A/N: I don't like author's notes but this one is necessary.

If you are reading this on AO3, hopefully you have found your way here. I put a false chapter at the end of Year 1 in order to inform readers to come to this fic. On AO3, I get the option of making this fic a series and it's divided up by years.

Also, my beta reader and I are working as quickly as we can to post chapters so bear with us.

I've gotten a couple questions about Sherlock and the only thing I will tell you is that I urge you to look for the clues. They are all over the fic.

With that said, you may have noticed by now that I write with inferences. I assume that you as the reader will know what I am trying to get across. I am intentionally vague because I want the characters movements and subtle questions to speak about something larger. Sometimes I don't explicitly say why a character is doing certain actions. I want you as the reader to be open to these interpretations.

Lastly, this is a reminder that I ship johnlock. I ship them with everything I've got.

And with that, it pains me to give you this chapter. Enjoy!

Monday, 17 June

5:30 A.M.

The nuisance of an alarm clock came as a surprise to John's still dormant system. He considered hitting the snooze button but before he could decide on that, he remembered his long list of things to do before departing.

With a groan he switched off the alarm and sat up in bed. The sky was still dark and it did nothing to rouse John into wakefulness.

Once he had checked on Hamish (still sleeping but not for long) and made his bed, John started up the shower. As he let the warm water wake him up, he contemplated the number of teacups it was going to take before he was fully conscious.

After the shower, he started up the kettle and went into the bedroom. Sure enough, John was met with the familiar sound of Hamish entertaining himself at the early hours of the day. The only difference was that today John wasn't trying to sleep through the noise and there was no time for hide and seek.

John quickly got dressed and then went into the kitchen to add the hot water to his tea bag and cup. While it steeped, he went over to Hamish.

"Hamish," called John in a soft voice. The infant was busy playing with his toes and making spit bubbles. John rubbed Hamish's stomach and smiled at him. "Come on mate," he said as he lifted the six month old out of the crib.

Hamish's movements were still a bit sluggish from sleep but it only made John's task of dressing him minimally better. Halfway through dressing him, John remembered his cup of tea. He quickly snatched up the half dressed infant and hurried into the kitchen. Hamish giggled the whole way there.

John dumped the bag and managed to salvage the tea. As he was taking a big gulp, Hamish's tiny hands kept trying to take the cup from him.

Once the tea was done, John got back to work on buttoning Hamish's cargo shorts and putting a light shirt on him. He stepped back and laughed at the look of the infant's shorts. The nappy underneath was making his backside appear larger. John's laughter was short lived when he looked at the time on the clock.

John scrambled about preparing a bottle while his baby lay in an upright papoose and suckled on his fist against John's chest. When the bottle was ready, John held onto it with one hand and fed it to Hamish. With his free hand, he packed the nappy bag with everything Mrs. Hudson would need.

When he was done, John realized he may have over packed. All the while that he packed and unpacked, Hamish suckled on his bottle with fervor.

Finally, when John was comfortable with everything in the nappy bag, he set it by the door and got to work on his own business bag. It took less than five minutes to pack for that. An extra five minutes and his lunch, leftovers from the night before, was also packed. What took longer was the checklist of baby supplies and the written schedule for Mrs. Hudson. John checked it and rechecked it. A push chair? Already at Baker Street. 8 A.M. cereal feeding? Yes. Emergency contacts? Everything from 999 to his mobile number.

And so it went until everything was accounted for and Hamish began to fuss and pull on the straps of the papoose.

"Papa," he cried, trying to free himself from the carrier. John just rubbed the infants head and shushed him as he gathered everything and made his way out of the door.

With the nappy bag against his back, Hamish on his front, and his business bag in his right hand, they made their way to the tube station and for Baker Street.

The tube station in the early morning was full of tourists and commuters. There was something John didn't miss. The crowds of people, surprisingly, calmed Hamish. He spent the entire tube ride staring at people and when he stared too long that someone turned around and noticed, they would smile at him and Hamish would return the smile with his own gummy smile from behind his soother. John reveled in the comfortable weight, the smiles, and the compliments from the other passengers.

They reached the Baker street station and John had a moment of familiarity just like all the other times they had gone to see Mrs. Hudson. The feeling only grew as they reached the front door of 221. He stared up at the building and a shiver went up his spine. The windows upstairs still had the curtains drawn and no one was playing the violin.

