Tuesday 4 September

John's eyes opened to the sound of Hamish crying next to him, turning red with the amount of scream and force in his cries. John nearly fell off the bed with the amount of shock at seeing the newborn in his bed. He was not supposed to be born for another 3 months and yet there he is screaming. His body was so tiny and wrapped in blankets. His dark brown hair stood in stark contrast to the white linen sheets.

John rubbed his eyes and tried to make his mind think clearly and stop seeing hallucinations. He managed to stop seeing a newborn in his room but it was only once the screaming had stopped that he realized he was not in the flat he had fallen asleep in.

He was in his room at 221B Baker Street; the large bedroom on the third floor of the building with tattered off white walls and shag carpeting. The room was warm and felt more like home than anything else had.

John stood next to the bed on the side nearest the bedroom door yet from the other side of the bed, he could hear the faint sounds of cooing. His mind now catching up to what was happening, John slowly made his way around the end of the bed to have a look at Hamish.

The little boy, no more than a year old sat on the ground playing with a ball. Playing was probably not an accurate word to describe exactly what he was doing. He was more, holding the ball in one hand and then accidentally dropping it. His shiny and straight hair mussed from a nap most likely. John caught a glimpse of his eyes as he stared at the small red ball. The boy's eyes were grey blue but more blue than anything else.

John watched him repeat the process of grabbing the ball and holding it til it slipped from his fingers until the ball rolled too far from the infants arm stretch. Hamish was on the verge of tears until John moved to grab the ball for him. As he did so, a crash sounded from the second floor. John instinctively made to grab and protect Hamish but the boy and the ball were gone.

John slowly moved towards the bedroom door and started moving down the steps. Once outside the door to the sitting room, he slowly pushed the door open. The sitting room he remembered when living there with Sherlock was no longer the same. Where there used to be two armchairs facing each other, now sat only one armchair and a tiny rocking chair. The large dining table that once sat in the middle of the room was now replaced with a playing area complete with toy bins. On the mantle, the knife and Victor, the skull, were gone. The medical journals and criminal law textbooks in the bookcase next to the fireplace were now gone. Only a couple of rows at the top had anything remotely medical. The rest of the rows held children's books or at least should have held more children's books. Currently the bottom row of books was spilled on the floor at Hamish's feet while he tugged to free a new book on the row above it.

Hamish tugged hard enough that he managed to free the book but in doing so, lost his balance and sent more books tumbling out again. John was quickly by his side making sure the entire bookcase did not fall over. Once he had secured it, John turned to look at the Hamish sitting on the floor surrounded by fallen books. He looked to be 6 years old at the very least. The little boy was currently looking at John with a mixture of embarrassment and helplessness. The book in his long fingered hands was beginning to bend at the edges from his constantly squeeze and still he did not break his grey-blue-eyed stare from John.

Not knowing what to do John just smiled at the boy. The smile certainly didn't meet his eyes and probably only read with confusion and uncertainty but it seemed to work for Hamish. He returned the smile, not hesitating to show his gaps and baby teeth. That was when John found the strength of a genuine smile.

Eventually he extended his hand to help the little boy up and as he did a voice called from behind the kitchen screen, "Dad," but John wouldn't tear his eyes away from the boy in front of him. He had "lived" this in previous nights and he did not want to let go of the six year old.

"Take my hand," said John to the six year old but he was no longer looking at John. He was looking at the kitchen panels trying to get John's attention there too.

The voice in the kitchen called for him again and when it became clear that things were not going to move until he did, John conceded and turned to look at the kitchen door. He did not need to look back at the floor to know that the boy and the books were already gone. He kept his eyes focused on the doors as they slid open.

Ten-year-old Hamish stood on the threshold of the kitchen dressed in his blue football kit with an athletic bag on his right shoulder and a football in his left hand. Even though it was clear by the look of his young face that he was ten years old, his height mislead his age. He was easily 57 inches tall and given a couple more years, could be as tall as John. His age had hardly changed a thing on the boy. His hair was still straight and dark, the grey in his eyes was still dwarfed by the blue, and his lips were still rosy and round. It did make John notice just how olive his skin tone really was. In contrast to his own skin tone, Hamish was pale but he still had a hint of color to his skin.

"I'm going to be late if we don't leave soon," said Hamish.

John was still stunned in silence and barely registered what was said. The sound of his voice was still so childlike but it shook him to his core.

