John dropped Hamish at the door to Sherlock's room. Sherlock was back in his bed, glaring at Mycroft who stood by the window leaning on his umbrella.

"Ah, good," Mycroft said when he saw John. "As you know, Dr. Watson, my brother shouldn't be left unsupervised. And I really am very busy myself."

John rolled his eyes as Hamish ran over to the bed and clambered up onto it, cuddling close to Sherlock. "Yeah, well. I'm not his babysitter. Why don't you pay someone to do it or something? I'll be back in an hour to get Hamish," he said as he left.

"Daddy and John had a fight," Hamish explained before pulling his backpack off and rummaging around until he found his drawing. He held it up so Sherlock could see. "Do you like it, Daddy? It is you and me at the park. This is a duck," he explained, pointing to the picture.

Sherlock finally looked away from the empty doorway and smiled at Hamish. "It's a very nice drawing, Hamish."

Mycroft sighed dramatically. "Sherlock, I really must be going. Can you… manage?" He asked, gesturing at Hamish.

"Of course I can manage," Sherlock snapped. "And I'll be quite happy for you to leave."

"Daddy, that is a bit rude," Hamish told him, gently patting his shoulder. "Bye bye, Uncle Myc," he said as Mycroft swanned out of the room. "What did John and you fight about, Daddy?"

Sherlock sighed. "I suppose I wasn't very nice to him. But he does make it a bit difficult," he huffed, staring at the wall.

"John am just cross about Mary," Hamish explained patiently. "Did you shout?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I was just a bit snippy. I don't see what he's got to be cross about. I'm the one stuck in this bloody place. They won't even let me walk," he said petulantly, folding his arms and huffing.

"Daddy, bloody is a swear word," Hamish sighed. "John am trying to help. And he am already fighting wif Mary, I don't really think he haves time to fight with you too, Daddy," he said, rummaging around in his backpack again and pulling out a colouring book and some crayons. "I bringed these for you, Daddy. You can borrow them, okay?"

Sherlock managed a small smile. "To keep me busy hmm?" Hamish nodded. "Thank you, Hamish, that was very thoughtful. Were you good for Molly today?" he asked as Hamish picked a picture for them to colour and handed Sherlock some crayons.

Hamish nodded. "Yeah. I was a big helper with Baby Amelia. She is a very shouty baby."

"Well you're quite a shouty little boy. Molly probably has a headache now."

"Hey!" Hamish frowned. "I am a big boy!"

"Sorry, love," Sherlock smiled, pressing a kiss onto the top of his head. "I forget sometimes."

Hamish shrugged. "It's okay, Daddy. Are you going to say sorry to John?" he asked softly.

Sherlock nodded and sighed. "When John comes back, I will say sorry to him. I'm glad I've got you. Sometimes I can't remember what the right thing to do is."

Hamish beamed. "That is why I am right here, Daddy."


"Mr. Holmes. We'd like to see if you can take a bit of a walk down the hallway," the physiotherapist said as she came into the room.

"Excellent!" Sherlock grinned, whipping the bedcovers back and scattering loose crayons around the room.

Hamish gave him a dubious look and slipped down onto the floor. "Be careful, Daddy," he said softly, clasping his hands together.

The physiotherapist brought a walker in and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I am not an invalid."

"No, sir, but you are quite badly injured and we don't want to make it worse. Now the first step is going to be getting you upright," she said as John came to the door.

"Ah, John!" Sherlock smiled before looking at the physiotherapist. "Please come back later. We're busy at the moment," he said abruptly, Hamish sighing and rolling his eyes as she scurried away.

John huffed a bit as he came inside. "Look, Sherlock…"

"I want to apologise, John," Sherlock said. "As you know, I don't really have very many… relationships. I never have had. I don't know how they're supposed to work. You're my best and only friend and I appreciate the work you've put in over the last little while."

"Ah…" John said. "Right. No worries, Sherlock. I'm… sorry too. I guess I'm just… stressed."

Sherlock nodded, and John cleared his throat, and Hamish smiled. "Good! Now, Daddy, say sorry to that nice doctor lady. You were very rude."


By the time visiting hours finished that afternoon, Sherlock had taken two short walks up and down the hallway, and Hamish had made friends with every single doctor, nurse, and therapist on the ward.

"Gentlemen?" a nurse said, sticking her head into the room. "Visiting hours are really over now. I'll have to ask you to leave," she said as Hamish frowned deeply.

"I don't think you ud-understand," he said seriously. "This am my Daddy."

"I know, darling. And you can come back and visit him tomorrow. But right now, he needs to go to sleep."

"Come on, buddy," John said gently, picking him up and holding him close. "Say bye to Daddy. We'll be back tomorrow."

"No!" Hamish yelled, kicking his feet and trying to wriggle out of John's arms.

"Hamish, you need to calm down," Sherlock said, wincing as he tried to get out of bed while Hamish flailed around.

"No!" Hamish shrieked. "I not come down! I want ah 'tay wif Daddy!"

John sighed and gently passed Hamish to Sherlock. The small boy instantly settled, holding tightly onto Sherlock's hospital gown. "Listen to me, Hamish," Sherlock said softly, gently pushing his hair back from his face. "You need to go home with John. You're going to have dinner, and a bath and then bedtime. And then tomorrow morning you can come and see me again. I need to go to sleep now too," he said gently.

Hamish pouted dramatically and rubbed his eyes. "I need ah look after you, Daddy."

