John and Sherlock stood over the white lacy crib staring down in amazement at their little boy Hamish, as if he was some sort of prize they had worked their whole life to achieve. This was something they would never fail to do every night: first off they'd start by reading their son a bedtime story - Sherlock's choice was normally some horror crime novel about a victim that had been tied down and had their organs harvested, but John would normally go against it; second they would tuck their son into bed, handing him his little skull shaped teddybear - again, Sherlock's choice; and third they would kiss him goodnight and stand by him until he fell asleep.

John took Sherlock's hand and twined their fingers together.
"I love our life." John whispered, keeping his voice soft to ensure he didn't wake Hamish.
Sherlock had a sad look in his eyes but John chose to ignore it, sometimes it was better not knowing what was going on in Sherlock's funny little head.
"Come on" he gently tugged on Sherlock's arm "let's go to bed."

Both men lay down next to each other, Sherlock's arm around John as John's head rested on his chest. They lay there together in silence, neither of them sleeping.
"Do you ever worry about what could happen to Hamish?" Sherlock asked, out of nowhere.
"I don't know what you mean."
"I have enemies, John, people who want to hurt me."
"They wouldn't touch him."
"Moriarty kidnapped you."
That shut John up and his thoughts drifted off back to that day, back at the pool. Except this time, a crib lay where John had been standing, coated with bombs. He shuddered and tried to get the thought out of his head.
"Don't think like that, Sherlock. Moriarty isn't around anymore."
Sherlock laughed a little at the thought of that. He had witnessed James Moriarty's death with his own eyes yet he couldn't believe he was dead. A genius like Moriarty could definitely fake a shot to the head. Still, he didn't say anything, he could tell by the way John's jaw clenched that he had worried his boyfriend a little too much for one night.
"Try and get some sleep, Lestrade said he needs you at his office by six tomorrow." Sherlock could hear the sleep in John's voice, it almost covered up the worry.
"Yeah…"

It took John a few minutes before he was fast asleep against Sherlock, Sherlock however, was still very much awake. He enjoyed watching John sleep, it gave him some sort of peace at mind knowing that John was peaceful in slumber. Sherlock thought about what John could be dreaming about, he worried at first that he could be dreaming about their conversation, but his worry disappeared as soon as he noticed the expression on his face. John's eyes were gently closed over, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He nestled his head into Sherlock's chest and let out a little groan of pleasure as he took a deep breath in and Sherlock's scent filled his nose. Sherlock cuddled him closer and kissed the top of his head.
"I love you, John" he breathed.
Sherlock then fidgeted a little until he was comfortable and rested his head on his own pillow, falling into a deep slumber himself.

….

When morning came, Sherlock and John were both awake but neither had moved from the bed.
John looked up at Sherlock and kissed him lightly "it's almost five forty, you better get up if you want to be at Lestrade's office on time."
Sherlock moaned a little but eventually he managed to pull himself out of bed and shove on a wrinkled button up shirt that was lying at the foot of the bed.
"You're sure you don't want to join me?" He turned to John, buttoning up his shirt.
John smiled at him. "Someone has to watch Hamish."
"Hamish could always-"
"No."
Sherlock tried to convince John to take Hamish on a case, but John would never have it. "Too dangerous" he would say. Sherlock pulled his trousers on, hopping a little to get each leg in. He hopped back over to the bed and leaned over a little towards John.
"I'll be back as soon as I can" he planted a quick kiss on John's soft lips and headed off.

Once Sherlock had left for Lestrade's office, John thought to check on Hamish. Before he did, he grabbed a bottle of formula from the kitchen. Hamish was never one for crying, but he was always up at the crack of dawn, so John knew he'd be hungry. He opened the door softly just incase Hamish was sleeping; he'd feel bad for waking him.
"Hamish, you hungry?" John whispered as he entered the room.
The bedroom had an eery silence that wasn't usual. John could normally hear the sound of Hamish's breathing but there was nothing there at all. The room felt empty.
"Hamish?" John called out, a hint of worry appearing in his voice.
He stepped over the crib and peered into it. His face dropped and he stepped back in shock, the crib was completely empty.

He sprinted into the living room and picked up the phone placed on the low coffee table. With shaking hands he tried to dial the familiar number he had dialled a number of times before.
"Sherlock!" he shrieked "Hamish is gone!"