HAMISH'S LULLABY

John was pouring through the information Mycroft had supplied because it was too 'boring' for Sherlock. Instead of helping, Sherlock was playing the lullaby he was working on. It was a very beautiful piece and John enjoyed listening to it. He could see why Sherlock played it for him when he had his nightmares.

Sherlock stopped playing and looked at John. "Do you want to know what I named this piece?"

John looked up, confusion clear on his face. "You've given it a name?"

"I normally name my pieces, John. How else would I tell them apart?" John sighed and rolled his eyes. Sherlock took that as a sign to continue. "I named it 'Hamish's Lullaby'."

"W-w-w-why?"

"Because you once told me your middle name was Hamish. You even went so far to suggest it as a baby name for my son." Sherlock turned away and looked out the window at the busy London street below. "It was to be a wedding gift to you and your bride."

John tried to hide his surprise that Sherlock hadn't deleted that conversation. "You're using past tense. Has the whole world given up on me?"

Sherlock continued to look out the window. "When have you ever chosen a woman's company over mine?" John struggled to think of any time since he moved into 221B Baker Street that he hadn't come running when Sherlock asked him to. He'd lost count of the number of girlfriends that had dumped him, the number of one-night stands he'd walked out on, and the number of times he'd chosen to stay at the flat instead of going out on a date. "There's nothing wrong with being a confirmed bachelor, John."

"Except now, there's a beautiful lullaby written for a baby boy that will never exist." He shuffled the papers loudly, eager to change the subject. "Er, mmm, the husband was doing a bit of yard work last weekend. There's a bunch of purchases at a Homebase store and a few equipment rentals."

"I've upset you." Sherlock turned back to John. He'd begun to soften around the edges and it was all John's influence. It was uncomfortable, and he looked to John for social cues more than he liked to, but he was making progress. "You're bothered that everyone thinks we're shagging." There. That was easy.

"No. That I've finally gotten used to. I just wish I were interested in women the way I used to be. I mean, I am, I was, 'John "Three Continents" Watson', and now I'm…"

"Sherlock Holmes' pet. Live-in. Boyfriend. Lover." Sherlock's voice was cold, his words clipped as he repeated everything he'd heard people say about John. He would never admit it, but it hurt him to hear people talk about John like that because he was so much more than those terms would imply. That funny feeling came back. Why was John making him feel so… strange?

"I was going to say married to The Work. What you do is important, Sherlock, and I like being a part of it." John blushed a little bit and hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice.

"That's good. You are much more useful than my skull." Sherlock began to play again, effectively ending the conversation. He picked up the haunting melody where it began and played the 10 minutes or so of music he had written several times. He'd stop occasionally to make an adjustment and John noticed that each time Sherlock stopped playing, he'd glance over in his direction. Maybe he was looking for a reaction? John wasn't sure, but Sherlock was acting completely out of character lately. He wasn't sure he minded as much as he once thought he would.

#

Sherlock wasn't sure why he had told John about the lullaby. It was obvious he had struck a sore spot, but he couldn't understand why it bothered John so much. John had made the choice to be with Sherlock. Repeatedly. "I didn't mean to upset you. I know getting married and having children is important to you." His back was to John again, and he talked over the music he was playing.

"It was… important to me. Things change… and I like my life now. A woman… a family… doesn't fit into… what we have." John struggled to get the words out. "I'm more surprised you remembered my comment. I didn't think that The Great Sherlock Holmes did sentiment."

"I don't." Sherlock put the violin down and perched on the back of his chair. "Why did you shout my name in your sleep, John? What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Can we get back to the case now?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. "You were saying something about yard work and equipment rentals."

"Yes. It appears from Mycroft's notes that he was planning on doing some work in the yard. He must like to get his hands dirty."

"Dirty work. Exactly, John." Sherlock's eyes snapped open. "He decided to do yard work because it was a good cover story. Did he chop her up with a chain saw? Use a backhoe to bury her under his new flower garden? How did he do it?"

John looked at his watch. "It's still early. Do you want to go out to the house and sniff around a bit? He's not going to be home since Mycroft's men have him in custody."

Sherlock smiled. "I like the way you think."

John waved the file folder in the air. "Mycroft even gave us the alarm codes to get into the estate. It's almost like he knows you."