"The nurses here are going to look after me, love. You're not really a medical professional. I'll see you in the morning though. You be very good for John, okay?"

The small boy sighed and glared at the floor for a moment. "Kay, Daddy. Don't do anyfing silly, okay?"

Sherlock chuckled. "What sort of silly thing would I be doing?"

Hamish rolled his eyes. "Maybe ec-scaping. That was very silly."

"That was very silly," Sherlock agreed. "I promise I won't escape, alright?"

"Alright," Hamish nodded, kissing his cheek and letting John pick him up. "See you in ah morning."

"See you in the morning, son."


"John, this is not the way home," Hamish frowned as he watched out the window of the cab.

"I know, mate. We're going to my house quickly to get some things, okay?"

Hamish thought for a moment before nodding. "Okay. Mary there?"

John shook his head and sighed. "Mary's out, okay?"

"Okay," Hamish sighed, continuing to stare out the window until they pulled up in front of the Watson's house. John asked the cabbie to wait, and picked Hamish up, quickly heading inside and up the stairs.

He grabbed a couple of large bags from the bedroom and started packing clothes, toiletries and books inside.

Hamish sat quietly for a few minutes while John packed before eventually speaking up. "Are you moving back to my house?"

John sighed. "I think so. Maybe. Just for a little while, at least. Is that okay?"

Hamish grinned and nodded. "Yeah! We miss you at 221B Baker Street, John."


John trudged up the stairs to 221B while Hamish ran up ahead of him, humming all the way.

"Hello, flat!" he shouted when he got up to the landing, jumping up and down a little. "John am staying! Just for a bit," he explained to the living room. "John, I will light the fire."

"No no no. You absolutely will not," John said firmly, dumping his bags on the landing and starting to rifle through the fridge for food. "What do you want for dinner?" he shouted, sticking his head out of the kitchen.

"Um. I want it to be warm," Hamish said as if he were a moron, gesturing wildly at the fireplace.

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "Okay okay. Hop out of the way and I'll light the fire."

After a dinner of microwaved chicken nuggets and peas, John bundled Hamish into the bath, quickly scrubbing him clean while the small boy talked his ear off about marine biology, trains, and Fireman Sam.

Once Hamish was about as clean as a small boy ever was, John pulled him from the bath and wrapped him tightly in a towel, carrying him up to his bedroom and helping him into pyjamas. "Can you stay forever, John?" Hamish asked softly as the doctor pulled his dinosaur pyjamas on and set about tucking him into bed.

John sighed and gently kissed his forehead, pulling the blankets up to his chin. "I don't know if I can stay forever. I might have to go and live with Mary again in a while."

"Because of your baby?" Hamish asked.

"How do you know about that? Did your Dad tell you?"

Hamish nodded and beamed. "He said I will be the baby's big brother. Is that right?" he asked.

John smiled. "I guess it is. You'll be an excellent big brother. But the baby might mean I go back and live with Mary. I'm not sure yet. For right now, I'm going to live here, okay?"

Hamish sighed. "Kay, John."


When John and Hamish arrived at the hospital the next morning, Sherlock was busy abusing the physiotherapist again as she tried to get him out of bed.

John rolled his eyes as he pushed the door open and Sherlock yelled at the poor woman for being "completely incompetent". Hamish sighed.

"Sorry 'bout my Daddy," he said to her. "Him is just grumpy." He clambered up onto the bed and poked Sherlock. "Don't be so rude."

"I wasn't being rude," Sherlock snapped.

"I might come back a bit later," the physiotherapist quickly decided before hurrying into the hallway.

"What is your problem?" John asked, sitting down beside the bed.

Sherlock huffed. "My brother has been here irritating me all morning."

"Oh great!" Hamish grinned. "Where am Uncle Myc now?"

Sherlock huffed even more dramatically. "He's getting coffee. It really isn't that exciting to see him, Hamish."

"Yes it is! I love Uncle Myc," he said cheerfully, kicking his feet.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and folded his arms as John did his very best not to laugh. "Did Hamish behave last night?"

John nodded and smiled. "He was really excellent. I think he was pretty exhausted."

"And John am coming back to Baker Street!" Hamish yelled.

"Is that so?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "Probably just for a little while. I don't know what I'm going to do about… the baby and everything. But for the moment, while you're getting better and everything, yeah."

Sherlock nodded. "Good, that's… good."


"Mr. Holmes, you live on the second floor. I can't discharge you until you can walk up and down the stairs," the poor, long-suffering physiotherapist said as Sherlock huffed in a wheelchair. They'd been practicing on a small set of three stairs, and Sherlock could get up and down without too much pain. But the idea of climbing an entire staircase was a little too much for him.

"I don't need to be able to walk up and down the stairs. I only need to get up once and then I can stay up there until I'm back to normal," Sherlock huffed.

"But, Daddy," Hamish said seriously. "What about the park?"

"What about the park?" Sherlock snapped, and Hamish pouted.

"What if… what if we go to the park? How you will come if… if you are stuck up-upstairs?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I just won't go to the park."

Hamish's frown deepened. "But… but I love the park, Daddy."

Sherlock sighed melodramatically and rolled his eyes before slowly pushing himself out of the wheelchair. "Fine! If it will shut everybody up and get me out of this ridiculous institution," he said, slowly making his way over to the staircase. He held tightly onto the railing, and Hamish held his other hand.

"I help you, Daddy."

"Thank you, Mish. That's an excellent help."