~O~

"You can't take a baby onto a crime scene." Greg frowned at Hamish, now two months old, being cradled in Johns arms.

"Why? You let Anderson on and I'm pretty sure Hamish has a higher brain capacity than that buffoon." Sherlock said simply, making sure that Anderson heard everything he said. John laughed to himself and Hamish giggled, something he'd only started doing the day before. He laughed when John did and on those rare occasions that Sherlock let out a slight laugh.

"Shut up, this is a crime scene, not a nursery." Anderson shot back.

"Sherlock, you can go up. John, you can too but I'm sorry, what if Hamish is sick on anything, he can't."

"I'm not leaving my son with a bunch of police officers, if that's what you're suggesting!"

"I'm not leaving John down here, I need him up there with me." Sherlock jerked a hand to the house, signalling to the murder.

"John, my final say on the matter is that Hamish cannot go up there." Greg said firmly. "I'm sorry." He shrugged and walked into the house.

"John, leave Hamish with," Sherlock scanned the room, "That one. In the corner. She has kids, a young baby, and she will look after him." Sherlock nodded his head across the room.

"Sherlock..." John said hesitantly.

"Sherlock!" Greg shouted from inside the house.

"Okay. Fine." John shook his head and walked over to the female police officer, asking her as politely as he could to look after Hamish.

He then walked back to Sherlock and smiled, "There you go. She said she'll look after him until we get back and she'll only give him to us." Sherlock nodded and immediately began walking in.

~O~

A few days later they were sitting in the flat, Sherlock looking down his microscope and John bobbing his son up and down on his knee, the little boy laughed and John grinned at him.

"Let's go out." Sherlock said suddenly. He rose from his chair, leaving the petri dish still in the microscope, and walking to the door to grab his coat.

"What?" John asked, slightly shocked that Sherlock had suggested it, "Is this for a case of yours?"

"No. Let's go to the park? Or to a nice cafe? You choose."

"Why?"

"We're raising a child together and he," he pointed to Hamish, "can't stay cooped up in here all day, I think it'd be better if we all went out together." Sherlock smiled, "Are you coming?"

John nodded and stood up, he wrapped Hamish up in a blanket and followed the taller man out.

"Okay, so what bought this on? You were halfway through a case."

"Hamish was just about to start crying and, if what I know of babies is correct, he needed either feeding or fresh air. You fed him an hour ago; therefore the latter is most likely." Sherlock shrugged his scarf on as he walked to the big playing field, he then shoved his hands in his pocket.

"Oh." John smiled to himself and rocked Hamish in his arms, gripping the back of his head.

"You miss her?" Sherlock asked, he didn't look up but he could feel John tense up beside him.

"Yes." He confirmed, that was all he said on the matter. He couldn't lie, he did miss her, he missed waking up in the morning next to someone, being kissed when he did something. He missed her being there more than he missed her, but Sherlock wouldn't know that.

"I can understand, you know? I know you think I can never understand this but I do..." he trailed off and looked to the floor, his eyes only lifting slightly to smile at Hamish.

"How can you understand?" John asked, he was curious but his tone seemed almost malicious. He frowned and cursed himself for being rude, Sherlock was only trying to make him feel better.

"Don't forget, John, I did have a life before I met you." He said quietly before looking up. "She didn't die though, she left me." His voice was dead and very matter-of-factly. As if he was talking about an exam and not a lost love.

John bit his lip and looked down at Hamish. "I'm sorry." He said quietly, hugging Hamish close to his chest as the baby took in deep breaths and looked around. He smacked his toothless gums together and took in his surroundings, brows furrowed as he recognised where they were.

"I don't care." Sherlock shrugged, "And although she didn't die I had no say in it so I do know what you're going through." He said quietly.

"I know you do, I never doubted you didn't. It's just hard." John shrugged and heaved a sigh before walking into an ice cream parlour and ordering something for himself as Sherlock got a coffee.

He was desperate to change subject and so he handed Hamish to Sherlock, taking a seat by the window, "The case then, what do you think?"

"It was the brother." Sherlock stated, looking at John as he tightened the blanket around Hamish. "You understand why?"

"The shoes?"

"The shoes!" Sherlock grinned, "What about the shoes?"

"They weren't his, they were his brothers. The brother changed their shoes around?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because he wanted... I don't know." John shrugged.

"He wanted the shoes, so he took them, he didn't mean to kill him."

John smiled and nodded, "Nice. So when do you plan on telling Lestrade?"

"Couple of days maybe? I'll tell him I would have solved it quicker had Hamish been on the scene, he helps me concentrate."

When Sherlock said that John noticed his thumb lightly tracing over the babies face. It seemed Sherlock always did that, John just rarely noticed. He kept his on hand wrapped around the spoon and ate his ice cream quickly, grinning.

Sherlock stopped the action as soon as he realised he was doing it and smiled down at Hamish.

~O~

"Dad-dy" Hamish stumbled over the word as he crawled to John. Now he was two and as he crawled to his daddy he stopped halfway through to look at Sherlock, sitting on his chair with his head raised to watch Hamish.

"Daddy?" Hamish asked, pointing to Sherlock but looking at John, brow furrowed in confusion.

John shook his head and pointed to himself, "daddy." He then pointed to Sherlock, "papa." He said, grinning.

"Papapa." Hamish said, eyes wide as he started crawling to Sherlock. "Papapa!" He squealed, landing on his bum in front of Sherlock and holding his arms out, an unspoken question to be picked up.

"Papa." Sherlock corrected as he picked Hamish up. "Say papa."

"Papa." Hamish squealed again, bouncing up and down and clapping. "Papa! Daddy!" he said excitedly.

"Yes, papa and daddy."

~O~

"Sir, it's about Holmes."

"Oh?" an Irish accent asked.

"He has a weakness, he seems far fonder of this baby than we originally thought."

"A weakness? This will work in our favour."