Two more miracles chapter four
John knew that Sherlock was following him as he walked back into the living room but he didn't turn around. He was determined not to pay any attention to the man. Missed him? He had missed him? How dare he say that when he had never written? If John missed somebody then he would do whatever it took to get in contact with them. John himself had missed Sherlock and if he had had the first clue where to look for the insufferable man he would have written to him. A long note reminding him that he loved him, that he thought he was amazing and that he was back in Baker street waiting for him. Oh and by the way, you have a son. I named him Hamish because after a week of referring to him as 'the mini Holmes' Mrs. Hudson decided that he needed a name.
I put in the adoption papers yesterday. Bit difficult to explain where exactly I got a baby but being a doctor they were willing to believe that a) a baby had been left on my doorstep and b) I am fit to look after a child. I'm going to be Uncle John. I've no idea if that's appropriate but I don't exactly have anybody I can ask about what to have your absent one nights stands child calls you.
He said his first word yesterday, it was Dog. He likes animals. He always smiles at them on our walks.
You've missed so much.
He's walking and he calls me Onkie John. Are you ever coming back?
He sighed and looked down at Hamish who was sitting on the rug next to his toy box and starting to pull out the little toy bricks. He was a quiet child, unusually serious perhaps but very loving. Sometimes as he watched him John felt his heart swell. It was difficult to remind himself that the boy was not actually his son. He had done the three am feeds and been thrown up on and peed on. He had watched the child grow and tried desperately to keep up with all the laundry and housework and shopping and juggle the baby and work. He had fallen asleep sometimes in his office absolutely exhausted. He had smiled and laughed at the first steps and been fascinated by how fast the boy went from first words to second to twentieth. It had all been worth it. He was starting to think of himself as Hamish's father, last week he had called Hamish his son in a conversation with his receptionist. Then this week Sherlock had turned up. John just did not know what to think.
"You okay Hamish?" He asked smiling at the child he loved.
Hamish nodded.
"Mrs. Hudson has gone to bed. What do you want for lunch? Ham sandwiches?"
Hamish looked up and nodded again.
"Nana."
"You want a Banana?"
" Ba...nana." Hamish tried again.
"What's the word?"
"Pwease Onkle John."
John turned and looked at Sherlock. He was staring at Hamish again and it was so odd. They both had the same expression of concentration on their faces.
"Hamish come here."
The little boy looked up and then placed his hands on the floor getting onto all fours before standing up and running to John. He grabbed his legs and hid behind them. John found himself sighing again. Hamish was shy, but only if he felt he had to talk in front of somebody other than John, Mrs. Hudson or the women at his daycentre.
"Hamish, this is my... friend." He was certainly not going to introduce him to a father who may decide that he needs to disappear again or is going to get arrested.
Hamish looked Sherlock up and down wearily. Sherlock just stared straight at John questioning look in his eyes.
"He scary."
"He's even more so when you get to know him." John said then wishing he had bit his tongue he bent down and took Hamish by the shoulders. "He's really nice. Why don't you show him your bricks?"
Hamish nodded.
John turned to Sherlock.
"Sherlock play bricks with him and for god's sake don't be yourself."
Sherlock stared at John for a long moment and then he bent down in front of Hamish. He smiled widely as he held his hand out to him.
"Hello, Sherlock Holmes. Pleasure to meet you."
Hamish looked at his hand looked up at John then turned around to play with his bricks.
John decided to just leave them to it for five minutes. He doubted that Sherlock could do too much psychological damage in just five minutes. Well, to a two year old who probably only understood one in five words in every sentence Sherlock spoke. He needed the time in the kitchen away from the both of them. He needed a little time to think. He shut the double doors behind him and started making the lunch.
How were they meant to do this? How was he meant to introduce Sherlock to his son? To teach him how to look after him? Then what would happen to John? And did Sherlock even want anything to do with Hamish? He had come back because he wanted to see John but he doubted that they would make any sort of family. Sherlock was not the sort of person who should be around a kid, he was the sort of person who got blown up and shot at and sometimes arrested. And he was the kind of guy who thought that being blown up and shot at and arrested was a good price to pay for an interesting puzzle. Domestic bliss was not in his vocabulary.
There was only so much time John could spend arranging slices of sweet red pepper on a plate. Eventually he knew he had to go back in and face the reality of the situation. His ex-lover (if he could call him that after one night perhaps ex-partner would be batter, more ambiguous) and his child.
As John slid the doors back open he saw Sherlock sat on the floor with Hamish holding a brick and listing what sounded like chemical compounds.
"What are you doing?" John asked trying to make his tone as conversational as possible so as to not upset Hamish.
"I'm explaining to Hamish the chemical composition of blue paint."
"He doesn't understand that, he's two."
Hamish smiled and pointed to the brick Sherlock was holding.
"Blue Brick."
Sherlock gave John his little 'I told you so smile'.
Hamish reached down and picked up another brick and handed it to Sherlock.
"Red Brick."
"Ah, yes well the chemical components are actually quiet different..."
