12: Dealing with a baby
Truthfully, John regretted the decision to have another baby at least twenty times in the first week. Having a screaming baby who depends on you entirely is bad enough, but having a hyper active three (soon to be four) year old and a husband who can barely remember to eat just complicates things.
Not a night went by without being awakened by Will's cries. Sometimes Sherlock got there first, but mostly it was up to John to feed him, or soothe him back to sleep. All the same, John was hopelessly in love with Will- when he wasn't demanding food, he was positively angelic. John wasn't sure if it was because Will was genetically his, or because they didn't have Hamish in his first few months, but he didn't remember being this attached to a baby before. Of course, Sherlock was infatuated as well, even though he was less affectionate and more vocal about it. When Mrs Hudson came to visit, he couldn't stop showing off.
"Well, William is actually progressing very well for a child of his age," he'd boasted, cradling the baby in his arms. Will was swaddled in a tiny pastel yellow suit, which set off his blonde hair. Surprisingly, Sherlock was good at co-ordinating the children's clothing- he insisted that it was because used clothes to read people, but John thought it was because he had an eye for colour.
Sadly, the same couldn't be said for him, John thought as he surveyed his stained shirt and tatty old jeans. As usual, Sherlock looked like a bloody supermodel in his tight purple shirt and jet black suit which he always shouted at John for creasing, so John looked terribly tired and worn next to him. John almost laughed at himself as he stirred the tea- he'd never been a vain man. Now definitely wasn't the time to start- it was just hard, when your husband is quite possibly the most stunning man on earth.
"Daddy, Will is being boring!" Hamish called from Mrs Hudson's arms. John returned to the living room to find that Will had dropped off the sleep, and Sherlock was staring at him, apparently abandoning any attempt at conversation. Hamish had begun to deem sleep a pointless affair, like his father, which was bad news for John. Sherlock had no problem with letting a three year old stay up all night, which left it to John to be the sensible one and to try and teach their son that yes, sleep is beneficial.
"Hamish Watson-Holmes, if you wake him up," John warned, handing a cup of tea to Mrs Hudson. Hamish glared at John, before wriggling out of Mrs Hudson's arms and disappearing up to his room.
"He's going to be a stroppy teenager," Mrs Hudson chuckled. John privately agreed as he perched in his chair, but steered the conversation away from Hamish's teenage years. He didn't even want to think about that yet.
"Will is absolutely lovely, boys," Mrs Hudson broke the silence after a few minutes of resigned tea drinking.
"Yes, he is isn't he," Sherlock drawled, rocking Will in his arms. Mrs Hudson watched them fondly, before leaning forwards.
"I've heard things about these test tube babies, Sherlock. Apparently they're not very healthy," she stage-whispered. John rolled his eyes- Mrs Hudson would never stop fretting about the boys' health. In almost every single email they received, she would enquire as to if Hamish was eating enough, or whether they checked Will's breathing at night. As if Sherlock didn't obsess over their health enough.
"I'm a doctor, Mrs H," John reminded her. She actually looked surprised, God bless her.
"So you are… that slipped my mind," Mrs Hudson said, looking puzzled. John met Sherlock's eyes, and the detective raised his eyebrows, as if challenging him. Work it out.
Mrs Hudson's memory had never been great, but she was even more forgetful these days- she'd email a few times a day with the same message, or she'd forget events that had occurred a few months ago. John had dismissed it as old age, but what if it was something else… the look on Sherlock's face confirmed it. Feeling suddenly sick, John shifted in his chair. Mrs Hudson couldn't have dementia. Not Mrs Hudson.
▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️
"Nice way to meet him," Lestrade said dryly, as he and John watched Sherlock deduce the body sprawled on the floor. Will was nestled in Sherlock's arms, eyes wide open as his father read the corpse's life story with just deduction. John snorted, and shook his head.
"We were planning a get together, but we've just been busy I suppose," he said. Lestrade surveyed Sherlock with an amused expression on his face.
"I'm just glad he's happy, you know," Lestrade said, his voice unusually gruff. John refrained from giving him a look, and chose to stare at his shoes instead.
"Yeah, me too," he offered- he'd never been good at this kind of stuff.
"A decade ago, he was just a junkie who, you know, didn't care about anything but the work. And now he's got all this… it's just strange, really," Lestrade said pensively. John nodded- he knew about Sherlock's past, obviously, but they rarely discussed it. Sherlock didn't have danger nights anymore.
"Well. He deserves it," John said, grinning at his husband. He cast his eye back to Lestrade.
"So, got anywhere with Molly?" Lestrade went slightly pink, and broke eye contact.
"Not really. I doubt she'd go for me," he said.
"Look, I know women," he began, but Lestrade cut him off.
"You're married to a man," he pointed out. John rolled his eyes- had the man never heard of bisexuality?
"Well I can see she likes you, so do us all a favour and ask her out," John said, before striding to Sherlock's side to pluck Will from his arms. Lestrade stared after him, mulling over his words.
Hi guys- I'm so so so sorry it's a short one. I had to finish it at the last minute because I'm off on holiday for a week now- so no update for at least a week, I'm afraid.
