The Baby at 221B Baker Street
Summary: When Dr. John Watson entered 221B Baker Street that last thing he expects to find it his flatmate Sherlock Holmes, one of the most beautiful and irritating men he has ever meet in his life, asleep on the couch with a baby in his arms.
Pairing: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes or Johnlock with Parentlock
Author's Note: Hello my good fellows, welcome to my story. This fic was inspired by a piece of fanart I saw on a Sherlockian facebook page earlier this month. I hope you enjoy and will review or share it with a friend.
CHAPTER 1: Welcome Home, Daddy
"A family is a place where principles are hammered
and honed on the anvil of everyday living."
-Charles Swindoll
When Dr. John Watson walked into 221B Baker Street in London, England on a particularly rainy Friday the last thing he ever expected to find was his flatmate Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, laying asleep on the couch holding a tiny baby against his chest and sleeping soundlessly. The detective was in his dark blue dressing gown and a pair of gray silk sleeping pants. He wasn't wearing a shirt, Watson observed, and the robe was gapped open with the baby lying directly against the smooth white skin of his chest. Nothing really unusual about the scene, Sherlock often napped in the middle of the day when they had no cases, except for the baby.
He walked closer and couldn't help but notice how quaint the scene was and just how adorable Sherlock looked holding the child. His face was turned toward the back of the couch so John had to step around to get a look at him. Eyes shut, mouth slightly open, checks showed at least two maybe three days worth of scruff. John had been gone to see his sister for the last week so it was likely that Sherlock had not been out of the flat for longer than half an hour. But his breathing was soft and slow indicating a deep sleep, he didn't think he'd ever seen Sherlock look quite so…peaceful. The baby had his tiny little hand wrapped around the lapel of the older man's robe and was snoring lightly. John guessed he probably wasn't more than two or three months old. His hair was brown and thick and damp from a recent wash. A diaper bag sat on the floor next to the couch with its contents spilling out onto the floor. Bottles, clothes, wet wipes and diapers littered the hardwood and a dirty nappy was lying on the coffee table. He picked it up and carried it into the kitchen disposing of it before putting the kettle on to boil.
Perhaps Sherlock was just watching the child for a friend. Wait, no that couldn't be true since John was his only friend. Hum, perhaps he found the babe and decided to take it in until a more suitable home could be found for him. That was possible but seemed so…well, not like his best mate. Or perhaps Mycroft had something to do with. Hell, the baby could be some sort of experiment for all he knew.
The sound of a whimper from the living room drew his attention and he moved to the doorway and observed as Sherlock Holmes, perhaps the most irritating and impatient man he knew, raised up and stretched one arm above his head holding the baby close with the other arm.
"Oi Hamish, what is your issue now, hum? A dirty nappy? Feeding time? Let's see it's only been an hour since your last feeding so probably not that." Sherlock picked the baby up and sniffed his diaper. "Ah, most definitely a dirty diaper. Well, let's take care of that before you other Daddy gets home, though he should have already been home by now, its well after three."
"Other Daddy?" Watson thought and felt a sting of jealousy that Sherlock had somehow without his knowledge acquired not only a baby but also a relationship with another man that was deep enough to garner such a commitment. His feelings for the other man had started the moment they meet. It had been a shot to the system and he had tried to fight it but some things just were. It was hard not to fall in love with Sherlock at any rate. For all his irritating qualities and inappropriate remarks concerning the cases they worked on, he was a good man, fiercely loyal, smart, and most decidedly handsome. John was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. It burned him deeply to think that the detective did not share his feelings and had found someone else. He may not advertise the depth of his true feelings for the other man but he had hoped Sherlock would have figured it out.
