Sherlock's Baby Day

The sun peaked bleakly from between the curtains, casting a line of light across Sherlock's right eye.
He stirred, snuffling further into his pillow. But finding that it didn't bring nearly half as much comfort as he was searching for, he instead scooted forward and fit himself snugly into the Sherlock-shaped space against John's back. Successfully moving himself out of the sunlight streak and back into comfortable darkness, Sherlock found that John's nape was exceedingly better than his pillow; and inhaled a content breath of John's scent.
"Sh'lock? You up?" John sleep-slirred and craned his neck to try and look at the detective.
"Ssh. M'not." Was Sherlock's reply and he nuzzled his nose further into John's skin, his arm snaking it's way over the doctor's waist and pulling him back against his chest.
John smiled fondly and lay his head back onto the pillow, hooking his right foot around Sherlock's right ankle and pulling it to slot between his own. His hand found Sherlock's and he entwined their fingers, nearly drifting back into warm slumber once again.
When Hamish let out a shriek.
Both men shared a united sigh, a few seconds where they willed the other one to get up in their place.
Sherlock unhooked himself from John and rolled onto his back. John took this as a sign that, strangely and completely a work of miracle, Sherlock had decided to sort the baby out this morning.
It was only when, after a few seconds of waiting and realising he he'd neither felt nor heard the detective get out of bed (and Hamish's cries went up a few decibels) that John turned over and saw Sherlock laying flat on his back, pillow over his face and arms thrown crossed over the pillow.
"I'll bloody get up then." John sighed, sitting up and throwing the duvet off of him.
"Wonderful suggestion, John." Sherlock mumbled from beneath cotton and feathers.
John rolled his eyes as he slipped on his slippers and Hamish's wails grew more desperate. "Alright, H! Ssh, ssh, ssh. I'm coming, Daddy's coming."
Sherlock was glad for the pillow covering his face, otherwise it meant there was a chance John would've witnessed the grin that suddenly spread there.
"Okay, matey. It's alright." Sherlock heard John lift Hamish out of the crib in the corner of the room. "There. See?" John hushed as Hamish's cries died down to occasional murmurs of discontent and shakey breaths. "See? All better." The doctor let Hamish hook his fingers around his thumb and bounced him gently on his hip. Hamish suddenly blinked and, with a physical jolt of his head, looked straight into John's eyes as though he'd only just realised his Daddy was there. "Good morning!" John chuckled in a voice far too high-pitched. Sherlock grunted and rolled his eyes beneath closed lids.
"Guess what, H? Today is a special day." John continued as he walked Hamish over to the window and pulled the curtains open with the hand that his son's was still attached to. Sherlock groaned.
"Because..." John smirked at Sherlock's strop and moved over to sit on the edge of Sherlock's side of the bed, gripping Hamish by the sides and dangling him over Sherlock's pillow-covered face. "You get to spend the entire day with this beautiful lump of life!" John chuckled and then let out a bark of laughter when Hamish giggled in response and thumped his hand down onto the pillow violently.
Sherlock, obviously confused as to why he'd just been thumped, pulled the pillow off of himself with a frown. Only to come face to face with his bright-eyed baby boy.
Who then proceeded to thump him directly on the face.
John laughed harder and decided to lift Hamish up and out the way. Extending the baby at arms length above his head, John grinned up as Hamish giggled down, now sucking a hand into his mouth, his dark hair flopping as John wiggled him side to side.
"Is that today?" Sherlock sat up and ran a hand up his forehead and into his sleep-fluffened curls.
"Yep! One glorious, chock-a-block day at the surgery for me, which means you get to look after our son, for the entire day." John was talking to Sherlock but still smiling at his son who was studying the tips of his own fingers with great interest.
"Fa!" He suddenly blurted, shoving his hand into John's face as though it was the answer to an urgent question no one had asked. "Fafa!"
John chuckled and turned back to Sherlock.
"Look, I know it's not necessarily going to be your best day ever. But I can't ask Mrs Hudson again, and you are his father-."
"Adopted." Sherlock interrupted as he rose from the bed and shrugged on his blue, silk dressing gown.
John raised an eyebrow and Sherlock quirked both.
"Not good?"
"Hmm." Was all John gave as an answer and Sherlock knew he'd over-stepped the 'not good' mark.

