Four Thursdays John Would Never Forget

Chp 35

It's the final chapter! TEARS! No, but the third one should be up very soon. Could even be tomorrow. We'll see. I was going to try and take care of a few things first. But it will be really soon. I will post on here when it's up. Also you can blame yourselves for this being so late since you voted for both! I'm just kidding, but not really, you guys are lucky I love you.

"Boring!"

Sherlock called out into the empty flat. He had been hesitant about taking cases at first as he wasn't sure how John would feel about it. For the time being John would be working with him in a similar capacity as he had in his youth. The doctor was adamant that his responsibilities to Hamish came first, there for he couldn't be out all night chasing after leads. For now he would be running errands and perhaps casing a few crime scenes, an interview here and there. Nothing extreme, and only during the day when Mrs. Hudson was available. Certainly not at night, John was a man of habit despite his lust for adventure, Sherlock had learned this long ago and though the habits had changed a bit it hadn't taken long to realize staying in at night was one of them. John liked spending his evenings with Hamish, and his Sundays. To ask him to do differently was practically an insult; it was a testament of his love for his son if nothing else.

However John's involvement in cases wasn't the problem as Sherlock called out to no one. No, the problem was there wasn't a single case of any interest and John wouldn't be home for at least another hour. He considered that there were probably still a number of things he could experiment with that could provide some outlet for his mind, but he wasn't in the mood. All he wanted was a case, well… that wasn't entirely true. What he wanted was for things to get back to normal. He wanted Lestrade to call him in for cases and make jokes and talk to John about the football match. He wanted John to tell him how brilliant he was and be so fantastically brilliant himself.

Sherlock was stuck in thought as he remembered all of the things he'd given up after faking his suicide. If he was honest he had a very real fear that things would never return to the way they once were. His musings on the matter didn't last long though as Mrs. Hudson came bustling into the flat with Hamish in one arm and her purse in another. Obviously she'd just received some important and troublesome news judging by the haste in which she'd done up her jacket, but Sherlock felt as though his deductions were off because it appeared she planned on leaving the baby in his care. He could have laughed at the absurdity.

"I need you to watch Hamish dearie."

She said in a rush as she placed the baby in his play pin. Sherlock shot off of the sofa with a fright and watched disbelievingly as the woman made ready to leave.

"You can't be serious! I've never watched a child in my life; I don't know the first thing about them!"

Sherlock argued as he followed his landlady to the door.

"John should be home in no more than an hour, I've already called him. You will be fine. He won't need to eat before John is back, and he's just woken from a decent kip. He should be fine to play until his father returns. In fact you probably won't have to do anything at all except keep an eye on him while he's in there. It's possible he could need a diaper change at some point, but I'm sure you can figure that out."

Mrs. Hudson explained in a hurry as she rushed down the stairs. Sherlock ran after her, his robe billowing out behind him as he moved.

"But where are you going? Why aren't you doing it if it's only an hour? You like children."

Sherlock reasoned as the woman began hailing a cab. He felt desperate, enough so that he seriously considered grabbing her and pulling her back into the building.

"My sister's had an accident, fallen down some stairs."

Mrs. Hudson replied simply as the cab pulled up.

"Now go back inside and see to the baby, you will be fine."

She assured with a quick peck on his cheek before leaping into the taxi. Sherlock ascended the stairs slowly as he evaluated his current position. He'd never cared for a baby before, nor had he ever planned to. Of course when John had offered that they raise Hamish together he had known there would be times he was required to care for the boy, perhaps even watch him alone. But not this soon, not until he was a bit older, perhaps even at least mildly self-sufficient. This, this was far too soon, he wasn't ready. He walked back into the living room where Hamish was playing contently in his play pin. Sherlock watched the boy cautiously as he took a seat in his chair.

An hour was a long time; lots of things could happen in an hour. Sherlock knew that, in fact it had only been five minutes but he'd already run through forty seven possible scenarios that ended horrifically. He wasn't good with children, he wasn't good with people, and John knew that. John knew that but Sherlock was well aware that the doctor would still expect him to take care of his son properly, which worried him. For the most part the detective appeared to be forgiven for his past actions, but he wasn't sure if John might still hold some resentment for him. If he were to mess this up, if Hamish were to be harmed, that could very well be the last straw. John was complicated like that, he would act as though nothing bothered him until it was all far too much and he would snap. Sherlock didn't like the thought of angering him so soon.