A soft kick from a baby shoe roused John from his thoughts and brought him back to the present. John looked down and found Hamish just staring at him. John smiled and moved to knock on the door. Within seconds Mrs. Hudson was pulling open the door and engulfing them in a hug to which Hamish made his complaints heard.

"Oh I'm so sorry dear," she said as she kissed Hamish's forehead and to which he responded by clinging to John's shirt even more.

The three of them moved inside into Mrs. Hudson's flat. John tried not to stare at the staircase too much.

Once inside, Mrs. Hudson offered him everything from a cup of tea to a full breakfast.

"I'm fine thank you but I really need to get going soon," answered John.

"Of course."

John quickly went through the schedule he had written out for Mrs. Hudson. "He just had a bottle of milk and he shouldn't need another until after his morning nap. Between now and then he needs to have some cereal…"

Mrs. Hudson just nodded along while he explained every step in detail and tried not to look as condescending as she felt.

When John had finished reviewing what she already knew, he started taking Hamish out of his papoose and then taking stock of what was already in the flat. "You're a short walk from Regents Park and he likes to have a walk after he's had lunch. Actually, since I'm here already, I should just prepare and feed him his cereal."

Mrs. Hudson immediately jumped up from her seat on the sofa to stop him. "No, John it's fine. He is fine and you will be late if you don't get going."

"It won't take more than fifteen minutes –"

"You can spend your fifteen minutes saying goodbye."

John went silent at the word "goodbye." He had almost forgotten that he needed to leave Hamish while he went off to work.

Mrs. Hudson held out her hands for Hamish. "I promise he will be in his highchair and eating his cereal as soon as you leave."

John slowly handed Hamish over to Mrs. Hudson and for an indescribable reason, it hurt. She gave him a sad smile and began moving over to the door and John slowly followed her.

At the open door he turned around and said, "Um he likes to watch Borough Street so if that's on you can just prop him up in front of the telly. I will have my phone on the whole time so you can call me or text me for anything."

"I know, John. He will be fine but are you going to be fine?"

John gave a nervous laugh at that, "I – I'm not sure just yet," he stammered. "Can I just…" he trailed off as he motioned with his arms, asking to hold Hamish one more time. Mrs. Hudson held him up and passed Hamish over to John's awaiting arms.

"Hey," he murmured to the infant. John held him close to his chest and Hamish curled up in his familiar position. He squeezed and rocked the infant back and forth in his arms while Hamish just sighed.

"John, you're going to be late…" Mrs. Hudson trailed off.

John sighed and kissed Hamish's forehead. He looked into the infant's blue eyes one last time and then handed him to Mrs. Hudson. Once she had him in her grasp, Hamish began to grunt and cry out, "papa". John purposely tried to ignore Hamish's cries and refused to look in his direction any further. He just waved them both goodbyes, said a rushed "thank you", and then closed the door.

The walk from 221 Baker Street to the clinic felt automatic and weightless. John barely registered that there were other bodies around him. His mind was only thinking of the body he was missing on his shoulders.

His arrival to the clinic came as a surprise. He had not noticed or acknowledged the direction in which he walked to. John stepped into the clinic promptly at eight and was met with the sight of Peter.

"Doctor Watson, welcome back," beamed Peter.

John put on his best smile and waved at him. Between the front door and his office, several doctors and nurses gave him greetings and "welcome back's".

Once he crossed the threshold into his office, John closed the door and leaned against it. He dropped his bag and pulled out his phone. Within seconds his phone was dialing Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello John," she greeted in an assuming voice.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson, just wanted to check in. I just now arrived at work. I would have called sooner but I got held up."

"Of course dear, that's no problem."

John was silent for a moment as he strained to listen to what was happening on the other end.

Mrs. Hudson broke the pause with, "Hamish is right in front of me eating his cereal. Would you like to talk to him?"

John's face split into a grin and quietly said, "Yes".

He listened as Mrs. Hudson put the phone on speakerphone and said "Hamish…can you say hi?" John held his breath as he listened to the first sound of Hamish's babbling. "Hamish," sang Mrs. Hudson's voice. Again there was only the sound of more babbling and the banging of objects.

John broke out of his stunned silence and finally chimed, "Hamish." Immediately the sounds of babbling and banging stopped.

Mrs. Hudson's laughter came on over the phone. "He recognized your voice."

