WE ARE SO SORRY. It has truly been ages since we last updated. We hope you haven't all lost hope! Here is the next chapter and we PROMISE the next one won't be too far away. We love you, thank you for the continual support
It was a few days later, the two men, had managed to take care of the child as best they could. Sherlock was doing his best to learn how to do everything one needed to know to take care of an infant and be a father, but he wasn't mastering it quite as quickly as he was used to doing so with things. Truth be told, it was a bit of a shitshow. Twisted, ill-used, diapers littered the flat, arranging themselves around a variety of baby toys and half empty bottles with the wrong solution of formula-something Sherlock was quite bitter about messing up so many times, being an avid chemist and significant member of the scientific world.
At the moment, he was leaning over an open flame that was warming a beaker full of the first part of baby solution he had concocted. He readjusted his goggles before grabbing a cylinder of lactose, sniffing it first to make sure it was good before holding it up to the light to check the colour. He swirled it around was just about to pour the needed amount in when a high wailing scream pierced the otherwise silent flat. Sherlock closed his eyes in irritation and huffed angrily before setting down the cylinder and yelling loudly, "JOHN!"
"It's your turn!" John yelled back from his room, he was attempting to catch up on a few hours of much needed rest. Hamish had been keeping them up all night. He sighed a little, having a baby was exhausting.
Sherlock ripped off his goggles and threw them on the table. He rubbed his eyes wearily, "Please, John! I'm in the middle of something." He yelled back.
John huffed and reluctantly stood up. "Fine, but you're taking nights tonight." He walking over to Hamish's crib and picking him up, attempting to soothe him.
The detective glanced over at the baby. His face was contorted and red and his fists were clenched in little balls. Sherlock's heart softened somewhat and his frustration began to fade as he watched the child. He walked slowly over the John and held out his arms, "Give him here." He sighed, his paternal instinct kicking in.
John yawned and passed Hamish over to him. "You sure?" He asked, peering around to look into the kitchen. "What are you even doing?"
Sherlock took the boy from his uncle, slightly more sure of how to hold him now, and gently rocked him. "I'm making him formula, obviously." He answered John, glancing at him briefly before returning to calm the baby. "Hammy, sush. Dear me, you can scream like your mother." He murmured.
John smiled a little at Sherlock's words, yes Hamish definitely had his mothers lungs. "You do realise that I bought formula, don't you?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and John, annoyed, "Yes, I'm aware." He replied stiffly, continuing to rock the baby.
John rolled his eyes, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a tub of it from on top of a cupboard. "Then why not just warm up some of this?"
Sherlock glanced at the tub and frowned, "Because who knows what they bloody put in it." He retorted. "I'm not about to give Hamish shit formula." He mouthed.
John sighed and set the tub down. "Every baby has it, you had it, I had it. We turned out fine." He muttered.
He glared at the blonde man, "Look John, I appreciate your help, I really do, but when it comes to what my child is ingesting I would ask you to please respect my feelings on the, just as I promise to do with your firstborn."
John huffed and held up his hands. "Right. fine." He muttered, not wanting to get into an argument about this. "And just to remind you, Mary's coming over later."
Sherlock frowned gravely, clutching Hamish to him, "Who?" He asked lowly.
"Mary." John replied. "I told you about her. She's my girlfriend." He reminded him.
Sherlock thought a moment, "Oh, right. Sorry. Must have slipped my mind." He mumbled, "What time then?"
"An hour or so." John told him, looking at his watch.
"I see." He glanced down at Hamish who's screaming and finally stopped and was just sniffiling. "Here can you take him, I think he's hungry. I should finish the formula." Sherlock passed him across, wondering how many more days like this they would have and wondering how difficult it would be without Irene.
Sherlock took of his leather gloves and stuffed them in his coat pockets. He hid a grin as he watched the many young school children running out of the building from their first day of primary and into the arms of their eager mothers and fathers. A pang tugged at his heart as he noticed the empty space at his side, where she should be. He swallowed it down and searched the faces of the young children for his own little Hamish. Finally he saw him. Dark curls waving in the light wind, always a mess. Of course he was the last one out. Talking-or rather debating with his teacher over God know's what. Sherlock chuckled to himself as he watched the young boy furrowed his brows and express what could only be his overly intellectual opinion. Sherlock grinned as the young boy caught his eye. He kneeled down and stretched out his arms so the boy could come into his arms.
Hamish grinned up at his father and leapt into his arms, happy to see him. "Daddy!" He squealed happily.
Sherlock wrapped his arms around him before picking him up and twirling him around, resting the young boy on his hip. "Hello Hammy. How was your first day of school, hm?"
"It was brilliant!" Hamish grinned. "We were told about the alphabet. No one else knows about the alphabet, Daddy! And my teacher was impressed that I knew it, and that I could read. And write!" He exclaimed excitedly.