"Oh, just wait until John gets a look at you. He will be pleased I'm sure. Though I will probably get a lecture about how I should have consulted with him first before taking you in. He can be so boring at times Hamish but you'll love him and I know he'll love you. Dr. John Watson has a soft spot for adorable things. He once brought home a dog that chased me around the flat for two hours before it feel over from exhaustion. Luckily Mrs. Hudson refused to let him keep it. Nasty creature's dogs are. Cats, now that's a very refined and elegant species. I tried to bring home a cat once but your other Daddy wouldn't allow it. Said we didn't have time to care for a cat." Sherlock spoke as he quickly removed the dirty diaper, creamed and powered the baby's bum and attached the closures on a new one. The expert way he handled the babe, Hamish apparently, was surprising. John didn't know Sherlock had ever been around a baby in his life.
"So I leave for five days to go visit family and you decide to get yourself a new flat-mate. I'm hurt." John spoke from the kitchen doorway. Sherlock's head snapped up and he smiled picking up the child who was cooing and looking at the other man like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. Well, at least John and Hamish had something in common.
"This is Hamish. He is going to be staying with us until…well, indefinitely." The grin that the man shot the doctor was dead sexy and made John want to kiss it right off his face. He shook his head focusing on the baby currently being present to him for inspection.
"He's tiny," was the only thing he could say.
"Well, obviously," Sherlock remarked pushing Hamish into John's arms. "He's only three months old and half starved when I found him. Poor thing was in an alley behind the Rose and Crown Pub downtown. I found him when I was looking for a friend of mine. I was going to take him to Mycroft and demand that he do something with him but…" he trailed off and just stared at John and the baby.
"But?" John prompted.
"I just couldn't," came the reply as he marched past Watson to the stove. The kettle was whistling so he pulled cups and saucers and tea from the cupboard above his head.
"Only two bags Sherlock. I don't want mine to walk out of the cup thank you. And no sugar." He reminded the man receiving a grunt and a dismissive flick of his hand. The baby reached out and took hold of John's coat and jerked, almost as if to remind him he was holding him. He started down into the tiny blue eyes and couldn't help but smile. "My God, you are an adorable one aren't you?" He said this earning him a chuckle for the man in front of the stove.
"He's such a wonderful little baby. He doesn't cry often, only when he's hungry or in need of a change. He was sick when I first found him; a slight cold, dehydration and malnutrition but the doctors at the clinic assured me he would be fine with the proper care. He has a follow up tomorrow at two. He has a touch of asthma but nothing that isn't treatable. He likes rattles and likes when I play the violin. He's going to a smart one I can already tell." This was said with no small amount of pride. If John didn't know any better he would swear Sherlock was the baby's father but since he knew that to be completely false, as his flat-mate was still a virgin and as far as he knew liked men, he was instead amazed at how quickly his mate had bonded with the child.
"I didn't know you had it in you." John said without thinking. Sherlock turned his head raising his brow, the tea stooping behind him on the counter.
"What do you mean?" He asked walking toward John. The look on his face while he read John's meaning went from confused to heartbroken to irritation in three second flat. "Ah, didn't think the irritable, impatient, smart arse had it in him to love another human being. Didn't think I would be the kind to keep a child I found in an alley behind a pub. I'm disappointed in you Watson. I thought you knew me better than that." The hurt in those last eight words was evident and made John feel like a total heel.
"I'm sorry Sherlock. I…It's just that…Well, with anyone else you're all irritated and impatient and annoyed. Babies are different; you can't be that way with a baby. They need to be nurtured and cared for with a firm but gentle hand. I just worried that this was some sort of experiment for you." The words tumbled out of his mouth without thought or editing. The hurt expression on the other man's face was back.
"An experiment? You think I would do something as…unsavory as experiment on a child. I'll admit that I'm not the most gentle man in the world and I have often expressed joy at the plight of others even children but never, never have I used one as an experiment." He reached out and took Hamish from John. His face was hard and he looked as if he might slug John. He'd have every right to.
"I'm sorry. That didn't come out right." John said as Sherlock turned and retreated to his bedroom. The door slammed cutting off any further explanation from the doctor. He walked over and thought for a moment about knocking but couldn't make his arm cooperate. He heard his mate talking gently to the baby. John couldn't hear what was being said but from the sound of his voice and the creaking of the floor boards he imagined Sherlock was talking to Hamish quite animatedly. The soft cooing that followed seemed to be Hamish's reply to whatever the detective was telling him.
