Ok, I am just going to start by saying I am sorry that these chapters are short, but I write in short little bursts and then stop for a while. I to update as Often as possible! Lastly, thank you for the reviews so far I am glad to hear that some people are enjoying this!
How much time had passed Sherlock did not know. All he knew was that his mission was succeeding, he was slowly wasting away, the doctors had almost given up hope. Every time they plugged their wires or valves into his ghostly body, he ripped them away, not letting a single nutrient or drop of medicine into his body. He wanted to see his wife again, he wanted to die and to be with her. No one could change that.
John walked into the silent hospital room expecting the worse. In his hands was the little Hamish, wrapped up in blankets to keep warm. Looking over at the bed, John was almost sick. This was not Sherlock, the wise consulting detective that he had grown to love. He wasn't even sure it was a man. What he saw in front of him was a skeleton. A white, deflated skeleton that had given up on life. Sherlock, his best friend, was going to die. He would never see his son grow up, become a teenager, then a man. He would die and be buried in the ground. And this time.. This time there would be no empty hearse.
"Oh God Sherlock, please, please don't do this." Said a completely heartbroken voice that somehow was John's.
"I have to." His answer surprised everyone, including himself. His voice was hollow and empty of emotion, but dulled with sadness.
"Please, Sherlock. If not for me, do it for Hamish. He is your son, Sherlock. Don't you want to see him grow up? Please, Sherlock, I don't care what you do afterwards, just do this for him. Not me. Not Lestrade. Not even your brother. Do it for him."
A single, lonely tear made a path down Sherlock s face. He could say nothing. John stood there completely distraught and he could do nothing. Say nothing. He could live, but surely he was too far gone by now.
"He is your son, Sherlock." Whispered John.
With a weak, feeble and shaky Sherlock pushed a wire back into his arm. Maybe, just maybe, he could live to see his sons first birthday. He sighed as the cool liquid filled into his veins and was asleep in a second.
A wave of relief rushed over John like a tsunami. He held Hamish close and breathed in his soft baby smells. Maybe Sherlock would be ok now, well, not ok, better. Better. Alive. He would someday be Sherlock Holmes again, and that day may be far off in the distance, so far that it is impossible to see right now, but it will come. One day, John thought, one day, I will see him smile and the world will dawn a better place, but for now, he would have to wait, he was a long way off that day right now.