipped his tea. He hated to think how close they'd been to losing him completely and he'd never been able to put into words how grateful he was that Hamish had survived. Before he could allow himself to be absorbed further into his thoughts there was a knock at the door. Knowing that Sherlock wouldn't get up from his experiment John went to answer it. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson. Hello."

Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway with a carrot cake held out in front of her. "I was making a cake for the café and I thought that I should make one for Hamish. It is his favourite after all."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Hudson." John said as he took the cake from her and set it down on the table in front of Hamish who had got up from the sofa to hug and thank her.

"John? Can you translate for me I want to tell Hamish how much I've missed him before I have to go back down to the café?" Mrs. Hudson looked over hopefully at him.

John shifted uncomfortably and sighed. "No, not really but Sherlock could. Let me go and get him. Do you want tea, Mrs. Hudson?"

"No, it's alright I should be downstairs really." Mrs. Hudson followed Hamish and sat down beside him on the sofa, offering him a nervous smile.

After Sherlock had explained to Hamish just how much she'd missed him, Mrs. Hudson said her goodbyes and headed down the stairs.

Sherlock stood up from his chair to return to his experiment and smile spread across his face. "I think I've thought of Mrs. Hudson's sign name." He spoke and signed at the same time for both John and Hamish.

'What is it?' Hamish asked, eyebrow raised in question.

'Housekeeper.' Sherlock signed which was met by laughter from John and silent chuckle from Hamish.

A/N: The sign language used in this fic is purely BSL (British Sign Language) and all sign descriptions are correct. I am co-writing this with Epicukulele who will write the even numbered chapters. Unfortunately, we won't be able update on a regular schedule due to school work and various other things but we hope to update whenever we can. –Lidochka