John gave a small airy laugh and said again, "Hamish."

This time Mrs. Hudson's laughter was merrier than the last time. "Oh John you should see his face. His eyes are like saucers."

John just laughed and tried to imagine the amount of times he had seen those bright blue-grey eyes light up.

Mrs. Hudson's voice came on the phone again, "Hamish, who is that?"

There was silence and then John said once again, "Hamish."

Mrs. Hudson's giggles sounded over the phone again. "Is that your papa?" she asked the infant.

Hamish's understanding was immediate. "Papa," he cried.

John beamed at hearing the six month old properly identify him. He delighted in the sound of Hamish giggling and saying Papa.

The sound of Peter's voice on the intercom violently thrust John into the present.

He rubbed between his eyebrows and groaned to Mrs. Hudson, "I need to start work now."

"It's alright, dear. If you need anything, just give me a call." Before she hung up, he heard Hamish's sobs calling out for him.

John reluctantly removed the phone from his ear and walked over to his desk to answer Peter's message. "Go ahead and send them in."

12:30 P.M.

John spent the whole of the morning tending to his patients and doubling his efforts on focusing and diagnosing his patients correctly. Countless times during the consultations, he found himself looking at the clock and trying to predict what Hamish could probably be doing as per his schedule.

On a few occasions, he listened for the buzz of his phone to signal a new update from Mrs. Hudson. In between patients, John busied himself by sending her a message. The response always came while he was with a patient and he used the whole of his effort to not read it until after they were gone.

Twelve-thirty arrived and John was allowed his one-hour lunch break. He had not contacted Mrs. Hudson for over an hour and a half so when the time came, he didn't even reach for his lunch. Instead he picked up his phone and dialed Mrs. Hudson's number.

"Hello John," she whispered through the phone.

"Hello, is Hamish asleep?"

"Yes, he just now fell asleep. He put up quite the fight."

John's mind began to churn with theories and ideas. "Is something the matter with him? He usually doesn't fight."

"No no," she responded. "It's nothing like that. I think he's just not used to this arrangement yet. Also, he was having so much fun with his uncle Mycroft –"

"Mycroft?" interrupted John.

"Yes, Mycroft," she replied. "Hamish and I went to the park earlier, as per your schedule, and Mycroft was there."

"But…what was he doing there?"

"I have no idea. He just said he took an early lunch and decided to go for a walk when he spotted us."

John just thought for a moment before he finally asked, "What did he want with Hamish?"

"Nothing really. We walked around. We talked – well mostly I talked – and then we stopped underneath a tree. I lay Hamish down on a blanket. Mycroft played with him and then we came home where he had a bit of a strop."

John let the information sink in and then tried to picture Mycroft playing with Hamish.

"Is there a problem?" asked Mrs. Hudson.

He shook his head and then vocalized when he realized she wasn't around to see. "I just didn't know Mycroft would be around, that's all."

"Neither did I but there he was. He was ever so sweet with Hamish too and Hamish just adores him."

John held back the bitterness and jealousy he felt at those words. "Um…Right, well…when he wakes, he should have a bottle and some playing time – "

"Yes dear, I have that all right here on the schedule."

"Right…and I should be there just after 4."

"I will see you then. Enjoy your lunch."

John unwillingly replaced the phone on his desk and began to eat his lunch. He tried distracting himself with thinking of other things – office gossip, Doctor Browne's second surgery, patient diagnosis's – But nothing distracted him from the emptiness of not having Hamish with him.

He prevented himself from calling Mrs. Hudson and asking her to let him listen to Hamish's breathing. Instead, John opened his blog and entertained himself with reading and looking at pictures of Hamish.

He smiled looking at a picture of Hamish in his bouncing chair.

He groaned reading Sarah's rendition of Hamish's six month physical in the comments.

He laughed at Violet's story in the comments about a young Sherlock's own attempts at attention with fake crying ("More like fake screaming that I could hear from my bedroom while the nanny of the month tried not to join in on the crying."). Admittedly, Violet's story didn't make him as happy as it should have. It just made John wonder if Hamish would grow up thinking he didn't get the attention he deserved because John had gone to work and left him for eight hours out of the day.

Then his mind started thinking of all the milestones he would miss because he was now working.

Once again, Peter on the intercom was around to give him his reality check.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Go ahead and let them in."