"Hamish go wash your hands it's lunch time."
`The little boy ran off to the bathroom. John put the sandwich and a banana on the coffee table. Then he turned to Sherlock.
"Let's talk." He said walking back into the kitchen and making sure to close the door firmly behind them so that Hamish would not overhear. He and Sherlock spent a moment staring at each other in silence.
"He is my son." Sherlock finally stated managing to look slightly bashful.
"You figured that one out have you?"
"It is obvious. "
"He looks like you."
"That is why it is obvious."
They reached another impasse. Again it was Sherlock who broke it.
"Why does he call you Uncle John?"
John shifted his weight and licked his lip. This was becoming one of his top ten difficult conversations including three where he had to tell the wives of his fallen companions that their husbands were not coming back and the time when he had walked in on a teenage Harry performing fellatrix on the girl he had asked to the prom.
"He was left here Sherlock, with a note from Irene Adler saying she was not mothering material. Which is obvious seeing as she left a baby with a supposedly dead man."
"She probably did not know that I was supposed to e dead she has been living out in Asia. Still doesn't answer my question."
"I raised him. I had no choice, he had nobody else."
"There was Mycroft or Mother."
"Mycroft and mumsy think that both you and Irene Alder are dead. How are you supposed to make a baby from the grave? I mean I know you are the great all knowing Sherlock Holmes but I think that ones past you."
Sherlock did that thing he does where he turns slightly to one side as if literally looking at something from a different perspective.
"You are annoyed at me."
"Yes Sherlock ,I am bloody annoyed."
"You are aware I did not contact you so that I would not risk putting you or myself into any danger."
"There must have been some way."
"There was not. John, a lot of people were involved in Moriarty's web. A lot of them are now dead. It was better that I had time to cover my tracks and collect irrefutable evidence of all moriarty's criminal involvements."
"You mean you killed a lot of people and couldn't let anybody know you were alive before you had a chance to get rid of any evidence that you killed them."
"Do you even understand the term plausible deniability?"
John sighed for perhaps the tenth time in an hour and slammed his hand down on the sideboard.
"John, you are showing physical signs of stress."
"No shit Sherlock. You can't have him. I adopted him, I am legally his guardian and you…you are not ready to be a parent. You can't even keep a pot plant alive."
Sherlock looked at him slightly confused and opened and closed his mouth several times. John looked down, he had been too harsh.
"Look, it's just, you left him here and I had no idea what to do and I care deeply about him."
"Irene Adler left him here. I've only known of his existence for twenty-two minutes and.." Sherlock looked down at his watch. "Thirty seven seconds."
"What do you intend to do about your son?" John asked slowly.
"I do not know."
"Oh great. That you don't know."
"John." Sherlock sighed and started pacing again. "I have never been good with children. Their minds are not fully mature. They do not see the world in the same way that the rest of the general populous does."
"Neither do you. Sherlock, you've just found out you're a father can you try to show some kind of emotional reaction."
"I do not know the correct reaction. I'm sure if you give me time.."
"Time? It's not a case Sherlock. It's not something that you can figure out. You just know somewhere deep inside of you."
"That's not the way I work John, you know that."
John let out a long breath in exasperation. They were quiet again. John started fiddling with the utensils in the washing up bowl.
"Would it help or jeopardize my case if I told you that I thought of you at least once a day and often imagined using my mouth to stimulate your penis until orgasm."
John drops the plate he was holding. As he automatically bent down to pick it up he stared at Sherlock. How could he just casually come out with these things?
"My god you really are gay aren't you?"
"Yes. I would judge you to be too."
"I am not gay."
"You said you loved me and then you kissed me and then you fucked me. I would say you at least have some bisexual tendencies."
"Maybe. " John breathed out. He could admit his attraction to Sherlock. He could even admit that he used to think himself in love with him (he didn't know anymore it had just been too long and it was just too complicated) but still, he did not understand it. There had been lots of woman and only one man and that day was starting to fade from his memory.
They both turned as the kitchen door slide open. Mrs. Hudson walked in still looking slightly pales and shaky on her feet.
"Hello Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock smiled.
John rushed over to take her arm and lead her to a chair.
"Mrs. Hudson, sit down Are you okay?"
"Oh. No. I don't understand. He's meant to be dead." Mrs. Hudson said looking at John with a very lost expression.
"I'm not dead."
"He pretended to be dead because of Moriarty. He was going to kill you and I."
"What? But… but.. what about all those lies?"
"They were lies Mrs. Hudson. Moriarty's lies. Sherlock is the real deal. Think about it, could anybody really pretend to be that big an ass?"
Sherlock's brow furrowed as he frowned.
"No… I suppose not." Mrs. Hudson said putting her head in her hands. "Oh, this is a lot to take in."
"I know. It's a lot for all of us. Mrs. Hudson, are you hurt? You had quiet the nasty fall."
"Yes. I'm fine. But what's going to happen now?"
"I don't know."
Unhappy with this one. I know it's meant to be an awkward situation but it was awkward to write as well.