Eventually Hamish got tired of waiting so he turned and walked out of the door leading to the staircase. John moved to follow him but when he reached the stairs, he was gone.

9:00am

John slowly made his way out of bed and into his Tuesday morning routine. He would have found the process monotonous had his mind not been reeling with other things. Ever since that day at the cemetery, John's mind had been quiet. Sherlock was gone from his subconscious but since Friday, it had started again. The gears in his brain ceaselessly turning.

When John finally came to, he was in the kitchen, staring at the refrigerator, waiting for the water to boil. The refrigerator looked wrong without the adoption papers taped to it. Now it just held the outdated photograph of the ultrasound.

As John steeped his tea, he thought about the little boy in his dream that night. It was the fifth night in a row that his dreams were haunted by the same little boy with the dark brown hair, the grey-blue eyes, and the olive skin.

On the tube, John tried to find the compartment with the least amount of children. Unfortunately, it seemed that every party on the tube had at least one child with them. He ended up settling for a seat closest to the exit and the nearest child 5 seats away. He kept his head down but the little girl's chatter would not let him ignore it. Once off the tube, he mercifully reached the Doctor's office without any further distractions.

"Good morning John and how are you feeling today?" Doctor Ella was unusually chipper today. Of course she knew the implications of the day and knew the appointment would be interesting to say the least.

John responded with a non-committed noise.

"Did you…make your decision? That is this week is it not?"

John nodded his head, "first week of September."

"and…have you made up your mind?"

Again John nodded, "I sent the papers in on Friday."

Dr Ella's emotions betrayed her by revealing just how shocked she was at the news. "Did we talk about something last week that swayed your decision?"

The past few weeks were spent discussing John coming to terms with his new discoveries in his sexuality and trying to decide what John would do if not become a father.

"I think my mind has been made up for a long time now. I just did not want to rush into anything."

Dr Ella nodded her head and said, "Are you having any regrets?"

John thought back to everything that had happened in the last five days. "It's…not regret but…" he ran out of words to describe it. "…The world is taunting my decision." He exasperatedly said the words.

"How do you mean?"

"Every time I step outside my flat, I see babies and small children. Yesterday at work, almost all of my patients were children. And when I'm not outside, television shows and newspapers are filled with children too or celebrities who are pregnant."

The doctor let John finish his rant before speaking, "John, all of those things have been there since before you signed the papers. It's just that now that you are an expectant father, you are subconsciously looking for the children."

"So now I have to see them wherever I go?"

Dr Ella paused and said, "Why does it bother you so much?"

John had no idea. Was it because they weren't Hamish? Maybe he didn't like children and now he's made a huge mistake? He didn't realize it but he had spent some time thinking about it but not actually coming up with an answer.

"John…could it be that you are unsure about what type of child Hamish will be like?"

He had not even thought that far ahead. Of course the Hamish in his dreams had a fascination with toys, books, and football. "I don't know…my dreams seem to think otherwise."

"Your dreams?" the doctor piped up at his words.

"Umm…yes. I've dreamt of Hamish for the past four nights."

"In your dreams, what was he doing?"

John thought back to the four little boys milling about 221B. "They were…growing up."

Dr Ella tilted her head thoughtfully and said, "you watched 'them' grow up? Who is 'them'?"

"Different versions of Hamish - look this sounds idiotic." This was why John never wanted to discuss his dreams. They always feel reasonable while they're happening but having to talk about them reveals just how unrealistic they are.

"No. No. John, this is perfectly understandable." Dr Ella tried her best to reassure him. "This isn't the first time you dreamt of him right? You've seen him before?"

It was John's turn to be interested. He only responded with a nod of his head.

When it was clear that John was not going to talk about his dreams, the doctor decided to just voice her speculations and look to John for confirmation. "This is the first time you have watched him grow up." John nodded his head. "You have dreamt of Hamish before but they have always been different." Again John nodded his head. "I think your subconscious has come to terms with your imminent future." John just sat in his chair watching his left hand quiver. "Your waking mind might still be in shock though."

He sat and watched his hand in the long stretch of silence before finally conceding, "Will it ever stop?"

Dr Ella gave him a small smile, "I believe you might be holding on to some doubts about your parenting –"

John gave a short laugh. "I've never been a parent."

"You have a younger sister." John's face became still again. "You must have shaped her in some way."

Well if he didn't have any doubts about his parenting skills before, he certainly had them now. "My younger alcoholic divorced sister who works at an electronic store."