John had washed, dressed, dressed Hamish, eaten breakfast, fed Hamish his breakfast and packed his doctor's case for the day as well as remembered to pick up the Patients Folder from the kitchen worktop all in the time it took Sherlock to tame his mess of curls and flick on the kettle (with much grumbling). The doctor lifted the baby from his highchair and approached his husband, tickling Hamish under the chin as he did.
"Just...promise me you won't do anything stupid?" John winced in memory as he placed Hamish in Sherlock's arms.
"Stupidity is not..." Sherlock paused to adjust his son comfortably on his hip before looking back up at John again, "...one of my traits, John."
John gave him a 'we both know you're lying' look before leaning forward to press a kiss to Hamish's head. "Behave." He said then kissed Sherlock's lips and left the room, calling back as he did, "That goes for you too, Hamish!"

Managing? - JW

Round about. - SH

I'm on my way back for lunch. Sarah took on four of my patients so I could come home and check on you. I'll be there in 10. - JW

John walked into the flat ten minutes later, dropping his keys on the table and shredding his coat, to find Sherlock on the sofa, Hamish on his lap and laptop balancing on his knees. One arm was clicking away at the mousepad while the other was wrapped around Hamish's belly, keeping him safely pinned to his torso. John wondered whether his bouncing knee, nicely keeping Hamish entertained as he bobbed up and down, was a conscious action on Sherlock's part.
The doctor drifted to see what the screen entailed and his sudden frown caused him physical pain in his forehead.
"What?" Was all he managed.
"Keyhole heart surgery. On a baby." Was Sherlock's monotone reply.
"Yes I knew that." John snapped and waved a finger in the direction of the screen. "Look, I know that that's only shapes and movement to him but I can't help but worry that those type of videos will have a lasting impression."

"I hope so. He's one of the best." Sherlock nodded at the screen, referring to the surgeon fondly. He then looked down at Hamish who was already looking up at him. "Concentrate."

John rolled his eyes and contemplated whipping the baby right out of Sherlock's lap and insisting he took Hamish back to work with him.

"Right," he sighed, giving in and heading for the kitchen.

After John'd eaten, fought with Sherlock about eating and tried helplessly to stop Hamish mashing his lunch into his hair, he wiped his hands on a tea towel and sighed.
"Right, I've got half an hour before I need to be back in my office. I'm going to take a shower." He threw the towel at Sherlock who'd just entered the kitchen from his bedroom. "Wipe his mouth for me." He nodded at Hamish and chuckled at Sherlock's startled expression as the tea towel hung off his shoulder.
As he made his way past Hamish to the bathroom, he sniffed and grimaced. "Oh! Smells like he could do with a nappy change too!" He bopped Hamish on the nose and turned to press a quick kiss to Sherlock's lips before disappearing into the bedroom and closing the door behind him.
"Fafa!" Hamish squealed in delight, bending his head back to look up at Sherlock, and bounced up and down in his seat, kicking his legs violently against the plastic legs of his highchair.
"Okay...little man." Sherlock attempted taking on John's 'Hamish' tone. "Let's get this muck off of you." He began gently wiping at Hamish's mouth with a clean part of the tea towel. Hamish hummed contently and jutted his chin forward, allowing his father more access to his messy mouth. Sherlock quirked the corner of his own mouth up in an impressed smile. Hamish had obviously learnt to do this whenever someone cleaned his face and the detective couldn't help the pride that washed over him at how quickly his son had learned this habit. "Good boy." He smiled warmly at his son and something in the young boy's eyes twinkled happily.

