I was reading the first part and realized that I wasn't really happy with the ending. Felt that there was more to be told. So I just had to write something about the bonding.
With the bed thoroughly cleaned and Sherlock washed up with warm water from sponge and bowl, the new father was tucked in under fresh cover and leaned against the headboard. The boy in his arms had all his attention and he hardly noticed the pain in his loins anymore. But he was tired, exhausted in fact and John couldn't blame him. The man had been through a wringer and deserved some sleep, but not just yet. There was a lot that needed to be done before John could let him rest.
"Let's get him dressed and then give him a bottle." he said in a low tone and removed some of the curls from Sherlock's forehead, smiling at him calmingly.
"But he's sleeping." said Sherlock with a hoarse voice and lifted his gaze from the little infant who so peacefully rested after his hard fight to get into the world. No one in their right mind could even consider waking him up now, he thought. "We can't wake him." And he felt something take over inside him, some strong urge to protect and shield the little child from all evil and he couldn't help to feel a little scared. This little being, sleeping deep and swaddled in John's jumper, was the strongest love he'd ever felt. Up until this day, he'd always thought that his love for John was the most powerful thing in the universe, but now there was this, the feeling of fatherhood he never thought he would be able to experience since he'd always been certain that no one could ever love or even consider starting a family with someone like him. But then he'd met John.
"He will freeze if we don't." John explained and reached for the small clothes that laid folded on the end of the bed. "We don't want that, do we?" That made Sherlock change his mind and he lightened his holding on the small boy, feeling the parental urge ease around his heart for a moment and letting John in to be a part of it all.
He placed him carefully on his lap and saw him squirm as the warmth of his father's embrace left him. Sherlock broke a little when the crying started and it was like torture to see John unfold the jumper around him.
"He doesn't like it." he whined and just wanted the crying to end, fighting himself not to pick him up again and press him against his chest to give him some warmth. It pained him to see his son in distress and John didn't seem to care. Why didn't John care?
"Well, he can't grow up naked." John chuckled and picked up the small nappy. "Let's do this quick so he can go back to sleep again."
They put the small clothes on together and Sherlock started to realise that his head wasn't as clear as he was used to. It felt like to many hands was touching the boy, to many for just two people. Was it because he was tired or had he lost blood? He had no idea, he just wanted it all to stop, his head to go back to normal again.
Hamish continued to cry until all the clothing was on him and they swaddled him in the dark green blanket before he was scoped up in the arms of Sherlock again, wearing a onesie that John had ordered online. It was white with a little tea-set on the chest. The laugh Sherlock had given him when he saw it a week ago was priceless, but now he seemed to like it telling by the smiles on his lips.
"Do you think he's hungry?" Sherlock asked without taking his eyes off the child.
"He should be. He haven't gotten anything for a long time now." A small whimper came from the sleeping Hamish and the both fathers silenced to look at him.
It was truly an unusual sight for them both. Especially for Sherlock, this was the first time he'd ever held a baby. Nobody had ever let him touch one before. After all, he was a 'freak', and who would let a child lie in the arms of a freak? But now, he had his own little child, his own little bundle of joy and he would never let him go.
"You can talk to him, you know." He turned his gaze to John who was stroking Hamish's dark hair, his eyes lashes still soaked and glittering by tears. "Let him find comfort in your voice." Not a word had ever been spoken between Sherlock and Hamish, not even during the pregnancy. John had spoken enough for them both, always whispering and murmuring with his lips pressed to his bare skin and Sherlock had never understood why.
"But he can't understand me." he said in a whisper and turned to his son again, saw the pursed lips working in a sucking motion and darting his tongue.
"No, but I think he will appreciate it. After all, he've heard your voice many times as you've been talking to me or shouting at somebody else. He'll recognise it."
What words could be spoken between a thirty-two-year-old man and a thirty-two-minutes-old boy? Between a genius and the cleanest mind in the world? This child hadn't been subjected to anything before. And with that, Sherlock started to get excited. This boy's mind was his and John's to fill. What a man he would grow up to become with all the information they both possessed and would give. He was like a clean sheet of paper for them to compose something new on.
Tracing a finger over his chubby cheek, he suddenly forgot to be intelligent. There was nothing he could tell this boy who would show him what a genius his father actually was.
"Hello Hamish." he chirped and saw in the corner of his eye how John's lips curled into a broad smile. "You're a very handsome boy."
"He truly is." John agreed and touched the little hand that Hamish so eagerly circled around his finger. "He will look much like you when he grows up." He sighed happily and placed a warm hand on Sherlock's cheek, watching him with big eyes like he tried to figure out what thoughts was travelling around inside his head. "How are you feeling?" The detective leaned into his touch and closed his eyes for a second. Just enjoying the moment of him and John being so complete with little Hamish in their presence.
"I'm tired." he answered truthfully, even if it would make John ask him to rest, he didn't intend to though. The plan was to stay awake for as long as possible to deduct everything about this little being, to get to know him, bond with him until Hamish could feel how loved he actually was. And John agreed to his unspoken words.
"You're not allowed to rest just yet." he said and pressed his lips to his forehead. "We need to feed him first. I'll go make him a bottle. Talk to him for a while."
Greg was sitting in the kitchen, taking a smoke under the fan and John could forgive him even if he poisoning the air. Even he could use something to soothe the nerves right now. It had been a hard hour and a half for them both, he could just imagine how Sherlock felt. Eight hours of labour, living on tea and broth, he needed to bring something for him too.
"They okay?" Greg asked him and showed John that he had also found the whisky. Without so much as thinking, he turned to the cabinet and started to get some formula ready for his son. The boy was hungry, and his parental instinct was already on autopilot.