Sherlock chuckled, kissing the boy's forehead. "That's my boy! Well done, Hamish." He kissed him again.
Hamish grinned happily before his face fell a little, the smile faded from his face. "We were asked about our Mummy and Daddy." He said in a small voice. "Everyone else has a Mummy."
Sherlock swallowed, glancing down, before returning to his son's eyes, "Yes, they do. But does everyone else have an Uncle John and Aunt Mary?" He asked him with a small smirk, though the pain behind his eyes was evident.
Hamish shook his head but wasn't any happier. "Where's Mummy, Daddy?" He asked quietly, he often asked his father where she was, enjoying hearing all the stories his father knew about her, however, he asked with more sincerity this time. Wanting a complete answer.
Sherlock frowned slightly, "I...I don't know Hamish. She's a very busy woman." He said, trying to cover.
Hamish frowned slightly. "I want to meet her. I want to meet Mummy." He told him.
He sighed readjusting Hamish's weight on his hip. "You know we can't do that." He told him quietly.
Hamish's frown deepened. "She said in the letter. She said I could find her if I wanted to." Hamish said, forgetting that his father did not know that he had peeked at the letter his mother had left him all those years ago.
Sherlock cleared his throat, "You-you read her letter then? Hamish...I..." He voice caught in his throat. He swallowed, glancing around, his eyes blinking at the sun.
Hamish nodded. "I did. And she said if I wanted to contact her, you'd be able to find her. Find her, Daddy. Please." Hamish begged, grabbing his father's face, a small hand either side of it.
He sighed, giving Hamish a small smile. "Let's talk about this when we get home, alright? You've had an exciting day...Some patience would be good, I think." He murmured, picking up the boy's school bag and crossing to the street to hail a cab back to 221b Baker Street.
Hamish nodded and rested his head against Sherlock's shoulder. "Tell me about her? Tell me about Mummy?" He asked as they walked to the cab.
Sherlock sighed to himself as he got in the cab and placed Hamish next to him, buckling his seatbelt. "What do you want to know? You know everything pretty much already." He remarked, hoping that the boy would change the subject.
Hamish sighed softly and leaned his head back. "Just describe her?" He asked, looking up at his father. "I just want to hear about her, you don't talk about her enough."
He ran his hand through his hair, "Well, she's petite, and dark haired, like us. She has the sharpest features you've ever seen and wit that could master even your old man's. She...well dear Hamish. She is perfection. Just like you." He smiled, sadly.
Hamish smiled a little. "She certainly sounds perfect." He sighed, "She's beautiful and clever?" He asked eagerly.
Sherlock gave him a look, "Obviously. Do you really expect your father to ever have been interested in someone...common?" He winked, rustling the young boy's hair.
Hamish chuckled softly, conjuring a mental picture of her. "Did she love you?" He asked.
He looked at his son, a gaze of confusion and heartache on his face, "I-I believe so." He answered quietly.
"Did... did she love me?" Hamish asked in a whisper, his blue eyes large and vulnerable.
Sherlock frowned gravely, "Hamish, how dare you ask such a question. Of course she did. She loved you more than anything in the world and that's why she made the biggest sacrifice and gave you to me." He told him, though his heart ached to believe them.
Hamish frowned a little. "But if she loved me so much, why did she give me up? Why didn't she w-want me?" He asked, his lower lip trembling slightly.
He sighed a clenched his jaw, "Sometimes..." he swallowed, "sometimes we must let go those we love the most so they can fly, my dear boy. She simply wanted you to spread your wings and I think she felt that she could not provide the necessary environment for optimal flight." He said vaguely, wondering if even he himself believed his own words.
Hamish frowned slightly. "You don't believe that." He said simply.
Sherlock's face fell, "I...I...Hamish...I don't know. Please, this is a hard subject for me."
Hamish blinked at his fathers dismissal and simply nodded, a few tears springing from his eyes and onto his cheeks. "S-sorry." He murmured, staring into his lap.
Sherlock felt the guilt seep in. He unbuckled the boy's belt, almost home anyways, and scooped him up into his lap. He he hugged him close and kissed the top of his curly haired head. "So you want to meet her then?" He whispered softly.
Hamish nodded, closing his eyes and snuggling as close as possible to his father. "I do. I really do." He whispered back.
Sherlock pulled out his phone, "What would you like me to text her?" He asked simply.
Hamish smiled a little to know that it was so simply. "Tell her..." He thought a moment. "Tell her it was my first day of school today. And tell her that I want to tell her about it."
He nodded slowly, pulling up "The Woman" in his contacts, It was Hammy's first day of primary. He did quite well, obviously. He-we would like to tell you about it. I believe it's about time the two of you met, don't you? SH