"I don't know your sister but I'm sure she made her own decisions and her own life choices based on her own rational. From what you've told me about your home life, it is miraculous that the two of you have found peace. Now you have been given a chance to give what you never had."

John sat and thought about being able to be the accepting, doting, and loving father he had not had.

Eventually Dr Ella broke his silence, "I think once you have accepted parenthood, you will find it will come naturally to you. You are not physically carrying a baby so you don't form that bond beforehand. You might not feel bonded until you carry the baby in your arms. And even then, it may take some time. For now, you have to go forward blindly believing it can happen."

Has trust issues, thought John. But who is he really trusting here. It's not Sherlock, the doctor, or Hamish. He's trusting himself. If he cannot even trust himself, he is well and truly lost.

"I think if you took some parenting classes, learned what you will be up against, it could put your mind at ease. Between now and the birth date, try to enjoy your freedom." John looked up to meet her face and saw that she was smiling.

Once their hour was up, John left to head back to his flat. He counted 5 children, 2 boys and 3 girls, from the tube to the flat.

At the doorstep, John could hear the unmistakable sounds of someone banging about in his kitchen. He gripped the cane and slowly opened the door. He took a quick step inside and looked to the right. Next to the door were a pair of lady's shoes. In the kitchen, with her back to him, Irene stood opening and closing his cupboard doors.

John relaxed a bit as she banged another cupboard door closed again. Irene looked well. She was dressed in a red dress and her hair was wrapped in a bun at the back of her head. She had not curled her hair and the dress didn't look like her usual fancy dress but she looked relatively the same.

With another bang, Irene slammed a cupboard door closed. John approached the kitchen tentatively so as not to startle her.

"Irene?" he called out.

She immediately stopped her opening and closing of cupboard doors and rounded on John. Her eyes were positively furious, she was barefoot with swollen ankles, and now that she was turned in John's direction he could see her pregnant stomach. From the back she was as shapely as she ever was but looking at her head on, her stomach was definitely protruding. It wasn't a watermelon under her dress but it was close.

"John!" she practically shouted. "Where's the herbal tea?!"

John's eyes opened wide at her elevated state of anger. He slowly pointed to the cupboard at the far right wall. She quickly moved to open it; opening it with the same ferocity as before. So this is what a pregnant woman is like, he thought.

"John, I don't see it! I think you lied to me."

He made quick work of moving across the kitchen to solve her dilemma and hopefully calm her down. Sitting at the very front of the shelf was the box of peach tranquility herbal tea. Tranquil. Right.

"Oh," was her only response as John handed her the box. "This baby doesn't allow me my black tea because of the…umm…" Irene was stumped and John was practically floored. It had been 8 weeks since the last time they had seen each other and Irene's once composed demeanor had changed so much.

"…The caffeine?" said John, hoping she wouldn't lash out at him for finishing her sentence.

"Right. Yes. The caffeine. Something about fetuses and metabolisms." An unsure Irene was such a rare sight.

"Irene, where's your…girlfriend?"

"Who?" She turned back around to face him as she filled the kettle with that same startled look.

"The woman…from last time…she made the tea."

"Oh, her. She and the driver are somewhere else. Can't remember where but they brought me."

John could only imagine that they had purposely left Irene behind for John to deal with. Poor sods were probably knocking back drinks at a pub.

"Right. Well I'm going to go put my jacket in the bedroom. Careful with the stove."

"Of course I'll be careful. Why would you think I wouldn't be careful?" Her accusatory stare was enough to make John take a step back. Honesty was probably not the best response in this case.

"The stove has a tendency to…spark a bit when you light it."

She believed it and John quickly left the kitchen. Once inside his bedroom he shook his head. The doctor in him sympathized with her and all of the changes her body had to go through. All the anger he once had towards Irene had evaporated. It was difficult to face her now, knowing the history she had with Sherlock, and knowing that she carries his child, but this was the chance to move past it. The doctor in him had come to terms.

Afterwards, he went back into the kitchen to see how she was doing. Irene had her back to him again and was staring down at the kettle willing it to boil.

"Irene!" John yelped as he pulled her away from the stove. Her stomach just inches from the flame. "You could have burned…" John's sentence trailed off as he looked at her face in horror. Tears were streaming down her face.

