"Sherlock, we need to talk."
"What about?" He asked, not looking up.
"About Hamish." Sherlock went stiff, but did not move. "And about what the nurse said."
Sherlock lifted his head. "What did she say?"
"Sherlock…" John went over and took his hands. "Sherlock, she said he has a week unless we put him on life support."
Sherlock's heart dropped. He looked at Hamish and all the memories flooded his head. There were tears burning in his eyes.
"Sherlock, are you okay?"
He didn't reply for a long while and when he did his voice was small, like that of a child afraid of the dark.
"We can't do that to him. There's no point."
"Sherlock-" John started to speak but Sherlock interrupted.
"Go and tell them! Tell them and ask how much longer he has!"
John sighed and walked out. Sherlock's anger had turned to sadness. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, never taking his eyes off of Hamish.
Sherlock had spent many nights there in that damned chair. Sitting. Watching. This night he didn't even sleep. He sat there, staring at his son, holding his small hand the entire night.