CH 1
It had been eight months since John and Sherlock had brought Hamish into the chaos
that was 221B Baker Street. Harry had unexpectedly called a few months prior to his
arrival to announce that she was dying from liver failure (which came as no surprise
to anyone who knew of her drinking habits) as well as six months pregnant.
The supposed father had been a one night stand that she had found while out
drinking. When she had called to tell him a few weeks later, he hung up immediately,
only after saying he wanted no part in it. She had said that because of her
condition, the chance for the child to survive was low, but if by some miracle he
did, that she had hoped John would take him in.
Reluctantly, John had told the shocking news to Sherlock:
"No. Absolutely no, John."
"Christ,Sherlock what am I supposed to do? Where else is he going to go once Harry's
gone?" John choked out, the stress in his face obvious. Sherlock tried his best to
ignore it.
"Surely Mycroft will be able to find a suitable family for the child."
"No way am I handing him over to Mycroft!"
Sherlock gave john an exasperated look."Honestly, think John! Is this really the
best environment for a child? And are we even suited to raise one? I am never the
first to go to my brother either, but it's the logical choice!"
John had obviously already considered this, as well as any other options, but the
desperation to grant Harry's dying wish had overwhelmed any shred of logical
reasoning he may have had.
John's voice had turned from stern to pleading, "Sherlock, he's my nephew, and the
only biological family I'll have left, if he survives. I won't be separated from
him. I can't."
Sherlock's stubbornness began to ebb away slightly as he stared into the smaller
man's eyes. How the hell was he always able to do this to him? He rubbed his
temples, sighing deeply. They stood there in silence for awhile.
"One month." Sherlock had spoke so suddenly it made John jump. "One month. We see
how it goes. If not, we leave it to Myrcoft."
John's expression went from strained to relieved. He walked across the living room
and took Sherlock's large hands in his own. "Thank you, Sherlock. Really." He
grinned up at him.
Sherlock could not help but return a weary smile. "I suppose Mrs. Hudson will be
thrilled at having a baby in the house."
John laughed lightly, "just don't go running any experiments on the little bloke,"
and gave him a small, sweet kiss.
Three months after Harry's call, John and Sherlock found themselves outside the
delivery room at Bart's. John paced anxiously while Sherlock left to get them some
coffee. Harry had not been doing well lately and John was more nervous than ever
that the baby, or Harry for that matter, wasn't going to make it out of this
hospital alive.
He had done all he could these past few months to make sure that Harry had been
getting enough to eat and resting. He was proud to learn that she had stopped
drinking as soon as she found out she was pregnant and hoped that it would increase
the child's chances.
After what seemed like ages of waiting, the doctor had stepped into the waiting room
and beckoned John to come inside.
The room was small. One window on the left had the curtains drawn, keeping out the
evening sunset. The room was instead lit with a fluorescent light, creating a
artificial blue hue in the room. There was a single red chair in the corner and a
cabinet containing some medical supply the other. The hospital bed was against the
back wall and protruded out to the middle of the room, where Harry lay.
John's stomach dropped when his eyes finally landed on Harry, her deteriorating
health more prevalent than ever before. Her eyes looked dead and her cheeks
hollowed. There was a strange yellow tint to her skin, which was covered thickly
with sweat. She smiled weakly at him then turned her head. John followed her gaze.
Next to her, in a little cubicle was a small bundle wrapped in a sky blue blanket.
John walked slowly towards it and looked inside. The baby boy lay sleeping
peacefully, his tiny fists balled around his face. His thin hair was a soft light
brown and lay delicately on his little head. The child seems to glow in comparison
to the dank hospital room. All at once, John felt emotion well up inside him.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Harry's voice broke John out of his trance. He went to his
sister's side and gently took her hand. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
He turned to the doctor.
"But is he-?"
"Perfectly healthy," the doctor smiled slightly.
"..and Harry?" John asked slowly, though he already knew the answer by the pained
look on the physician's face.
He looked back into Harry's dim eyes and felt himself start to tremble. It had been
years since he and Harry were on good terms, but right now John had felt closer to
her than ever before. Guilt washed over him in waves. He should have been there
more. Should have helped. Stopped the drinking. Then maybe..
Harry seemed to read his thoughts. She smiled again and said "it's alright, Johnny.
Stop being such a drama queen. It's my fault I'm in this deep shit." With what
little strength she had she squeezed his hand.
The doctor left the room and after some length of time John asked "What did you want
to name him?"
"I've been thinking about that all week. I think I finally found one I liked."
"Hmm?"
She grinned, "Hamish. After his fabulous, and sometimes git of an uncle."
"Harry.." John found himself lost for words.
"Hamish seems a suitable name."
John spun around to see Sherlock standing in the doorway holding two cups of coffee.
"Hello Harriet."
Sherlock nodded at her giving a feeble attempt at a smile for John's sake. He didn't
much care for Harry, even in this state. She had caused so much headache for his
John in the past, and now she was thrusting a child at him, as if she herself had
not been enough of a burden already.
"Sherlock," she replied with a mocking grin, "stiff as ever, huh?"
Sherlock ignored her and instead turned his attention to John. His normally hard
expression softened slightly, as it always did with John. "Perhaps we should let
Harry rest. It's obvious she's been through quite a lot today."
Reluctantly, John nodded and pulled Harry into a hug, catching her by surprise. "Get
some sleep, eh?"
"I could use it." She hugged back as tightly as her weakened state would allow.
He stood up, looked again over at the sleeping Hamish, then headed towards the door
where Sherlock was waiting.
"I'll see you first thing in the morning."
"Till then."
And John walked out of the room, Sherlock leading the way, and both of them knowing
that it would be the last words they ever spoke to each other.
The funeral was held the following Monday. A group of no more than 12 had formed in
an anonymous cemetery in London. The service was brief; Harry had not made many
close friends in life, other than drinking mates, and those close to her had little
nice to say. After paying their respects, or what respects they had, they gave John
their last condolences, and dispersed. John was glad to have this time alone with
the grave. He needed time to think, to say what he had wanted to at the hospital.
"We just brought Hamish home last night," he began quietly, "Mrs. Hudson's over the
roof about him. I bet I'll be needing loads of her help. Sherlock, well, he'll warm
up to him...he really is beautiful Harry."
He could almost hear Harry laughing. 'Who? Hamish or that git Sherlock?'
John smiled to himself. Both.
He stared absently at the headstone for a few minutes till he heard the crunch of
leaves as Sherlock came to join him. Sherlock reached for John's hand, their fingers
interlacing naturally, as they had hundreds of times before.
"We'll take care of Hamish, Harriet. I promise. If this is what John wants, then
I'll do my best."
John looked up in quiet disbelief at Sherlock's face, who looked slightly
embarrassed at his own display of emotion.
John held himself closer to Sherlock's tall, pale figure and rested his head on his
shoulder. "I love you," he whispered into Sherlock's sleeve.
Sherlock said nothing, but rather squeezed John's hand, silently returning the
feelings.