The door opened to reveal a young light brown haired mother, who in her arms carried an infant with equally brown hair. Up until that point, John had not seen a child in the clinic all day and to see them came as a shock.

The only thing that shook him from his shock was when the woman smiled at him and walked into the room of her own accord. John smiled and looked down at the chart before finally addressing them.

"Nathan Barnett?"

"That's him," beamed his mother with a smile down at Nathan in her arms. Nathan continued to suck on his soother and look up at her in amazement. "I'm Brooke," said the mother, shifting her son to one side and extending her hand.

"Doctor Watson," said John with a shake. He took a seat while Brooke and Nathan took a seat on the patient's bed. John continued to read from the chart aloud, "Nathan Barnett, born December 8th, so he's –"

" – six months," chimed John and Brooke at the same time. They both looked at each other and laughed.

"Yes," laughed John. "I have a six month old myself."

"You do?" marveled Brooke.

"Yes, he is six months and two weeks."

"Oh that's almost like my Nathan."

John smiled back and chose to confess to her, "This is actually my first day back at work away from him."

Brooke's jaw dropped. "Oh my goodness, I'm sure your wife must be torturing you with pictures and updates. I know I do that to my husband," she laughed.

John laughed along with her and then said, "No, actually, I'm a single father so he's being taken care of by a friend."

"Ohhh," replied Brooke with a look of pity. "That must be so much worse. I can't even think of what it will be like when I have to go back to work."

They both chuckled and then John reached for his phone. "I'm sure I have a picture of him here," said John as he unlocked it. The first thing was an alert from Mrs. Hudson. It was a couple minutes old and contained a photograph. John opened the photo and was met with the sight of Hamish sitting in the middle of a blanket that was stretched out on the park grass. His dark brown hair swept to one side and his bright blue eyes pointed at the camera while his body faced an umbrella, undoubtedly Mycroft's, in his lap. His mouth held no soother. Instead, his lips were glistening with a light sheen of drool and set in a small red pout. The entire demeanor dripped with innocence.

John smiled as he looked over the picture and then showed it to Brooke who leaned in to look at it with Nathan.

"Aww he's adorable. What's his name?"

"Hamish."

"How cute," she turned to look at her son and pointed at the picture. "Look a baby." Nathan just craned his neck to look and continued to suck on his soother. His nonchalance elicited a laugh from John and Brooke.

"Well," exclaimed John, locking his phone away again. "We should get this physical through with. My Hamish had his last week as well."

"Oh gosh, how did he do with needles?"

"Not good," John chuckled.

Soon they had Nathan sitting up on the patients bed and John began asking questions similar to the ones Sarah had asked him the week before.

"How are his sleeping habits?"

"Very good," beamed Brooke. "He sleeps through the night almost every night."

"Uh huh," muttered John as he scribbled down notes. "And what type of food is he eating?"

"He's been eating solid foods – cereals, apple sauce, puree – for almost a whole month."

John bit his tongue back and continued to write his notes. "Is he crawling?"

"Yes actually," smiled Brooke, as John gripped his chart tightly. "He's been crawling for a couple weeks."

"But…not full on crawling, right?" smirked John.

"Um…I think he is. He crawls about five paces and then falls over…Oh god," trembled Brooke. "Is that bad? Should I be worried?"

"No, no it's fine," John reassured her then looked down at his chart and wrote that Nathan has been somewhat able to crawl for two weeks. "Can he stand on his own or with help?"

"No, that's the thing we still haven't gotten him to do. We try every night but he doesn't like straightening his legs."

"Perfectly normal," said John as he tried to cover the glee he felt. "Is he teething?"

"He is," beamed Brooke as she opened Nathan's mouth in order to show John.

Oh come on, he thought as he stood up and looked at Nathan's mouth. Sure enough, a tiny white spot was blooming in his front gums. John irritably wrote down Nathan's teething progress, then asked, "Can he talk?"

"No actually. He's pretty silent. He does scream and cry but other than that, not much else."

John bit back a smile and asked, "He doesn't even say 'mum' or 'dad' or…'papa'?"

"Nope, not yet. But then, even Albert Einstein never said a word until late in his childhood," laughed Brooke.

John sarcastically laughed along with her. A young Albert Einstein, yeah, right, he thought. "Right, well, if you could just take his clothes off, we can weigh that…Einstein brain of his," said John with as little sarcasm as he could muster.

