A/N: Hi, so this is something that I thought would be cute. This is a companion piece to a fic a wrote called Tears, reading that first would be advisable but not necessary. I would alos like to say I know Alastair's name is spelled wrong but it's too late now, I'll find a way to explain that in a later chapter/fic. Enjoy!
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Joan Holmes nee Watson, had seen many strange things in her life as consulting detective and wife to Sherlock Holmes.
Not that this was a strange thing to see, it was just so out of place in the usual mad rush their lives were, that it seemed very odd.
It did complete her theory on Sherlock Holmes being the most singular man she had ever met.
How he ever convinced her to marry him is beyond her.
Earlier that same day they had been chasing a robber turned serial killer. The had caught him after a almost near-death experience that had her in a near frenzy.
What if either of them had been hurt? They had a dependant now, what would happen to him if they were gone?
Sherlock had managed to calm her after much of fuss was put up.
The two of them had tried to select milder cases after Alastair was born. It had been especially hard on Sherlock, but he had did his best to go along with it in favour of his son.
After the morning's fiasco Joan had gone grocery shopping and Sherlock fetched the 9 month old from Miss Hudson.
Miss Hudson had immediately agreed to be Alastair's anytime babysitter and she loved him to bits, often knitting him booties, jerseys and blankets. She, much like most of the NYPD, spoiled him rotten and often bought him small toys.
Sherlock, however, was his biggest fan, and had been mesmerised by the small being from day one. He bought him all kinds of things, read to him on a nightly basis and tried to spend as much time as possible with his baby.
After Joan told him she was pregnant, Sherlock had been nothing but supportive and once the gender had been determined he had fallen over himself to buy baby outfits.
As it turns out he was quite the shopper and Joan was still pulling out outfits she didn't know he had.
But getting back to the present, Joan walked into the Brownstone arms full of groceries.
"I'm back." she called out, but received no answer.
Frowning she dropped the groceries in the kitchen and walked into the living area.
Sherlock was laying asleep on his back over his favourite chair. His head laying on the armrest and legs dangling over the other side.
He was wearing an old t-shirt and in his left hand a bee keeping book was falling to the floor.
His right hand was protectively, yet gently, placed over the tiny baby laying, face down, on his chest. The little boy was dressed in what looked like a black and yellow bee onesie complete with light blue wings. On his feet were tiny honey pot booties and on his head a bee antenna head band.
Alastair was curled up as much as what can be expected from a small child and his hands were tightly holding onto his fathers shirt.
Joan smiled at the sight before her, taking out her smartphone she took a picture to be added to the large and growing collection of Alastair's baby photos.