Ok, so my update schedule will be a chapter every Friday. I have school and stuff, so I'm afraid this is the best I can do :/

4: A new experiment assistant.

"Father reads me interesting books, daddy," Hamish grumbled as John pulled the little boy's pajama top over his curls. Sherlock made a triumphant sound from the other side of the room, where he was examining a drawing Hamish had created.

"Well, you'll like this book, I promise," John said, as he scooped Hamish up and began tucking him in. Hamish looked apprehensively at the Harry Potter book, but snuggled into his duvet regardless. John nestled in beside his son, and began to read the first chapter. Hamish was entranced by the tale, and kept on interrupting to express his wonder at the wizarding world. Naturally, Sherlock had slunk away after a chaste kiss to Hamish's forehead, not wanted to be bored by the impossibility of magic, and was making noise downstairs in the newly repaired kitchen. Hamish finally drifted off around Chapter 3, and John closed the book, before kissing Hamish's cheek fondly and closing the door quietly behind him.

John made his way downstairs, hoping that he could draw Sherlock away from his experiment for a few hours. Maybe they could put a detective film on- Sherlock always preferred those to any other kind of film, because he could usually guess the culprit within half an hour- and they could cuddle for a bit. Well… it wasn't exactly cuddling. Sherlock sat as stationary as a statue on some occasions, and on others he curled himself around John like a cat.

Alas, Sherlock was gone- his coat and scarf were missing from the hook. John tried not to feel disappointed… it was hardly as if Sherlock was going to under go a personality transplant because of a civil union. He'd just hoped… no. He'd invaded Afghanistan- he could deal with his husband leaving for a few hours. As usual, there was no note, so John sent a hasty text to Sherlock, before settling down to watch repeats of Doctor Who.

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1:34am

Back at dawn. Not dead- SH

8:06am

Where are you? We agreed that we'd tell Hamish today.

8:07am

Case. Back by lunch- SH

9:13am

He's asking for you. Come home you prick.

9:14am

I love it when you're affectionate, John- SH

10:07am

This isn't a joke. You'd better have a good excuse for ditching me.

10:08am

I do- SH

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Hamish stared at the baby food in disgust, his lips set in a determined scowl. John had tried everything to make the toddler eat… well apart from normal things. He'd fetched Hamish's science books and threatened to throw them out, confiscated the infant microscope that Sherlock had insisted on, and he'd even told him it was an experiment.

What was so repulsive about chicken and carrot mush? John pinched the bridge of his nose, before leaning back in the chair. What would a normal parent do? Probably the old "Airplane" trick. In desperation, John picked up the offending spoon, and began making swooping noises. Hamish regarded him in complete bewilderment at first, but eventually began to laugh and play along. John triumphantly steered the food into the resistant boy's mouth.

"Wasn't that hard, was it Hamish?" John said softly, lifting Hamish out of his chair and wiping his chin.

"Honestly John, couldn't you think of a more sophisticated way of getting that muck down him?" a cool voice came from behind him. John spun around to see Sherlock, looking slightly smug, standing in the kitchen door way.

"Where the hell have you been?" John hissed, putting Hamish down. Sherlock looked unharmed, but very tired. Hamish ran into the living room, oblivious to the tension between his parents

"On a case, as I said," Sherlock looked slightly confused. John pushed past him- the detective had been out for over twelve hours, doing god knows what, without John

Sherlock grabbed John's arm, and looked him straight in the eyes. Struggling, John tried to break eye contact, but failed.

"Don't be boring about this John. I had a client-someone had to stay with Hamish. It's hardly the end of the universe," Sherlock's eyes were cold, but focused. John nodded, and tried to ignore how machine like his husband seemed.

"Okay. Tell me about the case later. We're telling Hamish now," John said sharply, marching into the sitting room. Sherlock trailed behind, pulling his coat off and throwing it on the floor. Hamish was playing with Sherlock's skull- an unfortunate habit he'd developed. John plucked his son from the floor, and collapsed onto the sofa, perching Hamish on his lap. Hamish wrapped his arms around John's neck, looking at him inquisitively- he always looked like Sherlock when he did that.

The man himself settled himself awkwardly beside them, looking as if he about to go into battle.

They'd agreed after meeting the surrogate, Natalie (who fiercely resembled Sherlock) that they would tell Hamish after the first trimester, when it was less likely a miscarriage would occur. Natalie was thirteen weeks pregnant now, so they'd deemed it safe. It was an unspoken agreement that John would lead the conversation- Sherlock didn't have a child filter.

"Ok, Hamish, we have a surprise for you," John began. Hamish perked up, listening intently now. John paused, wondering how to word it- he'd never been in this situation before. Apparently, when his sister, Harry, had been told of their mother's pregnancy, she'd thrown a tantrum and sulked for days. Hopefully Hamish would have a more positive reaction, John thought optimistically.

"You're going to have a little brother or sister," were the words John finally decided upon. Hamish blinked at his parents, clearly not understanding. Sherlock audibly sighed, before gently grabbing Hamish's chin.

"In a few months, you'll have a younger sibling. We don't know if it'll be a boy or a girl yet, but it's healthy and that's what matters," he explained, managing to sound slightly bored. John shot a glare at Sherlock, but watched Hamish carefully. The little boy didn't really seem bothered, which John supposed was better than him being upset at the idea. Finally, Hamish smiled.

"Will I be able to do experiments with him," was the clinching question that the infant offered. John laughed in fond disbelief, while Sherlock cracked a half smirk.

"Almost certainly," the detective confirmed. Hamish looked positively delighted, and began babbling about how he wanted to test the durability of silver and he'd need an assistant. He leaped off John's lap, and dragged him by his hand over to his current experiment- which was simply playdough- to explain it to him. John followed happily, but glanced back at Sherlock. He was standing by the window, ignoring the rest of the world. Doubt and suspicion began to poison John's mind, but he pushed it away- Hamish was what mattered. Always Hamish.

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"A homicide. The maid was framed by the wife of the victim. That's about it,"

Sherlock was refusing point blank to elaborate further on the case, choosing to slouch on the sofa and delve into his mind palace. John threw his newspaper down in frustration, rounding on Sherlock.

"What is wrong with you?" he snapped. Luckily, Hamish was in bed, so he didn't have to witness John's loss of temper. Sherlock didn't react, so John moved closer, so that he was above Sherlock.

"You leave for about fourteen hours without me, so anything could have happened to you. You get back, and you're acting like a bloody robot towards me and Hamish. And you're not telling me about the case, which you normally do about half a dozen times. So what the hell is wrong?" John demanded. Sherlock opened his devastatingly beautiful eyes- no John, concentrate- and regarded John for moment, before standing up.

"You married a sociopath, John. Surely you knew what you were letting yourself in for," he said coldly. John exploded, and pushed Sherlock against the wall.

"You're not a bloody sociopath," John hissed, his nose almost touching Sherlock's. The taller man narrowed his eyes, was began to retort, but John cut him off.

"No, listen. A sociopath can't feel. And Sherlock, you feel more than most people I know. You love Hamish more than anything, and you might deny it to everyone else, but don't you dare deny it to me,"

Sherlock stared at John for what seemed like eternity, before relaxing into him. John tentatively wrapped his arms around his husband, and Sherlock burrowed his nose into John's neck.

"A…girl died. Because of me. The murderer was following me, and I was in a public place. And this teenage girl was shot and I couldn't do anything," Sherlock whispered, his voice thick. John held him, and wondered idly how he'd ended up with someone was wonderfully complex as Sherlock Holmes.

Meh, not sure how much I like this. Sorry if it's a bit boring, but I've got more action planned for next chapter…