Brooke took no notice of his tone. She just began pulling off the infant's clothing and then placing him on the scale. "That's 19 and a half pounds I'd say. All those apple sauces and purees are going right to his tummy," teased John.

John conducted the rest of the physical in a civil manner and then it was time for the vaccines. He began preparing the supplies and pulling his gloves on while Brooke and Nathan situated themselves similarly to how he and Hamish had done the week before.

When everything was ready, he turned to Brooke and the emotions he saw looking back at him, were what he had felt only a week ago. Her face was pale and composed with false nonchalance.

John looked at her and asked, "Ready?"

Brooke's eyes expanded and she let out a shaky sigh.

"I know how you feel," empathized John. "Just know…I think it hurts us, more than it will hurt him."

Brooke nervously laughed at that.

Next, John looked to Nathan and tried to get him to smile but got nothing more than a curious glance. John resigned himself and tried not to compare the lack of smiles from Nathan to the abundance of smiles he got from Hamish.

John rubbed the cotton with the rubbing alcohol on the infants thigh, then followed it with the pin-prick of a needle. It was business as usual, until Nathan began to cry. John jerked his head upwards, startled by the loud screams coming out of the infant's mouth. He couldn't even say it reminded him of Hamish. The last time Hamish was that loud, he was a couple weeks old and suffering from colic.

John withdrew the needle and put a plaster over the injection site. Then he rubbed the infant's head and shushed him as softly as he could. It only minimally helped. Nathan was still kicking and screaming.

He decided it was best just to do the second one and have it over with. The second injection was no better than the first. If anything, Nathan's screams became higher pitched and his body kept moving. Brooke and John had their spare hands occupied with holding the infant still enough to allow John to do his job. The needle went in and the two of them had a hell of a time controlling Nathan.

John withdrew the needle, put a plaster over the injection site, and proclaimed "all done". He even made a point of pulling off his gloves to demonstrate that he was done but Nathan wasn't watching. His head was thrown back and eyes shut.

Brooke turned took her child in her arms and squeezed him trying to shush him as best she could. After a couple minutes, Nathan's screams had died down to just average cries.

When it was clear that he was calmed as good as it was going to get, Brooke and John stood up to end the appointment.

Over the infant's cries, Brooke said, "Thank you Doctor Watson for helping him as much as you did."

"Really, it was nothing."

"Oh but it was," she insisted. "You have such patience. Your son is so very lucky to have a father that helps other children like him."

John felt heat rise up on his ears and he just smiled and thanked the young mother before closing the door on her departing footsteps and Nathan's sobs.

4:00 P.M.

In the hour left before clocking out of the clinic, John purposefully delayed his last appointment. He drew out the visit with the patient as much as he could, in order to not have to see another patient and then stay after hours.

That's why, when four o'clock arrived, John had everything packed and filed and he was leaving his office, headed to the front door with barely a farewell for Peter.

With single-minded determination, John pounded down the pavement headed to Baker Street. He thought of the picture Mrs. Hudson had sent him and tried not to be as jealous as he felt. Those little moments he had missed in the last eight hours. He tried to remind himself that it was the same routine as all the other days he had spent with Hamish in their flat and that Mrs. Hudson would have called if Hamish had started crawling or talking.

He mercifully arrived in front of 221 sooner than anticipated and he wasted no time in knocking. Inside, it took Mrs. Hudson a little while longer than usual but John could hear her approaching. Hamish's cries, although muffled by the closed door, could be heard from his position outside.

Mrs. Hudson pulled the door open with a smile and a crying Hamish squirming against her shoulder. John's eyes widened and he quickly dropped his bag to relieve her of the infant.

"It's okay," John chanted to the small body. "Shh, it's okay."

Mrs. Hudson picked up his discarded bag and drew him inside. John continued to murmur and bounce the infant in his arms all the way inside the flat.

Once inside, Hamish's crying had died down considerably and Mrs. Hudson filled him in on his irregular schedule. "He missed you," she said. "I think he just isn't used to this schedule and not having you around."

John collapsed onto the sofa with Hamish sniffling and shuddering into his neck. With his free hand, he scrubbed his face. "I should call and tell Sarah I'm not ready to return to work."

Mrs. Hudson sat beside him and stared at him. "What?...Why?" she asked.