The baby seemed content enough. Sherlock observed the child carefully from his chair as he began to babble at a stuffed dog. From what the detective could tell the boy was going to be intelligent in a general sense, which was certainly a plus. He'd never considered children smart before as their minds were often even more underdeveloped than adult's, however in terms of relative intelligence Hamish was impressive. His understanding of objects and his surroundings was notable, which he knew for a fact because he'd been reading up on babies since his return. What John had mistaken for avoidance was actually hesitance. From what he read babies were impressionable, and he didn't want to be the one sending the wrong messages, once again another thing that would lead to an irate John.

The detective was consumed with his thoughts of impending doom in regards to watching this child, but also their future. He had never imagined his life with a child, but now he was forced to accept that this little person was going to be a big part of it. Obviously John would be less willing to allow them to take risks. So there would be no more hazardous plans or half baked schemes involving killers. That was slightly disappointing, but he'd willing to part with it so long as he could still work on cases. There were the obvious shift in responsibilities and priorities that he would have to consent to if he wanted to please John. Then, there was just Hamish.

Hamish, this whole other person he had to let into his life. He was so young, there was no telling how he would turn out, and yet he was expected to trust this child with his heart? He'd never given his heart to anyone before, John had stolen it from him, but now he was expected to just hand the remainder over to this tiny infant. As though this boy was to be able to care for such a thing. When Sherlock looked at little Hamish he knew it was only inevitable, he could fight it if he wanted, but Hamish would likely steal his heart as well. So perhaps there really was no choice, he wasn't sure if that made it better or worse though.

He considered all of the possibilities that came with raising a child with John. Hamish was to be both their child, so was he going to have input in the boy's upbringing? Part of him was excited at the thought of teaching him French as Mycroft and he had been taught in their youth. Or to have him attend the same prep school where he'd burned down half the science lab, it would be satisfying to look down on those who had once held so much power over him. In fact the more he thought about it the better it sounded. A young mind which he could mold, one that possessed John's heart, and his bravery. As he mused over the possibilities a strange odor began to over power the room. When he looked around it didn't take long to deduce that the scent was originating from the young boy sitting in the corner of his play pin.

"Damn."

Sherlock cursed under his breath and began searching for the necessary tools. There was a changing table of sorts set up by the play pin for convenience and he quickly made his way over to it. He viewed the available items in an attempt to consider what he needed. A diaper (obviously), some wipes, perhaps the diaper cream, and… no that was probably it. Sherlock assessed the now prepared changing area and gave a determined nod, how hard could it be to change a diaper?

"Come here Hamish."

Sherlock said awkwardly as he retrieved the baby. Though it certainly wasn't pleasant to breath around the freshly soiled boy, there was an odd sort of happiness in holding his tiny body close to his own. With Hamish's face so close as well it was easy to see why people made such a fuss over him, he was a rather attractive baby. His eyes were deep blue like John and seemed to possess infinite wisdom. So much so that Sherlock almost believed the baby was going to help direct him through the process. The table was low to the floor so that Sherlock was required to kneel on the ground for the proceedings. The table wasn't a table at all he noted as he set the baby on top of it. It was a large box John had used to store his things in the army with several blankets laid down on top of it. This was so that John would have an easily accessed changing spot if his limp began acting up.

Sherlock hesitantly began to undress the baby; he wasn't sure to what extent was considered appropriate so he simply took off all of the clothes to be safe. The detective eyed the diaper anxiously and took in a few calming breaths. It was only a diaper, how could he go wrong? And when John returned and saw how well he'd done the doctor would be elated. With that thought in mind he went about removing the soiled undergarments. This proved to be a more difficult thing than originally foreseen. The diaper was full of excrement and smelled even fouler when opened.

"Oh god, what has Mrs. Hudson been feeding you!"

He exclaimed as he grabbed hold of the baby's ankles with one hand to lift his buttocks off the table and quickly threw the diaper into the near by trash bin. Hamish seemed to think the detective's expression was amusing as he began giggling and attempting to wiggle about. Sherlock tried his hardest to hold the boy still while wiping him clean. It certainly wasn't a pleasant experience, but he felt as though he were managing well. When Hamish was clean he figured it might be best to apply the cream. He wasn't sure how much was needed but it was better to be safe than sorry, especially when it came to John's and his child. An odd thing to think, he pondered for a moment frozen in thought, Hamish was his now as well wasn't he? Not just John's but his as well, John had said so himself. He looked down at the squirming boy and smiled fondly.

"You're difficult like me to be sure. You will no doubt continue to be a handful."

He remarked before taking a scoop of the cream in hand. A rather shocking and terrifying event occurred as he spread the white muck liberally. Hamish decided that it was the perfect time to begin urinating. A thin stream of urine began arching upwards and before the detective realized his shoulder was being drenched with it.

