The taxi journey to the hospital later on that afternoon was not a particularly comfortable one- it was clear to see that John was still in a state of shocked resignation over what had happened. Sherlock wondered how long the news would take to really sink in – probably a couple of days at the least. John seemed unable to enter the hospital entrance and Sherlock lingered behind as his friend appeared to psyche himself up to go in.
Eventually he managed to summon the courage and walked into the main reception; he waited in line to speak to a woman behind the desk.
"He's in the paediatric unit, ward 56." John muttered quietly to Sherlock as the two of them walked along the corridor. Ward 56 turned out to be the neonatal intensive care unit; the double doors were secured with a keypad that was clear you needed the number for to get in. John stared in through the large pane of glass, eyes flickering from incubator to incubator, most of which were surrounded by parents in plastic coloured gowns. There only two bags out of seven that had no one but a nurse surrounding the baby – the one closest to the door looked as though the baby in the cot was a girl, so Harriet's baby must be in the incubator furthest away, obscured by the other bays.
"Can I help you at all?" The door of the ward had opened with a loud clicking noise, and a young man's head was poking around the edge.
"I-" John began speaking, but his voice cracked and he had to clear his throat before trying again. "I'm looking for baby Watson, son of Harriet Watson."
"Oh!" The young man's face softened, "Are you Harriet's brother?"
"Yeah, I am… I was." John answered slowly; the doctor nodded sympathetically.
"I'm Doctor Mitchell. We weren't sure how to contact you…" John's heart plummeted at these words – if something had happened to the baby he wouldn't know what to do. "Social services were here wanting to speak to you because you're Harriet's next of kin." John let out a breath that he hadn't been consciously holding; for an awful second he had thought that something else had gone terribly wrong. "They'll want to speak to you at some point." Doctor Mitchell continued, he paused for a second. "Would you like to see him?"
"Please." John's voice was weak.
"Alright, come this way." He said, leading them in through the secure door. "I have to ask you to put on these gowns, it's just to prevent any infections or outside bacteria getting into the unit." John nodded, accepting the gown and rubbing sanitary gel into his hands' Sherlock did the same as John. "I'll take you over then." He took them over to the empty bay at the end of the room; the tiny baby in the incubator looked so frail, but he was restlessly stirring, kicking his small legs repeatedly. "We were a little concerned about him when he was first brought up, he is very small – but he's proven to be remarkably robust!"
"Just like his mum." John whispered, so quietly that only Sherlock heard him speak. There was a tube up the baby's nose, but apart from that he was small but perfectly formed.
"You can put your hand through here," The doctor said, indicating a slot in the plastic. "So you can touch him." John extended his hand very slowly, shaking slightly and slid his hand into the gap until his fingers were in line with the baby's hand; carefully he stroked his skin and the baby stopped wiggling so restlessly. "He obviously knows it's you." Dr. Mitchell said kindly. "I'll leave you here; if you need anything just give one of us a shout." He left; John still appeared to be amazed by the existence of the small child and it's response to his touch.
"Oh god Sherlock…" John said quietly, "Look at him." Sherlock was doing so, but the small human that was lying in front of him didn't hold nearly as much wonder as he must do for John, he had to subdue himself from saying 'so what?'. "I don't know what to do…"
"About what?" Sherlock responded.
"About him!"
"You do what feels right, or what you feel Harry would be happy with." Sherlock answered honestly, John was chewing his lip.
"How… How could I give him away? He's the last bit of Harry." John seemed to be reprimanding himself. "But – but… I'm not a parent! I'm not parent material; I wouldn't know how to do anything!" John wasn't shouting, but the anxiety was ringing through his voice.
"Do you think Harriet was parent material?" Sherlock asked quickly, "Do you think she had all the answers?" John looked down.
"She didn't… She wanted me to help." John murmured.
"Being a parent doesn't give you all the answers, it just makes you want the best for your child. Harry would have wanted the best for her son – and she knew you would too." Sherlock said wisely.
"I suppose…" John nodded, his finger still stroking the baby's arm. "I just… he's so fragile, he needs so much protection. I don't know if I can give him that." Sherlock reached out and placed a hand firmly on John's shoulder, squeezing slightly.