John sighed and said, "Well it's obvious Hamish doesn't like it and I spend my free time wondering about him anyway. And then, he's going to start crawling and talking soon and I won't be around to see that." Hamish had settled into John's shoulder and was now quietly sucking on his fist.

Mrs. Hudson placed a hand on his shoulder, "John, this was one day. This was the first day. It isn't going to be like this for very long. He will adapt." She picked up a soother from the coffee table and placed it in Hamish's mouth. "He will have so many milestones to share with you and you will be here to see what he does. Everything you're afraid of missing…those are things you will teach him. You will teach him about crawling, talking, walking…You might not be there to see all of his firsts but I will record them and send them to you no matter what I need to do."

John smiled at her and relaxed considerably since arriving in the flat. He lifted Hamish from his shoulder and then lay him down in his lap with his feet to John's stomach and his head resting in John's hands. John smiled at the now relaxed infant sucking on his soother. "All better?" he asked to the hushed child.

Next, John stood Hamish up. His feet rested on John's thighs while John gripped the infant's arms. The father gave a smug grin at Hamish's abilities before placing him back in his reclined position.

He turned to Mrs. Hudson and asked, "Do you think he'll be as smart as Sherlock?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled, "He's a six month old and he deduced it was you over the phone and at the front door. He's going to be just fine."

"Like Albert Einstein?"

Mrs. Hudson narrowed her eyes questioningly and replied, "Yes…just like Albert Einstein."

5:12 P.M.

Rather than catch the tube back to his flat, John chose to walk to Regent's Park with Hamish settled in his papoose once again. The infant had the right side of his face resting against the center of John's chest and watching the various people walking around the park as well.

John idly walked and thought about the day he had spent. He mentally kicked himself for not foreseeing just how difficult the separation was going to be. After speaking with Mrs. Hudson, he had calmed down significantly. He was no longer thinking about going back on family leave. Instead, he decided to look forward to his day off the next day.

In the midst of his thoughts, Hamish began to squirm more than usual. John looked down to see what was the matter but the infant was shaking his head back and forth and pulling on the straps of the papoose.

Just when he was about to give it up as Hamish being tired from a long day, someone called out behind him, "Sir!"

John turned around and found a blonde woman striding to him holding something in her extended hand. He looked to see what it was and found that she was holding Hamish's soother with the green rabbit on it.

The blonde woman stopped in front of him with the soother in hand. In her other arm she held two large books of which John couldn't quite read the titles to. She was dressed in a short light pink dress, which only made her short blonde hair appear brighter.

John shook himself when he realized he had been staring at just how pretty she was. "Thank you," he said timidly.

The blonde woman dropped her arm but continued to stare at him. After a few seconds under her scrutiny – during which, John found a different soother to give to Hamish – her eyes widened and she exclaimed, "John!"

John cocked his head and stammered, "Yes…How…Sorry, who are you?"

"Mary…Mary Morstan," she smiled.

John's jaw dropped. "Yes, of course. Mary, from secondary school?"

"Yes," she exclaimed as she immediately jumped in to give him a hug. Hamish immediately protested as he felt the books dig into his backside. "Oh god, I'm so sorry –"

"It's fine," said John as he soothed Hamish.

Mary stepped back and watched him quiet the infant. She smiled and said, "Look at you, John. Is this your baby?"

"Yes, he is. This is Hamish."

"How cute!" Mary said. She took one of Hamish's fists and looked at him directly. "Hi Hamish," she said sweetly.

Hamish looked at her. Then shyly hid his face in John's shirt.

John and Mary laughed before she looked to her watch and her expression changed to surprise.

"Jesus! I need to get going or I'll miss the train. It was so good seeing you," she said as she engulfed John and Hamish in another hug and took mind of the books this time.

Mary was about to turn and leave when John made a split second decision and mustered up the courage to vocalize it.

"It's a shame we can't properly catch up," said John cheekily.

Mary turned back around and smirked. "Yes…It is a shame," she grinned.

"Hamish and I like coffee," he grinned.

"Oh really. Hamish enjoys himself a hot cuppa?" she giggled.

"Well," continued John. "Normally he has a bottle of milk, then tries to steal my cup."

Mary threw her head back and laughed. "Oh Hamish. We need to get your caffeine and calcium intake under control."

John smiled along with her and waited for her to answer.

Her laughter died down and she finally asked, "What's your number?"