"Hamish no!"

He cried out in surprise and fell backward as he attempted to dodge the rest of the urine. With a thud he landed on the floor and briefly wondered if this was common or a treat reserved just for him, he'd never seen Hamish pull something of that nature on John. He sat back up in a flash when he heard a smaller thud followed by more giggling. When he looked back at the changing table the boy was gone and from what he could tell running down the hall. He rose to his feet as fast as he could and began to make his way down the hall frantically. There were only three possible locations for Hamish to have gone: John and his bedroom, the bathroom, and the laundry closet. From what he understood children liked to hide in closets during games so he checked there first. No sign of Hamish. Next was their bedroom, he searched high and low, but there was no sign of Hamish. Sherlock was beginning to feel dread along with a steady stream of fear as he opened the door to the bathroom. There was no sign of Hamish.

"Hamish! Where are you! This isn't funny young man; you need to come out this instant!"

Sherlock demanded, but there was no answer, not even a giggle. The pit of his stomach dropped ten feet. If Hamish was harmed John would never forgive him. If Hamish was harmed Sherlock wasn't sure if he'd forgive himself. He wasn't overly familiar with how children played so he wasn't sure where to start, but he began opening cabinets and drawers.

"Hamish!"

He called out again in a panic. If the boy was hurt he would have no idea until he found him. Sherlock dashed back to the bedroom and looked under the bed a second time, then ran back to the hall closet to search all of the shelves and even inside the mop bucket.

"Sherlock? Is everything alright? I got permission to leave work early after Mrs. Hudson called."

John announced as he set his work bag on the floor. He studied Sherlock's frozen posture and horrified expression for a moment before looking about the room.

"Where's Hamish?"

The blonde asked carefully as he approached the detective.

"I… John, I was changing him, and he peed, and then I was on the floor, and… and, he ran off down the hall and I can't find him."

Sherlock admitted frightfully. He was becoming truly concerned for the boy's location and for John's reaction to the situation.

"Did he now?"

John replied far more calmly than Sherlock could ever imagine.

"Yes… aren't you worried? I-he could be hurt."

The detective continued nervously. John smiled at him fondly for a beat before motioning for him to follow. The doctor entered the bathroom and went straight for the laundry basket. He opened it up and reached inside to pull out a baby boy who had just begun to giggle loudly.

"He always hides in the same spot. He figured out how to climb onto the toilet and into the basket. Tricky spot, not many would think to look there since normally it would be too high up."

John explained as he ruffled his son's brown mop of hair with something that looked an awful lot like pride.

"He… couldn't he hurt himself like that? Fall down? These are tiled floors, I don't think I need remind you just how hard tile is. If he were to land on his head… he could be seriously injured."

Sherlock argued nervously eying the toilet. It wouldn't be hard to slip on the porcelain surface of the lid. John smiled as he exited the bathroom and made his way back to the changing table.

"True, he could get hurt. But that's part of growing up. He's done it before and he's sure to do it again."

John replied serenely as he placed a new diaper on the now pliant baby. Sherlock gaped at him for a moment before shaking his mind clear.

"Surely you can't mean that, he's so fragile-"

"Fragile? Are you kidding me? He's a Watson, there's nothing fragile about him! He's going to be tough just like his dad, right Hamish?"

He answered with equal parts amusement as pride. John tickled the boy's stomach relentlessly for a few minutes before answering for him.

"Damn right he is, not every baby could take a tickling like that."

The doctor said simply as he began to dress the boy. Sherlock watched in awe for a few moments as he considered what had just happened. Sherlock Holmes had become the worried one.

John hadn't expected to come home to find Sherlock on the edge of tears because the baby had hidden in the laundry basket, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't find it amusing. It was a bit troubling that Hamish's behind had been so smothered in diaper cream that he was certain his blue jumper would be stained from the baby's stay in the hamper. However he couldn't bring himself to care. Sherlock's concern both amused and elated him. He'd never expected the detective to take to the boy so quickly, he'd never been fond of children, and so it was heart warming to know the man already cared.

Better yet was that his son had done something no other man would likely accomplish and keep their life, he'd peed on him. Just imagining that moment of shock on the detective's face sent him into fits. He spent a good amount of time laughing about it as they put Sherlock's clothes in the wash. The man didn't seem very pleased at the mockery but he didn't take it out on Hamish which was a good sign. In fact even after the scare Sherlock seemed far more taken with the boy. John felt a little tendril of hope that they might be a semi-functioning family yet.