"Right. I'm off again then." Just ten minutes later, John had showered and changed his shirt and tie.
He walked back into the kitchen, bringing with him the scent of shower gel and aftershave, though Sherlock could still smell John's own scent through all that. Well, he would have, had he not had his face hovering over his son's dirty nappy at the time.
John blinked, pursed his lips and and pointed a confused finger at Hamish. "Kitchen table?"
"Hmm, more convenient than the other one..." Sherlock mumbled, deep in concentration, a tight frown on his forehead.
"By the other one, you mean the changing table?"
"M'yes." Sherlock reached blindly for the packet of baby wipes beside Hamish's content form.
"It's funny." John was still stood exactly where he'd stopped, face still creased in confusion.
"What is?" Sherlock grasped the wipe and attempted cleaning Hamish's bottom but huffing when the baby only laid back down into his own muck from the dirty nappy.
"Normally I'd be concerned for our welfare, what with changing a pooey nappy on the kitchen table. But, seeing as we do nothing on the kitchen table that the kitchen table is actually implied to be used for...I'm actually concerned for the welfare of our son instead." John finally stepped over to help, lifting Hamish's legs by the ankles with one hand. "Like this. Hold his legs up," he took the wipe off of Sherlock, "wipe him clean, keep holding them up, then take out the dirty nappy from underneath and replace it with the clean one." John lowered Hamish's chubby legs down onto the clean nappy, passed the dirty wipe to Sherlock (who made no resist to grimacing vividly) and carefully did it up, tickling Hamish's feet gently once he was done.
"There! Clean botty!" John laughed and bopped Hamish on the nose who let out a bright belly-laugh.
"Botty?" Sherlock scoffed.
John just looked at him, cocking an eyebrow.
"Shut up." He leant forward and kissed Sherlock quickly. "Right, now I'm off again. Remember to put him back in his babygrow."
"Yes, dear." Sherlock rolled his eyes but smirked when Hamish made a cooing sound as he watched John leave the room.

"Good to see you back, John. Everything okay at home?" Sarah smiled from behind the front desk as she sorted out some papers.
"Yeah, not as bad as I'd envisioned. Apart from introducing our son to keyhole surgery via YouTube."
"Keyhole surgery?" Sarah laughed lightly.
"Yeah, well. I'd say it's an odd choice of entertainment...but he's Sherlock." John flicked his eyebrows up before tapping his fingers on the top of the front desk. "Mrs Dales next?"
"Yep, she's already here actually." Sarah nodded to an old lady, short and thin with hair so white it was almost blue. The lady waved a shakey hand to John and gave him an all-dentures smile.
"Excellent, right I'll get started then." John returned the smile. "If you'd like to come with me, Mrs Dales?"

"So I'm already on tablets for my gastro situation but my son told me I needed to come back in?"
"Only for a repeat prescription, Mrs Dales. And for me to make sure the tablets are doing their job." John's doctor tone was light and caring but professional and he found it got him respect from his patients. Well, most of them. Mrs Dales, luckily, was one who he did. He flashed her a brief smile before returning his attention back to his computer to assess he medical files.
"Oh, what a little cutie..." The old lady suddenly cooed and John looked over to find her tapping on the glass of a photoframe on his desk. "Is he yours?"
"Err, yeah. Yeah he is. Hamish." John smiled with pride. The photo wasn't taken that long ago and clearly showed Hamish's bright eyes and one of his rare, open mouthed grins. Almost completely toothless too; apart from two tiny teeth at the bottom.
"Aww, he's a proper little beauty. Bet he keeps you awake doesn't he? Bet Mummy never sleeps!" She laughed lightly, still looking at Hamish's photo.
John chuckled at just how true that sentence was. Sherlock never really slept, but it wasn't because of Hamish.
"Something like that, yeah." He shook his head with a smile and returned to the computer screen.