"The only thing you need to do, whatever your choice, is try to do your best, and that would be good enough for anyone." Sherlock answered calmly, John nodded.
"John Watson?" A young woman in a neat suit had appeared at the end of the bay accompanied by Dr. Mitchell. Sherlock looked up, seated in a chair next to the cot and John had to tear away his gaze, which had been fixed on the baby for almost an hour now.
"Yes?" He answered, looking in between Dr. Mitchell and the woman.
"I'm Miss. Cunningham, I'm from social services – could I possibly have a quick chat with you?" She was smiling, but her voice was very solemn.
"Right now?" John asked, looking back down at his nephew.
"If that's possible. There's just a few little things that need sorted out." She answered, John was silent for a moment and then slowly removed his hand from inside the incubator.
"Can I bring my friend too?" Miss. Cunningham's eyes flickered to Sherlock and back to John.
"Of course." She nodded, but the tone of her voice and the smirk on her face clearly said that she was wondering about the propensity of the word "friend". John moved to follow her and Sherlock followed. She led them out of the secure ward and along the corridor, into a family room which was lined with chairs. She paused, seemingly in waiting for John and Sherlock to sit down, but neither of them obliged.
"John Watson… sister of Harriet Watson?" Miss. Cunningham asked, sitting herself down promptly and rifling through her bag to find a folder of papers; this must be her every day but John stared at her in amazement, everything about her was so cold… so clinical.
"Uh, y-yes." John stammered uncertainly.
"I just want to go over some legalities with you." She pulled a file of papers onto her lap and opened the documents. "You are Harriet's next of kin, therefore at this current moment any power over the child is held by you." John nodded. "We will have to try and find the child's father…" She began, but Sherlock cut her off.
"We're currently filing for legal guardianship, and searching for Harry's ex-partner and the father of the child." He told her very curtly. "Is there any actual legalities that you need to go over right now, or can you wait until we've filed our documentation?"
"Well, I – " She seemed taken aback by Sherlock's abruptness and his knowledge of the following procedures that needed to be completed.
"Just – it's been a very trying time for John." Sherlock oozed, using just the right tone to play on her sympathetic resonances and he laid a hand on John's shoulder again. "Could you perhaps give us a number and we could call you if we can't get the legal documents sorted?" Miss. Cunningham was looking startled, eyes flickering from Sherlock to John and back to Sherlock again.
"Yes… I suppose, I can give you my business card. You seem to have everything in hand at the moment, but you will be aware that at the current moment you cannot take the baby out of the hospital?" She requested, finding a small card holder from inside her leather bag and producing one to hand to Sherlock.
"Even if the baby was well enough to leave the hospital, we wouldn't do anything before consulting with you first." Sherlock assured her.
"Right, well… You've got my number if you need it." She had shoved the paper file back into her bag and stood up, straightening her pencil skirt.
"Yes, thank you very much." Sherlock sounded convincing even, John just kept his mouth clamped shut; Miss. Cunningham closed the door behind her and there was a split pause where the two of them were silent before Sherlock removed his hand from John's shoulder and muttered: "Good riddance." John stared at him. "What?" Sherlock asked when he noticed the stare that John was giving him.
"Just… how you handled her." John answered.
"Well," Sherlock waved his hand disapprovingly, "We don't need social services buzzing about – I can get Mycroft to help with anything that we need doing." John sat down in one of the chairs and stayed silent for a period of time; Sherlock was gazing out of the window, respecting John's silence.
"I…" John started suddenly then faded away very abruptly, he took an audible breath. "I don't think I can give him away…" He managed the sentence this time.
"I didn't really expect you to." Sherlock answered, turning back from the window. "If you had then you wouldn't be the John Watson that I know."
"But… it's so complicated…" John sighed. "There are so many things I'll have to sort out and think about… he doesn't even have a name yet!"
"You'll be able to think of everything, and there are people who can help."
"Yes…" John agreed slowly.
"Shall we go back and see him?" Sherlock suggested.
"Yes." John answered, more decisively this time and stood up from his chair.
A/N: Again - I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter/story so far!