His hope skyrocketed when Sherlock asked to join John in his nightly ritual in putting Hamish to sleep. John sat with Hamish perched in his lap while sitting in the rocking chair in the boy's room, feeding him his last bottle for the day. Hamish was just at that age that he'd begun to wean him off of bottles, but John was sure the night time feeding would be the hardest to do away with. Hamish was a fan of his bedtime routine and it would be hard to break him from it. Moving on to a sippy with regular milk was probably the best solution, but at the moment he wasn't overly concerned. Hamish held onto his bottle, suckling away as John read him Dr. Seuss's 'I can read with my eyes shut'. Sherlock seemed surprisingly captivated by the scene as he sat by the rocking chair observing them. Hamish looked a bit confused at first but didn't appear bothered, which was another plus. Once the boy was in his crib they exited the room quietly.

They didn't speak much as they sat watching the television but it was mostly because John was thinking. He was thinking about how perfect it felt to have Sherlock back after all this time, and to have him growing closer to Hamish. The doctor considered this as he shifted on the sofa so that he was leaning into Sherlock and soaking in his warmth. It felt so good to be near the man again, to know that he was always at the very least a phone call away. He let his cheek rest on the detective's chest as the man wrapped his arm around him. John had missed moments such as these where they were simply enjoying the other's company.

When the program ended Sherlock angled himself so that He could see John's face as he rested on the man. The blonde smiled and tilted his own head so they could look at each other eye to eye. Sherlock seemed pleasantly confused by their closeness but still said nothing. John just looked for a moment before leaning up to place a delicate kiss on the man's plush lips. The detective responded well and followed after John's mouth when he began to pull away. The kiss continued with slow and tentative brushes of lips against lips until Sherlock was on top the doctor and pressing him into the sofa cushions. John allowed the man to slowly open up his mouth and slip his tongue inside. After some languid kisses Sherlock lifted himself to look at John.

"What brought this on?"

He inquired as he gazed into John's eyes.

"I don't know… the way you were with Hamish today, it was cute. It made me feel like we're a real family."

The doctor admitted and looked away for a beat as he did.

"Really? Heart warming family moments? Is that what gets you off now?"

Sherlock asked mockingly and John swatted his chest in retaliation.

"You'll keep your mouth shut if you have any hopes of getting your leg over tonight."

John scorned but Sherlock only smirked wickedly at the comment.

"Oh, yeah? Is that so?"

He questioned mischievously as he lowered himself to begin lavishing the doctor's neck. John gasped at the contact and stifled a moan as Sherlock's tongue licked at the hallow of his throat.

"Mmm, you taste nice you know."

Sherlock commented as he began to do away with John's shirt. His fingers worked quickly to do away with the buttons as his mouth moved down to the blonde's collar bone. John arched into the touch before he could stop himself.

"Wait, wait!"

He interrupted as he tried to break free from Sherlock's hold on him.

"Why, what's wrong?"

The detective asked a bit nervously.

"Nothing, I just don't really think it's appropriate for us to shag on the sofa any more."

John explained as he sat up.

"Why?"

Sherlock asked incredulously.

"Well, we're parents now. There's a kid up there. I don't feel very comfortable having sex in the same room he plays in every day. I mean he sits on the sofa at times as well; we should show a little restraint."

John continued.

"I suppose so, but I really like the idea of debauching you right on our couch. And I think I deserve a reward, I did get peed on today. How about a mercy fuck?"

The detective purred wickedly and leaned in to kiss John's neck again. The doctor sighed lightly at the touch and was lost for just a moment before pushing the man away again.

"You can have your reward, but in the bedroom. Now move it before I change my mind."

John ordered and pushed himself off of the sofa. Sure enough the detective followed right behind him into the bedroom. They stripped of their clothes with a precision that was only obtained after years of practice. Sherlock began kissing him again after they were finally free of everything. Their naked bodies pressed together in the dim lighting of the room brilliantly and it wasn't long before they were panting for breath. John led the taller man over to the bed and let him slide on top. Sherlock felt so right above him, kissing him passionately, letting their tongues slide together in a perfect rhythm. The detective's mouth tasted like something sharp and spicy and it only fueled the flames burning within him. Once they began rutting into each other's hips, and they were moaning with increasing intensity, Sherlock pushed himself up just enough so that they weren't touching. They both groaned at the loss of contact, until the brunette located the lube from the dresser drawer by the bed and pushed two determined digits inside of John's entrance.

"Oh god! Yes, Sherlock, yes!"