"Three blind mice! See how they run! They all run after the farmers wife, who cut off their tails with a carving knife! Did you ever see such a thing in your life as three blind mice!"
When John had first asked Sherlock about having a day with Hamish, Sherlock had never envisioned having to attend this.
"Say cheese!"
Click.
"Ow."
"Hehhhh!"
On the bright side, Hamish seemed to be enjoying it, sat happily in between Sherlock's legs, just like every other baby with every other Mother.
Yes, Sherlock was the only father present. Which made it all so much bloody better.
The lady running the Baby Cult was prancing around in the middle of the circle, her frizzy red hair bouncing and her green-rimmed glasses swinging on their chain around her neck. She'd just finished taking photos of everyone and already Sherlock was growing annoyed with her chirpy personality.
"Right then, kiddies and mummies!" She looked at Sherlock with a sickeningly patronising smile and added "and daddy." Sherlock flashed a fake smile and subconsciously pulled Hamish closer to him.
"It's time for puppets!" She suddenly dived into a small box and produced two 'puppets', pulling one onto her hand and leaving one on the floor beside the box.
"This is Mr StripeyToes everybody! Say hello!"
Sherlock watched as all the mothers lifted their babies wrists and made a waving motion for them. He looked down at Hamish in time to see his baby lift his own arm and wave it clumsily up and down on his own. The detective smirked at how clever his little boy was compared to the rest of the babies.
"Let's all say hello to Mr StripeyToes shall we?" The frizzy lady began waving the yellow and blue-striped garment at each of the babies separately as she made her way round the circle. It looked old and slightly worn and had two googley eyes stuck haphazardly to its 'face'.
"Hello, little Hamish!"
Sherlock immediately recoiled, pulling Hamish with him when Frizzy Lady waved the puppet at his son.
"When was that sock last washed?" He frowned at it and kept a protective arm in-between it and his baby.
"Don't be silly! This isn't a sock! It's Mr StripeyToes!" Frizzy Lady attempted to wave it at Hamish again and Sherlock had had enough.
"Right." He lifted Hamish under the arms and stood up, shifting him onto his hip and beginning to fiddle with his pushchair.
"What? You can't go yet! We were just starting to enjoy ourselves!" Frizzy Lady protested, still knelt on the floor with the blasted sock on her left hand.
"No." Sherlock adjusted the pushchair so he could lower Hamish in. "No we weren't."
And that was all he said before marching out of the building.

'This is you, and this is Daddy." John pointed to the photo Justine from the playgroup had taken. She'd tucked it in the letterbox to 221B and John had found it on his way in from work. "Now Hamish, just because Daddy isn't smiling doesn't mean he's not enjoying himself."
"What on earth leads you to believe that?" Sherlock entered from the kitchen, wiping something off of his shirt sleeves. "Egg yolk." He said when John gave him a look.
The doctor was currently sat in his armchair with Hamish all ready for bed and tucked into the corner of his lap. He was sucking on a dummy and his favourite toy, a small blue puppy no bigger than John's hand, sat crooked in his lap.
"Come on, you must have enjoyed some part of today, surely! A whole day with your bright-eyed little son and the world in which he lives."
"Riveting." Sherlock walked past the armchair to grab his laptop from the desk before making his way to the sofa.
John paused, watching his husband shift himself about to get comfortable. "Seriously. There was no part of today that interested you in the slightest?"
"I wouldn't say that." Sherlock began clicking.
"Go on then, what did you enjoy?"
"The remarkable rate at which our child is picking up habits and learning things all of his own accord. Not to mention already putting them into practice."
John looked down at Hamish who was leaning forward and making grabby motions for the play mat on the floor. He gently lowered him down and Hamish lunged for a cardboard baby book, discarding his blue puppy as it tumbled out of his lap.
"Already? Wow, that's good." John watched fondly. "Like what, then?"
"Oh just small movements, tilting his head forward when someone cleans it was the first one I noticed. It shows that with enough repeat of the action, he has picked it up and will do it every time someone approaches his face with a wipe now." Sherlock began typing into a Word document. "Another is the fact that he can already wave of his own accord."
"He can already wave? Self muscle-stimulation at 5 months old? Normally it's around 7, he is quick. Are you sure he's not part you?" John exclaimed then quickly darted to stop Hamish toppling backwards, earning a smile from Sherlock.
"Waving seems simple for him. He's already started teething and pronouncing some consonants. A baby his age should be responding to small object movement like this." Sherlock waved his hand above his head from across the room and it must have caught Hamish's eye because the baby's head jolted upright and his eyes locked onto his father's hand. "See? He should also just be starting to respond to his own name too." Sherlock nodded at John and John took the hint.
"Hamish!" He called lightly and the baby's head turned to John instead and he let out a content hum through an open-mouthed grin. John couldn't help but grin back.
"And that too. He should also be starting to find odd things funny, like certain noises and facial expressions. Not to mention starting to show love and affection through his own actions and noises too." Sherlock continued and reel off various milestones that Hamish should be reaching, then following those with ones he's reaching early. "For a baby his age and size, he is developing remarkably quickly." The detective continued to type and left John to smile with greater fondness at his son as he managed to keep himself sat upright and bashed his hand against the pages of his book.
Of course, as a doctor, John knew all of that already. But hearing it come so fondly from Sherlock's mouth was enough to make John keep quiet and pretend he was learning something new.

