Okay I've been having trouble sticking to deadlines, so I'm going to have to abadon an update schedule. You can expect a chapter once or twice every fortnight, from now on…

11: Sherlock is unsociable

John spent most of the labour pacing the hallways, while Sherlock stationed himself on a chair with his blackberry and barely moved for the seven hours that the baby's birth took. They didn't talk often- only to check that the other was okay- and soon enough Mycroft arrived, along with Sherlock's parents. John had met Sherlock's parents once before Hamish was born- when Sherlock had brought him home for the first time. They visited once a month these days, since they completely adored Hamish and wanted to spoil him as much as possible.

Mrs Holmes embraced John, clearly not bothering to try and be affectionate with her own son.

"How long now?" she asked earnestly, her eyes remixing him of Sherlock's in the way they scanned his face.

"They think she'll start pushing in about half an hour," John grinned weakly. Mycroft looked mildly repulsed by the whole affair, and quickly struck up a conversation with his father. John forced Sherlock to speak to his mother- a decision he quickly regretted when the detective rudely cut her off and resumed staring at his phone. John opened his mouth to apologize for his husband's behaviour, but Mrs Holmes gave him a knowing look, and began to talk about the birthing process. John had been infatuated with Mrs Holmes the first time that he'd met her, since she radiated the cold intelligence that her sons possessed, yet still seemed charming and clearly equipped with the social skills needed to fit into society…

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"Sherlock, I don't need to bring a bloody gun to your parents' house," John hissed as Sherlock pressed the weapon into John's hand. They were standing on the Holmes' porch clutching their suitcases, and Sherlock had decided now was the perfect time to present John with his gun.

"John, you know the life style we lead. You must always be prepared," said Sherlock, his eyes flashing wildly. This didn't help John relax about meeting Sherlock's parents- it's daunting enough meeting your boyfriend's parents, but it's even more terrifying when these people had raised Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes. John barely had time to stuff the gun into his pocket before the door was flung open to reveal a short woman, with cropped gray hair and Sherlock's eyes. John was surprised- she looked relatively ordinary- and opened his mouth to greet her, before he was interrupted

"Sherlock dear, you actually came!" she exclaimed, pulling Sherlock into a hug. John gaped, unable to think of an occasion where Sherlock had hugged anyone but him. Mrs Holmes rounded on John next, her bright eyes surveying him.

"And you must be John," she said, trying to resign herself but failing. John grinned, holding out his hand.

"Nice to meet you," he said, ignoring the look on Sherlock's face. Sherlock's father, presumably, appeared behind Mrs Holmes, and looked at John sceptically, before motioning for them to enter. Sherlock looked disgusted at the whole affair, and followed John reluctantly into the house. The evening passed without incident, although Sherlock and Mrs Holmes sniped at each other all throughout dinner. John had laid his hand on Sherlock's knee, subtly telling him to shut up in fear of offending Sherlock's parents. Mr and Mrs Holmes were obviously used to Sherlock's antics, however, and brushed off his dry remarks and his cold attitude. Things only became awkward when Mr Holmes asked how they had met. Sherlock had warned John before hand that his father wasn't entirely supportive of Sherlock's sexuality, even though he'd been gay his whole life. Sherlock didn't look inclined to answer, so John cleared his throat and exhibited what he believed to be his most winning smile.

"Um, well, we met at St Bart's hospital, through an old friend. We ended up sharing a flat together, and one thing led to another I suppose," he said, careful to not go into too much detail.

"And you genuinely want to be with Sherlock?" Mr Holmes said, sounding curious. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Sherlock slump slightly, clearly wounded by his father's words. John reached across and grabbed Sherlock's hand firmly, before nodding at Mr Holmes.

"Of course. I care about him deeply," he said, rubbing his thumb over Sherlock's knuckles. Mr Holmes looked satisfied, and John thought he saw a gleam of approval in Mrs Holmes' eyes.

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"Natalie is ready to start pushing. Dr Watson?" a nurse poked her head out of the delivery room. John stood, and nodded, marching towards the room. Sherlock had pointed out that he was acting like a first time father, with all his pacing and panicking. John supposed that his husband was right- it did feel like this was his first child, since this was the standard procedure. They'd had a ready made child the first time, but this time was different- this time felt almost ordinary.

John pulled on the regulation scrubs, since he insisted on being present for the birth. Sherlock had opted to come in afterwards- John had teased him about being able to deal with mutilated dead bodies but not babies being born. Sherlock had always hastily changed the subject, or retorted with an insult to John. Mr and Mrs Holmes hovered outside, while Sherlock stood with Mycroft and they had a conversation through glares. It wasn't a pleasant experience- John felt almost guilty as he watched Natalie shriek in agony. Admittedly she was being paid, but was this worth £10,000? John tried to help as much as possible, but he'd never spent much time in the maternity ward- his usefulness was limited.

An hour later, Natalie pushed for the final time, and a baby's cry broke the otherwise silent room. John watched, awe struck, as the doctor handed him the writhing infant.

"It's a boy," the doctor smiled, handing him a pair of scissors to cut the umbilical cord with. He's perfect John thought, drinking in his son as he severed the cord. The baby had a tuft of golden curls upon his tiny head, and his eyes were bright blue, although they could still change. John felt the urge to trace his miniscule finger nails, or memorize his face entirely. He was so entranced in his son that he didn't notice Sherlock entering, along with Hamish, who had presumably been dropped off a few minutes ago. Sherlock hung back, looking almost apprehensive, while Hamish ran over, desperate to see his new sibling.

"Steady on, Hamish," John chided half heartedly, understanding his son's eagerness. Hamish looked utterly fascinated also, and stroked his head incredibly gently for a three year old boy.

"William?" John confirmed, meeting Sherlock's eyes. The detective nodded, looking unruffled, but his eyes as usual were conveying everything that John needed to know. Sherlock held out his arms, and John passed William to him.

Sherlock gazed at his son with such adoration and love that John could hardly believe that he'd ever though the man a sociopath. John scooped Hamish into his arms, cuddling his skinny frame, and grinned at Natalie. She was watching them with tears in her eyes, as was Mrs Holmes. So this was what family was like. John never had much of a family- his father and sister were alcoholics, and his mother was too timid to ever say anything for herself. The family environment had always been strained at best, and even now that his parents were gone, he and his sister barely talked. But this… this felt like a real family. And John would protect his family's happiness at all costs.

Not entirely happy with this, but I was in a hurry to update. Thanks for reading, none the less!