John took her by the hand and led her into the sitting room to have a seat. "Irene, are you hurt?" At a glance there seemed to be nothing wrong with her. Of course some women experience headaches, chills, or fevers. She could be experiencing any number of those things. "Irene, you have to tell me what's wrong," he said as he felt her forehead.

"The water is taking so long to boil," she said in another teary haze. John visibly relaxed and began laughing. "It's not funny," she said which just made John laugh even more.

"I'm sorry…It's just I was afraid you were seriously injured," it wasn't the whole truth but it was true. The relief of knowing that she was okay just hormonal was enough to make him laugh. "You just sit here and I will get the tea."

By the time, John went back to the kitchen, the water was ready and after a couple minutes of steeping two herbal teas, the tea was ready. He placed two teacups on the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to her. She looked better now that she was just sitting and sipping her tea.

"I got the adoption papers you sent. You probably already knew that since I'm here." John just nodded in response.

After a pause, John asked, "What do we do from here?"

"Well you should probably look into buying something for a baby," she said as she looked around his flat.

"Right. It's been a bit hectic since I signed the papers."

"Well now you have 13 weeks until the baby gets here. Should be enough – " she cut herself off mid-sentence as she clutched her stomach. Oh god. It's too soon to go into labor. She just said 13 weeks! "Sorry. This baby must be a future football star because he is doing quite the number on my uterus."

John gave a nervous laugh. His therapist had just told him how he would not be bonded the baby until much later and seeing Irene in her state had confirmed that. Hearing that Hamish was inside Irene, kicking her insides, well it was an odd emotion. On the one hand, he never really liked Irene but as of Friday, she was the mother of his unborn son. Just thinking the words unborn son felt strange. It was still not real. Usually this would be the point where he would ask to feel the kicking but it was Irene. And it was her body. It would be too awkward to feel her stomach.

"Want to feel? Never pass up an opportunity to have a man's hands feel you." Of course she would be the one to ask.

John wanted to say no. It was strange enough that she was carrying his baby but to actually touch her stomach would cross some line. Dr Ella would probably say he was avoiding touching her because he still held onto some resentment. Eventually, John agreed.

Irene grabbed his hand and moved it to the top of her stomach. The red fabric of the dress was smooth under his fingers and underneath that, he could feel the hardness of her stomach. Her gaze was fixed on their overlapping hands as she waited for the movement. Moments passed and still John had not felt anything. He looked around the flat because staring and waiting was becoming too awkward to bear.

Soon after, a small kick hit the palm of his hand. He turned back to look at his hand and Irene was looking at him hoping he had felt it. Before John could nod, another kick hit his hand. Not as forceful as the first one but it was a similar sensation.

"Every night. I think he gets bored in there," Irene said.

John retracted his hand from her stomach. He just smiled and nodded at her. Feeling the baby kick was an odd sensation. He understood the biology involved with fetal development. You can't go through medical school and not be familiar. Kicking happens pretty much throughout the pregnancy and is just a sign that his cognitive mind is functioning.

A knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts and John stood to answer it. At the doorway stood Irene's girlfriend.

"Oh, right," chirped Irene as she stood and put her shoes on. "We have a doctor's appointment."

"We?" said John as Irene pulled him through the doorway. He had just enough time to grab his cane before she was hauling him down the stairs.

Outside, Irene's driver was waiting for them. He took them to the same clinic they had visited two months ago. On the car ride, John subconsciously rubbed the spot on his palm where he had felt the baby kick while he closed his eyes to not have to see the children strolling through London.

Once inside the patient's room, Irene assumed her position on the patient's table and John took his seat in a chair. When the doctor walked in, it felt odd to be on the patient side of things.

"Back again, welcome," said the doctor as he extended his hand to John. "Let's take a look and see just how the fetus is coming along."

A measurement of Irene revealed that the baby was going to be bigger than average. "Well that's good news," said Irene, "I wanted a cesarean anyway."

"Yes, if the fetus stays on the path it is on, we may need to schedule you a cesarean but that will be much later," said the doctor.

Next the doctor started up the ultrasound machine. After a few moments, Hamish's 27-week-old body flickered onto the screen. The view was in profile and John could make out the nose and head. To the left of the nose, where the mouth should be, was a tiny fist.

"Looks like he's a thumb sucker," said the doctor. He and Irene laughed as John continued to stare.

The camera panned farther left and the feet came into view. Again, John subconsciously rubbed the palm of his hand as he watched the baby moving on the screen. Another kick, a surprised "oh" from Irene, and John was a happy father to be.