Okay, a little bit of a filler but I hope you like it anyways.
John had not slept. Most of his night his mind had been spinning with thoughts of Sherlock and Hamish. He couldn't help his slight jealousy at the way Hamish seemed to be taking to Sherlock. It was unexplainable because Sherlock had never shown any interest in children before. And Hamish was shy of adults. It was like the last three years John had thought that raising a child was difficult most times but fun sometimes and definitely worth it in the long run. It was as if the bond between a child and it's natural parent was shining through. It was as if his relationship with Hamish was missing something.
He had spent year wanting Sherlock back, wanting a fairy tale family. But now he was here his emotions were far from simple. His emotions towards Sherlock were also mixed, he kept finding himself staring at the man stunned that he was back. At other times the way he looked at John, the half little smiles that he occasionally gave him made him damned right horny. He could still remember what it felt like, to be with Sherlock. What it felt like to be solving a crime with Sherlock. The tours around spots of London most people didn't get to see, the endless nights going over things or watching Sherlock staring intently down a microscope and that moment, that wonder ful moment where something he said was of help or when he actually caught a glimpse into Sherlock's mind and the way he thought and saw a wonderful well organized but lonely place. But those days were over, the great Sherlock Holmes had somehow been broken. John was terrified that he wouldn't love Sherlock without the excitement, was it the man he had loved or the lifestyle that had come with him?
He was aware of the fact that lying less than a foot away from him Sherlock was also wide awake. He wondered what his fears were. Was he scared of not being a good father as John had been when he had first found Hamish on his doorstep. Was he shocked at suddenly finding himself a father? Was he thinking of her? The woman. He knew he was worried abut what to do next with his life but was he also mentally scared by what had happened in the past three years? He did seem to lack a little of the cockiness John remembered.
When the first rays of light started to filter through the curtains John got up. He could feel Sherlock's eyes on him.
"John?" Sherlock said.
"Coffee?" John tried to make his voice lighthearted.
"Yes please. And pain killers."
John turned to look at him.
"Odd choice for breakfast, I was going to make pancakes."
Sherlock didn't answer.
John got up sighing and went into he kitchen and made coffee. Making a decision as he did so, it had to be done it was in Sherlock's best interests even if he did not like it.
John searched his top cupboards. It had been a long day yesterday so hopefully Hamish would be asleep for a while longer all tuckered out. Though really sometimes children never seemed to function in the same way everybody else did or in the ways that his medical text books and parenting guides had told him they should.
But John felt by the stillness of the flat that he had a little time. He grabbed the bottle of cleaning fluid and one of antiseptic cream and pads of wool and went back to the bedroom where Sherlock was still lying on his good side.
"Shirt off."
"How very forwards of you." Sherlock said glancing up at him.
"Sorry, I'm not putting up with your defensiveness this morning." John made a grab at his shirt (he had thrown it at Sherlock the night before). Sherlock grabbed his wrist.
"I can do it myself."
John tried not to stare brazenly as Sherlock undid the buttons slowly revealing inch by inch of pale flawless skin. That was until he leaned slightly and pulled his arm out of one sleeve showing the mottled red scaring. John let out the breath he didn;t know he was holding. The scaring was something he was going to have to come to accept. Sherlock was no longer physical perfection, but he was still as close as John had ever seen. He should question the fact that he was thinking that about a man but he just had too many things to think of and worry about to let that one take up much of his energy.
Sherlock stared intently at him as he poured the solution on the wool and started to carefully clean the acid burn. It was almost healed but had done so badly patched of his flesh were uneven like the bumps of a war torn land. There was one patch near his waist band where the acid had pooled and had longer to eat at his flesh that had not yet healed completely. Sherlock winced and closed his eyes as John cleaned away the slightly green crusting revealing blood and pus.
"Not deep enough for stitching." John said trying to keep his voice from shaking.
"Just patch me up."
"I'm going to.. You know there's always plastic surgery if it bothers you that much."
"No."
"Is there a reason why?"
"I need it."
