"John, what the hell? You left me to deal with a baby! You left me in the hospital and someone had to take it home and it had to be me, there is a sleeping baby upstairs, your sleeping baby! Where the hell are you? If you come home drunk then I swear to God that baby is going straight into care. Babies need looking after, it's mother's gone, it needs you. Just come home."

~O~

"I won't be angry. I won't put him in care but it's gone twelve and he's still here without you. He's crying and I don't know what to do, he's your son, come home."

~O~

"What do I call him? At the moment it's baby because you need to give him a name. Hurry up and come home, I won't care in what state you're in, I'll help you, I need you home, John. Now."

~O~

When John eventually walked through the door at one in the morning he stank of beer and couldn't help but laugh at the sight of Sherlock Holmes holding a tiny baby in his arms, rocking him and holding a bottle to his lips. "Shut up and sit down." Sherlock whispered. The baby's big brown eyes seeked out the source of laugher and he watched the drunk man stumbled around. Then he started crying, his fear ran through him as this big, unsteady man was stumbling around and making loud sounds. "Jesus, John. I had just got him nearly sleeping. Just sit down and be quiet." Sherlock snapped.

He made his way upstairs while carrying the baby, he continued feeding him and he seemed to rest now that he was away from John, he seemed to relax because the scary man wasn't there making noises. Sherlock smiled down at his face as he yawned, opening his mouth in a big 'O' and clapping his toothless gums together. His blinking became slower until eventually, just after Sherlock had put him in the crib and hummed softly, they closed completely and he fell asleep.

Sherlock then walked out of the room and quietly tip-toed down the stairs so he didn't wake the baby boy.

"Where have you been?" He asked John, though it was obvious he was out getting rat-assed. His hands picked up all the toys that he'd attempted to calm Johns son with and he put them back on the shelf reserved for them.

"I'm not sss-sure." John slurred. He was now sitting in his chair. His eyes were red and swollen, he'd been crying, but they also had a slight bump and a small bruise, he'd been fighting.

"Who did that?" Sherlock reached out to touch the bruise softly, knowing that it was a man about his size, much taller than John but also more muscular than both of them.

"Gerroff!" John shouted as he pushed Sherlock's hand away. "Some guy was laughing about something and I said 'ssssssshhhhhhhhh' and he punched me." John shrugged and stood up quickly so he was mere inches from Sherlock, "I need to see my son." He stated as he made his way to the stairs.

"Not in that state. I just got him to sleep and you are being loud. In the morning when you are sober." Sherlock said as he grabbed Johns arm. Despite the fact that John was noticeably more muscular than Sherlock, Sherlock was definitely stronger.

"Fine. Morning. Now I'm to bed." He said, he stumbled up the stairs but ended up collapsing on the first step and trying to crawl up, though it looked like he was attempting to swim up the stairs.

"Sofa." Sherlock commanded. He steered the man to the sofa and pushed him down. The then tugged off his shoes and threw a blanket over the man, who was already snoring softly.

~O~

When John woke up it was to the sound of a baby crying in the other room, he rubbed his head and then opened his eyes. A half-full sick bucket sat in front on him on the sofa, funny, he didn't remember being sick. A full glass of water was on the table and he reached over to grab it, drinking like it was the first water he'd had in years of walking through the deserts plains of Africa. He managed to steady his shaking hands and pull himself off the couch to walk, slowly, to the dividing door of the kitchen.

"Shh, baby, it's okay." Sherlock whispered to the baby who was grizzling away in his arms, "Daddy's sleeping next door, it'll be okay just be quiet and let him sleep." Sherlock's voice was quiet but the baby was crying so loud that he didn't notice the sound of Johns entering.

"I'm up now." He smiled and looked at Sherlock, who was now facing him, and the baby, who was also watching him. "Can I see him?" His voice sounded so groggy and he hated how much his throat hurt.

"Hold him, I'll make coffee." Sherlock said, blatantly relieved to have a moment away from the crying, one-day-old spawn.

When John smiled down at his sons face a name instantly popped into his face. He still had a headache and his whole body hurt so he sat down as he whispered, "Hello baby Hamish." And stroked a finger through his soft, short curls.

Sherlock regarded the situation fondly, the boy had stopped crying and John had given him a name, Hamish. A good name.

"I'm sorry John." Sherlock said softly. "There will be no better time to tell you this than now, Mary left a letter amongst the baby things, I found it when searching for toys and it's addressed to you. I didn't open it, it's on the table." Sherlock nodded to the table, a plate of bacon sat next to the letter, clearly showing that he thought John should eat something.

"I'll read it later, if that's okay with you?" John said as he placed a piece of bacon in his mouth and smiled half heartedly at Sherlock. "Thanks for the bucket and the water. Um, big help." He said sheepishly.

"It's fine." Sherlock nodded once and turned around to face John and Hamish, "He has your curls and your nose, but definitely Mary's eyes." He stated. He'd committed every part of this scene to memory.

"I'm sorry, about not coming in until late. Mary died and I had a new son and I couldn't cope with it." John said quietly, "I turned to what Harry does at times like that and I drank."

"It's fine, just don't do it again. Kids may be easy to look after but he needs his dad."

"I won't." John smiled.

~O~

John.

I told Sherlock to give you this letter if I ever passed away, because you needed to know the truth, and I feared you would not understand had I done it while I was still alive.

Before I start, I hope you know I love you. And I'll continue to. And I truly am sorry.

I knew you, before we met... Someone told me to watch you. Spy, if you like. On you, and Sherlock.

I felt awful. Believe me. I watched you fall for me, gradually, as I got to know you. And I tried not to fall for you, either, but I fell unconditionally. I was infatuated with you. You were so kind.

I continued to work for the person. My relationship with you became more important, and I told him I couldn't lie to you anymore.

Moriarty was who I was working for. 'Working' is probably the wrong word. He's my brother. I never intended to lead you on, and I never lied to you either, but I didn't want to ruin what we had. I'd never been happier, and you told me you hadn't either.

Our wedding was my happiest moment. The simple ceremony we agreed on. You weren't happy that Sherlock wasn't there, obviously, but I told you we couldn't wait for someone who would never be able to attend.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was so happy. We were happy. All the pieces had finally fit together. Our little twins were going to be so perfect.

Sherlock returned, nevertheless, and I felt like I was losing you, gradually. And then I lost one of the babies and I felt like it was all out of control.

The doctor told me, at a consultation, that there was a bigger chance I would die during childbirth than surviving. Although it broke my heart, I didn't ever want you to worry. I'd hurt you enough, despite you not knowing. I didn't and still don't want you to blame yourself for what happened, because you were the best thing that has happened to me. You saved me, John, in everyway I could be saved. You helped me be happy and understand what I was missing out on in my life.

I love you John. I only regret that I can spend the rest of my life with you but you can't spend yours with me.

-Mary. xxx