I've never written a Sherlock fanfic before but I hope that I'll do well and that you will enjoy it.

Obviously Sherlock BBC doesn't belong to me otherwise Johnlock would be a lot more than just subtext. ;)

This story contains: mild Johnlock (mostly just fluff), plenty of Parent!lock, and of course Hamish Watson-Holmes who even though he isnt canon at all, I tried to make as real as possible because I just love Hamish.

"Daddy!"

The call woke John up with a start. It quickly pulled him out of the slumber that he desperately needed. He and Sherlock had been racing all around the city the night prior with a whole day at the hospital afterwards (one of them needed to make a steady income). To put it simply; he was exhausted. To put it less simply; Dr. John Watson felt like he could probably go into winter hibernation if it wasn't for fear that Sherlock would "accidently" blow something up in the kitchen or the small, joyful boy that tossed his schoolbag to the floor and plopped into his arms.

John let out an "oomph!" when six year old Hamish jumped into his arms. He was still a bit groggy and the sudden impact caused him to quickly collapse back into his chair (he hadn't intended to fall asleep in his chair. The last he remembered he was reading the paper as he waited for Mrs. Hudson to return Hamish).

"Sorry," Hamish mumbled into his jumper, still embracing him in a tight hug. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

John carefully maneuvered the boy so that he was sitting on his lap instead of pinning him to the back of his chair and gave him a kiss on his temple, having to brush aside numerous dark curls to do so. "Don't apologize. There's no need to sleep all day anyway. How was dinner with Mrs. Hudson?"

(Hamish had to have dinner with Mrs. Hudson due to the fact that someone decided to throw out all of the edible food in the fridge out in order to make room for his supply of chilled brain tissue.)

The young boy gave his giddy explanation of every detail he could remember, including many deductions that he had made about some of his fellow customers. He was practically beaming when he got to the part about how he deduced that the man at the table next to his was a construction worker based on his calluses, tan lines, and the dirt under his fingernails.

John was always marveled at how bright his son was, how passionate he could get about things. The boy was so smart (he jumped ahead a grade instantly on the first day of school by reciting a (memorized) passage from one of Sherlock's science books) and so clever (he had quickly displayed his cunning wit when teasing his Uncle Mycroft, although in always a respectful way as John had taught him).

Just as Hamish was about to finish his story, he broke off with a sudden call of "Father!" Spotting Sherlock's towering figure in the kitchen peering over a microscope, the boy slid off John's lap and ran to the detective's side. He barely reached the man's hip as they stood side by side.

"Father, guess what? I was deducing today. Just like you taught me to." Hamish looked at his Father eagerly, having to stand on his tip toes to see over the table top.

Sherlock quickly glanced at the boy and then went back to his microscope. "Hamish, I'm working. I need quiet."

From the over room, John frowned. He got up from his chair and stood in the entry to the kitchen glaring at Sherlock. When the man didn't notice, John gave a loud cough that caught the detective's attention. There was a minute long stare down as Sherlock's eye's read, "I'm in the middle of a case, John!" and John's read, "I don't give a damn."

Eventually, Sherlock sighed and looked down at the boy by his side. He was no longer smiling, but instead was gazing forlorn as his played with a hole in his jumper. There was a moment that passed as Sherlock looked like his was battling himself (this was a common occurrence in the Watson-Holmes house. Parenthood was not easy for Sherlock, in was practically against his nature. John found the detective often battling his love for his son (because his did love his son, no doubt about that) and his love for his work.)

Abruptly, Sherlock asked, "Would you like to see what I'm working on?"

Hamish instantly brightened, and continued to do so as Sherlock picked him up so the boy could see into his microscope. As Sherlock began his long winded and fast paced explanation, John slipped back into his chair, feeling content to leave the two geniuses to their craft.

The two were so similar, in looks and brains (although Sherlock's most well recognized feature, his cheekbones, were yet to be seen on the boy. John tossed it up to the fact that he was still young and soft with his baby fat). John never felt like an outsider on these occurrences when the two would be emerged in their own world, in fact he was more than happy to watch from a distance as the two people he loved most were doing what they loved to do best.

John setting into his chair and let his eyes slowly close. He was so tired. So, so tired.

Wake-y, wake-y, Johnny boy.

You wouldn't want to miss the game now would you?

With his eyes closed, John could still hear Hamish and Sherlock talking in the kitchen. He heard Hamish laugh.

Wake him up.

Suddenly, there was a pain in the back of John's head. He gasped in pain and his vision blurred and faltered. One moment his was in his flat at 221b Baker St. and the next his face was pressed against cool concrete.

He could practically see Sherlock smile with both happiness and surprise. He always seemed to be surprised that he deserved his son's affection.

John!

John!

This voice was different than the first. It was so familiar but he couldn't place a name on it. His head was spinning too fast.

John, you have to get up!

John!

But he shouldn't be surprised. Sherlock was the most brilliant, fantastic, and amazing man that John had ever met. And his son was just like him.

Dad!

John, finally, woke up.

I feel bad that I stopped on a cliffhanger. xD Oh well.

I tried to make Sherlock as close to what I can imagine. I assume that parenthood might be something awkward for him seeing as he isn't a cuddles/bedtime stories/football practice kind of dad.

Oh, btw, Hamish is biologically Sherlock's through a surrogate.

Reviews are adored.