John fund himself shaking his head.
"Why?"
"Because it reminds me."
"Of what?"
Sherlock took a deep breath. John knew he was closing himself off again. Bringing down the walls and shutting John out.
"Are you done yet."
"I'm going o put on antiseptic cream, then wrap it. It's going to sting a bit."
Sherlock nodded but he still flinched slightly when the cream first touched him.
"Sorry."
"It's just cold."
John carried on biting his own lip when he reached the bloody dent knowing that it must have been hurting him but Sherlock seemed to be absent, he'd shut himself off from what was going on. John had seen him do that before when working on case but usually he was quite whinny when it came to pain.
"I don't like it when you look at me like a doctor." He said suddenly.
"I could never look at you like a doctor." John smiled. "You'd be the worst patient in the world."
Sherlock didn't acknowledge it.
John wrapped the wound, bandages covering the lower part of his body. Then he got up and left him to think or regain his dignity or whatever it was Sherlock did when he was closed off like this.
John was half way through making breakfast (scrambled eggs on toast) when he heard the door to the kitchen creak open and podgy little fingers holding the door open before a curly little head appeared from behind he door rubbing at his eyes.
"You should have stayed in bed a little longer if you're still tired."
Hamish scowled for a second looking just like a miniature of his father and then climbed up onto his usual chair.
John put a plastic plate of eggs and toast in front of him and then poured orange juice.
They sat silently across from each other as Hamish ate.
"You're not scared of Sherlock any more."
Hamish shook his head.
"You like him?"
Hamish nodded still eating.
"He'll be pleased about that." John said more to himself than to his little adopted son.
Hamish seemed to notice though and looked up at him with a tilt of the head.
John took a deep sigh. He didn;t know how to explain to a two year old that his long missing father had just turned up in his life. Did he even really need to explain, Hamish was young, he might just grow to understand who Sherlock was and the part he played in his life. No, he had to say something, however ineffective it might be he had to try. Hamish would sense something was up at some point and who knows what affects such a small child?
"Hamish. I have something important to talk to you about."
Hamish looked up at him, expression open and trusting.
"Sherlock is.. he's not like you're uncle Greg. I mean he's not just going to turn up at weekends. He's going to be here... a lot. For the rest of your life. He... he belongs to you in the same way I belong to you."
John sighed and hid his face in his hands.
"Do you understand?" He asked when he finally felt able to look up into those deep blue eyes.
"He's.. unckie.. like .. John." Hamish said slowly.
"Yes, I know that's difficult to understand."
"Why did you never get him to call you Daddy?"
John looked up to see Sherlock staring at him from the door.
John shot a look at Hamish who was turning in his chair to see Sherlock.
"Because..." John said wondering if Sherlock would ever understand when a conversation was appropriate or not. "I'm not his Dad, I'm his Uncle."
"Not really."
"You know why I didn't get him to call me Dad, I thought the one who owned that title might come back."
"You can't have him. I adopted him, I am legally his guardian. I'm not ready to be a parent. I can't even keep a pot plant alive." Sherlock said sarcastically.
John sighed.
"Alright alright. I'm sorry I said that. I didn;t mean it, I was angry and you've changed."
Sherlock's lips pursed and he looked away for a second.
"I was constantly changing, ever since I meet you I wasn;t the same person. Started noticing matters I'd previously found unimportant. I started caring. And it broke me."
John stood up and walked over to Sherlock placing his hand on his shoulder and trying to look in his eyes.
"Whatever happened. You can tell me, I won't run away."
Sherlock looked at him for a moment, his eyes making John's heart beat faster.
"Why do you think you're broken Sherlock?"
Sherlock looked at Hamish.
"What are you doing with him today?"
"Sundays are anything goes really. I can ask Mrs. Hudson to look after him again if you want to talk."
John expected Sherlock to turn around and say 'talking, please, what good has talking ever done anyone?' but he didn't.
"Yes."
John nodded.
"Come on, come have breakfast then I'll phone Mrs Hudson."