"Yes, they're fine." he answered and heard how his friend filled another glass behind his back. "Sherlock might be on the edge of being a bit overprotecting at the moment though, but who can blame him?" The DI smirked, sipped the drink in his shaking hand that was sore after Sherlock's hard grip and John turned to him again, carrying a very relaxed face caused by the presence of his friend in the room. "Thank you Greg." he told him and let out a big breath as the world fell of his shoulders. "I don't think we've managed without you. Especially me."
"Nah!" Greg said and put the cigarette in the sink to suffocate the fire. "It was kind of fun. Scary, but fun. And weird, somewhat." Their short conversation died out and so did the bubbles in the boiling water as John removed it from the stove, put the bottle with the formula in to warm it up when steps was heard in the stairs. Soon mrs Hudson entered the kitchen with a casserole dish in her hands and a smile on her painted lips.
"I heard the crying from downstairs and figured it was over." she said and placed the dish on the table and pulled the thick gloves of her hands. "How did it go?"
"Everything went fine." John said and smelled the air as it was filled with the aroma of the food she'd brought. "They're both doing fine. Sherlock did great." And then a silence fell to the room, the three people just eyeing each other, waiting for John to tell her the obvious which he prolonged just just to see the anticipation rise in the old woman's face.
"It's a boy." he finally said with a relived laugh and with those words, mrs Hudson gave a little squeal and hurried through the kitchen to hug him just as hard as when he told her the news a few months back. That little woman was truly an amazon with all those muscles in her body.
Tears flowed down her cheeks when she cupped his face and stared into his blue eyes. Crying and giggling, she kissed his jaw since she didn't reach much higher that that.
"Congratulations John." he squealed and took both of his hands and squeezed them tightly. "I remember the day you two moved in like it was yesterday. Who new it would come to this."
"Oh, mrs Hudson." John smirked. "I think you always knew."
Leaving the kitchen with the warm bottle in his hand and a bowl of hot soup in the other, he retreated to the bedroom to find Sherlock, still in bed and murmuring to their little son. The conversation to low for John to hear, and figured that Sherlock wanted to keep his words between him and the boy only.
"How are you feeling?" John asked him again and placed the soup on the bedside table before he fell down on the edge of the bed. Sherlock lifted his head, looked at him half lidded and took a deep breath through a nose clogged by the earlier crying.
"Empty." he answered a little melancholy. "Tired." They didn't take it further than that.
The warm bottle was placed in his hand and John showed him how to get Hamish to latch on. The small, pursed lips circled around the pacifier and he sucked it almost violently, showing how strong he actually was and not as weak as he had the appearance to be. It was a wonderful sight to see Sherlock feeding the boy. It was a scene John never thought would be a part of his life. All those years in the army, all those friend he'd lost and left him broken and with the future plans to die alone and sad had faded when he'd met Sherlock. The man who healed him, and somehow put him back into the tracks of a somewhat a normal life. He had gone from the broken solider to father, and the journey had been long, painful but yet incredibly wonderful.
He reached out his hand and touched Sherlock's blushing cheek, caught a soft gaze from the blue-green eyes and told him the same words he'd told him so many times before, except this time, the meaning of them felt stronger, more meaningful.
"I love you." Sherlock's head fell back to the pillow and his chest heaved of the deep breath.
"Feeling are more than mutual." he answered him, making John giggle.
It wasn't the answer John wanted and Sherlock could probably read the small ounce of disappointment in his laugh.
"I love you, John." he said with a voice coming from the dept of his chest that made John quiver. Skin prickled as he leaned in and kissed the beautiful man he loved so dearly.
With silent movements an rearrangements, John placed himself beside him in bed, placed an arm around Sherlock to let him lean into the warmth of his body and they both watched in silence as Hamish ate.
"He's got so small hands." John chirped and saw the little limbs squeeze the air around the bottle.
"Of course he does." Sherlock said and placed his heavy head on his shoulder, yet again breathing in the smell of John's aftershave that made his head go fuzzy. "He's an infant."
"You can't say you're not impressed by him." John tried and played with the dark hair on the child head. He heard the little laugh leave Sherlock.
"I must say I am." he said truthfully. "I thought they would be bigger, and have less hair. I'm almost surprised he's got nails." John bursted into laughter and tossed his head back, gladly seeing Sherlock doing the same and not hating him for being amused by his lack of intellect.
"My detective, the most intelligent man I know and you're surprised our son is born with fingernails." He shook his head. "You can be such and idiot from time to time." He added a kiss to his temple and Sherlock hummed happily.
They boy finished his meal but continued to work his lips and tongue when he was done. The empty bottle was placed beside the cooling bowl of soup when Sherlock looked up at John with the same tired eyes as before.
"You haven't held him yet." he said and John opened his mouth to tell him that it didn't matter but he closed it quickly. Of course he wanted to hold him, he had only felt the weight of him in his hands as he pulled him out of Sherlock, but he hadn't really held him yet. "Take him." He picked him up from Sherlock's arms like he was as fragile as glass and pressed him to his chest. Felt the little life and realised that this was the first time he'd ever held him this close. Before, he'd only felt him kick and move. Now he felt him breathe, he could see every little motion and best of all touch those little hands he'd been longing to hold. He pressed tender lips to his forehead and took a breath of that new-baby-smell that made his heart skip a beat. Love could never get stronger than this.
"Hi Hamish." he chirped, voice raised an octave or two and he fought the tears stinging his eyes. "Hullo."
John had never felt happier.
So, did I just ruin it? Tell me what you think please. Leave a review.