"When you were talking about development?" John groaned and shouted above the noise.
"Yes, what is it?" Sherlock grumbled from beneath his pillow, hands pinning it down either side of his head.
"You mentioned teething?"
"Yes!"
"And how it was a good thing?"
"Yes, though now I'm not too sure!"
Both men continued to grumble and groan as Hamish's cries from the corner grew louder and louder.
"Poor sod must be in so much pain!" John shouted. "I've tried giving him the teething ring twice and he just throws it onto the floor!"
"Well do something, John!"
"How about you come up with an idea, bright-spark!"
"I suggested the last fourty ideas, John! I think that makes it your turn!"
John groaned louder and threw the covers off of himself, stalking over to the crib and lifting Hamish out.
"Alright, matey. Sssh." Hamish began to quieten as John stroked his reddening cheeks with his knuckles and winced at how hot they were to touch. "He's really teething now."
"Hmm, I suspected as such." Sherlock mumbled, rolling his eyes. "If the racket was anything to go by."
John tried to lower Hamish back down again but the baby boy's cries only started up louder and more desperate.
"Oh god! Make it stop!" Sherlock moaned. "I swear, I will march straight up those stairs and into your old room! No amount of dust mites and cardboard boxes will stop me."
"Wait! Why don't you play to him?" John lit up with an idea.
"Play? I'm not in the mood for more unhygienic foot material, John." Sherlock rolled onto his front and buried his entire face into his pillow.
"What? I meant your violin. Why don't you play him that one you wrote the other week? I like that one." John sat back down onto the bed and lifted one of the dark curls out of the way so he could see Sherlock's eyes.
There was a moment of silence.
"Fine."

Sherlock was completely lost in the music. So much so this he obviously didn't realise when Hamish had fallen asleep because his melodic notes continued to dance across the room regardless.
John could tell the piece was coming to an end and wanted to try and get to sleep before it did but he couldn't take his eyes off of his husband.
Sherlock's stiff demeanour was completely melted away and his eyes were closed as he swayed about the room. His fingers danced along the strings and his hand, wrapped lightly and only by the fingertips, around the bow was gentle and soothing in its movements.
As the final note died away, John looked over to check Hamish was still asleep. He was, thank god, and John found himself releasing a breath of relief.
"Wow...Your idea actually worked." Sherlock whispered as he set his violin down and climbed back into bed.
"Of course it did, what gave you doubt?" John smirked and scooted over to settle against Sherlock's chest.
"Sorry, I must have been influenced by the last 50 ideas you gave that went so horribly wrong." Sherlock snickered as he began to run his fingers lazily through John's short hair.
"Err, I think you'll find it was you," John poked him in the chest, "that gave those last fifty ideas, mister."
Sherlock chuckled and said nothing.
"Well, thank bloody god for that." John sighed into the room and looked over at the sleeping Hamish then at the clock. "Well done, love. If I weren't so monumentally tired I'd thank you properly."
"Properly?" Sherlock's voice rose as his ears pricked at the new idea.
"Ssh! Keep your voice down!" John whispered harshly and dug his fingers into Sherlock's sides. "Yes, properly."
There was a pause where John could have actually heard Sherlock's brain whirring.
"I've got some caffeine tablets in the cupboard, enough to wake up a horse."
"No, Sherlock. I'll have to thank you tomorrow, there's no way I'm drugging myself awake just to shag you."
"Just? You make it sound like an anti-climax, John. Something, from my own experience and evidence, I can safely announce is entirely incorrect. If your noises are anything to go by-"
"Yeah, alright. Thank you. Bedtime now, you ridiculously horny genius." John interrupted him with a light laugh and shifted so his arm was thrown across Sherlock's stomach.
"You know that will only increase said adjectives, John." Sherlock replied huskily as his foot found John's leg and he dragged it between his own, just like John had that morning.
"Sleep! Now!" John lifted his head and gave Sherlock the sternest tone he could while still whispering.
Sherlock pouted, sticking out his bottom lip like a child and John leant up to grab it with his teeth.
"I said tomorrow." John growled against his husband's lip and released it to press a kiss to where he'd bitten. "Night, night, Sherlock."
"Hmph." Was all Sherlock gave as a reply and John chuckled lightly.