He felt like a total arse for having said such things to his best friend but they had been no less than the truth. John just hoped that when Sherlock emerged he would be willing to accept an apology. The fact that he had been referring to the doctor as the baby's "other Daddy" didn't escape his notice either and he felt a tickle of joy at the thought that maybe, he hadn't been replaced. Maybe there was a future for them. And just maybe, having Hamish was the first stepping stone to that future.
It was after six before Sherlock came back out of his room and John was sitting in his chair by the fireplace waiting for him. The detective didn't even acknowledge his presence as he carried Hamish over to the couch and sat down. He grabbed the remote and flipped on the telly. The silence stretched out, thick enough to cut with a knife, only the sound of some children's show and Hamish's cooing could be heard. Sherlock pulled one leg up on the sofa under him and adjusted the baby into a comfortable position.
"Mrs. Hudson came by earlier to ask about the baby. She said if we need her just to knock and she'd be more than happy to help us with him." John finally said at length and received only a grunting sound in reply. Hamish sat on Sherlock's knee holding onto his arms and watching the little puppet on the screen counting apples with interest. Every so often he'd look across the room at John and give him a smile before turning his head up to look at Sherlock and do the same. He was beyond adorable and obviously happy to have found himself a home.
"Sherlock, I'm…" he stopped when the other man looked at him. The hurt expression was still there and the slight reddening of Sherlock's eyes was evidence he had been crying.
"You're sorry, apology accepted, would you please go into the kitchen and make Hamish a bottle. It's getting close to time for his feeding." The tone of voice was dismissive and John felt a little hurt that his attempt at an apology had been waved off with no more regard than it was given. He was sorry, he truly and honestly was. What did Sherlock expect of him? The man he knew barely tolerated anyone outside of his own company. How was he supposed to know that the man had a soft spot for this child? It wasn't something he could explain and therefore it confused him.
"Sure," was all John said as he got up and went into the kitchen. The can of formula sat on the counter beside the breadbox and the bottles were lined up straight like little soldiers just to the right of it. He picked up the can and read the instructions on how to make the bottle. Shaking the contents vigorously he went back into the living room. Sherlock looked up at him then down and Hamish.
"Are you hungry?" Sherlock asked the baby as he picked him up and repositioned him on his lap. When Hamish saw the bottle in John's hand he began to squirm and reach out making a sound that was almost a word and smacking his lips. The doctor smiled and sat down beside his friend on the couch. He tried to hand the bottle over to Sherlock but he shook his head.
"Move over here next to me and feed him. I'll hold him while you hold the bottle. You should talk to him as well and look at his face. The books all say it helps with the bonding process, especially for new fathers." John's body jerked slightly at the suggestion. It didn't bother him, at least not in the way that it should have. Instead he felt a little bubble of happiness creeping up inside him and settling around his heart. John should probably have reminded Sherlock that he hadn't even asked him about being a part of the baby's life. Sherlock had just assumed. But he could because despite any arguments he could make this child was going to be just as much his as his friends. He scooted closer and held the bottle up. Hamish latched onto the nipple in an instant and brought his tiny little hands up to wrap around John's fingers. The feel of the soft baby fingers closing around his own rougher ones was the most amazing thing John had ever felt and the look that came to his face was pure wonder.
"Amazing isn't it?" Sherlock asked as he pressed a small kiss to the baby's forehead and rubbed one long fingered pale hand over his brown hair. "How one tiny human can fill something inside you that even you didn't know was missing." The words were surprising and exactly what John was trying to find to explain the feelings inside him. Hamish was like the final puzzle piece falling into place. He felt like a king feeding the child. His leg was pressed close to Sherlock's and his other hand rested on the man's thigh. The move had been unconscious but he didn't move it now. The heat from his flat-mates skin warmed his palm and the silk of his pants. The contact made it all real and perfect.
Everything was just perfect.