John cried out as his lover rubbed his prostate teasingly. He was loosening him up, and it wasn't taking long considering how frequently they'd been doing this since the return. When the third finger found its way in John gasped and couldn't stop himself from rocking his hips and allowing Sherlock to fuck him with his fingers. John could feel himself getting close and pulled at the detective's arm so he could stop the overwhelming sensations. Once Sherlock moved away the doctor turned him so that the man was laying on his back, head propped up on the pillow. John kissed him on his lips urgently for a few minutes before trailing his way down the lean man's body. Sherlock hissed and gasped at the feel of John's mouth claiming ever last part of him. Until the blonde finally made it down to his prick.

"John, oh god, I need more."

Sherlock called out thickly in a deep voice that sent vibrations all the way down to John's cock. The doctor obliged by dipping his head and licking the tip of Sherlock's penis, tasting the precum that was swelling up through the slit. The detective whimpered at the touch and jerked his hips forward. John took as much as he could into his mouth and allowed the man to pump himself into the blonde. Sherlock was moaning steadily now as John started to suck and work his tongue along the prick. When he could feel the man getting too close he pulled off with a slick pop that made Sherlock shudder.

"Ready?"

John asked breathily as he positioned himself above Sherlock's thick cock. The detective could do nothing but nod and bite into his lower lip furiously. John lowered himself, using one hand to guide the penis into his entrance and the other to steady himself. When he was fully seated and resting on the man's hips he felt a shiver run through his body. It felt so good to feel Sherlock's dick filling him up. So good in fact he didn't move at all until a minute must have passed and Sherlock lifted his hips up impatiently. John gasped as somehow more of the detective pushed in and pressed against his aching prostate.

"You feel s-so good John, so tight!"

Sherlock called out roughly as John rolled his hips and braced himself against the man's chest.

"Oh-oh, god, I don't know how much more of this I can take, especially if you're going to be talking like that."

John panted out and Sherlock replied by thrusting deep inside him. John shouted out far louder than he would have liked and rocked against the older man's cock helplessly. He could feel himself drawing closer.

"Oh, god, I'm going to come!"

John moaned loudly and his hips made faster jerkier movements as he got closer to the edge.

"Nnnngh! Oh! Go ahead, come, I w-want to see you do it."

Sherlock gasped as he reached out to take John's prick in hand and begin pumping it furiously.

"Sherlock! Oh, fuck!"

He yelled desperately as he came all over the older man. John was out of breath and almost completely unaware that he was being moved. Sherlock pressed John to the mattress so that his stomach was resting on the sheets, and for a moment nothing happened, and then Sherlock started back up. He hadn't climaxed yet and John's post-coitus lethargy apparently wasn't going to do the job. So the detective thrust himself in and out at a much faster pace, making John's body practically bounce off the bed with its force.

"Yes, yes, yes! Nnhh!"

Sherlock mewled as his cock pushed deeper and deeper inside until his balls were being caressed by the cleft of John's arse. The blonde was so hyper sensitive having come so recently that he was making the most delicious whimpering noises that drove Sherlock crazy. Finally the man came with a cry so loud that if Mrs. Hudson hadn't been out to see her sister surely would have woken her from her sleep.

"Fuck, that was fantastic John, oh fuck."

Sherlock breathed out as he moved off of the younger man. John retrieved something to clean them up before they curled up next to each other. Sherlock was the first to fall asleep surprisingly enough and John found that he was alone with his thoughts. He thought of how fantastic the day had been, from the eggs Mrs. Hudson made for breakfast, to the touching family moments, and ending with the brilliant shag with Sherlock. It had been a perfect Thursday he thought as he shifted beneath the blankets to get closer to the detective. However he couldn't quite remember if it had been entirely perfect, when he thought back his memories of the work portion of his day were a bit fuzzy. Though he wasn't sure there had been many days in his life that he would remember with absolute clarity.

In fact, once he put his mind to it there were only four Thursdays he could think of that he could remember down to every last detail. The first had been the day Sherlock faked his death. Only at the time John hadn't known that, and the memory still held a lot of pain and fear for him. The second had been when he was shot. He could never forget that, especially not the look in Bill's eyes as they'd rode back to base. The third had been Hamish's birth. Mary had been in a lot of pain, but surprisingly quiet. She was a strong woman, and it took over seven hours for Hamish to finally arrive, and when he did and John held him for the first time, he could have sworn his heart stopped. Then finally, the Thursday when Sherlock appeared at his door, alive and perfectly in tact. His heart had probably stopped then too.

Yes, as John snuggled into Sherlock's side he was certain those were four Thursdays he would never forget.