I know it's been like ages since I updated, but I've been putting most of my time on my new crime!fic 'Hamish, the invisible boy' another parentlock of mine. Make sure to check it out.

But anyway, here's a new chapter for you, hope you enjoy.

Three days later Hamish was released from the hospital. A fever was still bothering him and he slept all the way home in the cab leaning against Sherlock who continuously stroke his hair. John held his little hand his his, massaged his fingers with still blue nails. It was a permit, nothing more. If his lungs would react negatively to his homecoming he would go straight back to the hospital bed with the tubes in his nose. But John took his precautions, the day before the resignation he'd brought home a gas tank just in case. He knew more than well how quickly an pneumonia could take a turn for the worse and Hamish needed all the oxygen he could get in that case.

Sherlock picked the boy up in his arms and held him tight to his chest as he stepped out of the car and felt every little breath to the skin of his neck, it was like an insurance to feel them, a sign of the little life that the boy fought to keep inside him. The detective wobbled back and forth on the short stairs and waited for his husband to unlock the door when Hamish made his first sound in a long time. The cough tore through his throat and he stroke his back where he stood, felt every cramp and spasm through his little body. This cold air did him no good in this state.

"Dad?" he croaked and tightened his grip around the curls between his short fingers.

"I know, handsome." he whispered and hurried through the door as John held it open. "But look, we're home now." Hamish lifted his heavy head and stared out over the hall like this place was unknown to him, his blue eyes glistened in the soft gloom and his blushing cheeks burn against his father's cheek. This state he was in was not at all recommended for a homecoming. But both his parents thought he would make a much quicker recovery in a place where he felt more home. The doctor and the detective was ready to take the responsibility necessary to take care of their own son without the awful hospital-environment surrounding them.

He gave a second raspy cough as they climbed the stairs, one that could cut the fragile flesh inside his throat and the pain brought tears to his eyes once more. It seemed like he didn't do much more than cry these days, but what else could he do? Body was weak and burning, he felt useless and robbed of his vessel, he was ashamed of himself.

Sherlock plopped down in his armchair with the boy still pressed to his chest and started to pull his small clothes. As soon as they hit the floor and the boy shivered in nothing more than a t-shirt and a pair of sweat-pants, Sherlock wound the big blanket around him that fitted around his small body more than once. The warmth was more than welcome and when his father finally put his arms around him again he couldn't do much more than just sleep and hope that his coughing would take a break for an hours or two.

Sherlock stroke the dark hair out of the boy's clammy face and watched him as he slept against his shoulder. He looked swollen and beaten, a side effect from the medication he was on. Sherlock hardly recognised him, he looked half his age a least. The chubby baby he once was and all the detective could to was trace those puffy cheeks with one of his slender finger and sigh. It didn't matter how real this situation they're in was, he would never fully believe it.

Boe then made his entrance, he meowed loudly and toke a trip around John's legs, pressed himself to the jeans and spread his scent to get rid of the horrible detergent smell of hospital. The black fur tainted the blue jeans and John bowed to pick him up.

"Boe?" Hamish croaked and opened his eyes again. "Where's Boe?" John made his way over to the chairs and Sherlock unfolded the blanket to let the cat rest upon the boy's heaving chest. The cat didn't protest but collapsed as the warmth of his owner and the blanket came over him and Hamish swaddled the both and held the animal. He stroke its fur, let the cat press his forehead to his hands and he smiled happily.

"Did you miss him?" Sherlock murmured with a voice coming from somewhere deep down in his chest and Hamish blinked tiredly when he felt the vibrations. All he could do was nod, of course he had. His own cat, little Boe that he'd saved from the hostile shrubbery and his experimental father. There was no words that could explain how much he's missed this little black demon as his father called him.

He petted his gently and the wet nose came in contact with his chin, made him tremble again and the cat started to press his paws to his chest in a painful, but relaxing, massage that helped his hurting lungs. What an intelligent cat he owned.

"Ho-ho?" There was a slight knock on their door and Sherlock tore his gaze from his son's face and looked up at the woman dressed his pink in the doorway, clutching a tray of homemade cookies in the wrinkly hands. Even Boe smelled the air as it was filled the the scent of sweat oatmeal and raisins, but Hamish didn't. The sleepiness was all over him and there was nothing that could save him from it. He didn't even notice the questions that was directed to him until Sherlock shook his shoulder lightly.

"Handsome? D'you think you could handle a cookie?"

'No' was he wanted to answer, but he knew that if he opened his mouth nothing more than coughing would escape his sore throat, so he just shook his head and returned to stroking Boe's velvety fur.

"Sugar would do you some good." John insisted and placed the cookie in his trembling hand. "Just nibble it, okay? You like granny's cookies." He did, and he always had. He stared at the sweet and saw the crusty brown edges and chewy middle, it did look tempting. As soon as he sank his teeth into it he realised how hungry he'd actually been these last couple of hours and his stomach made an intimidating growl, nearly threatening and the sweetness of the cookies danced on his tongue that hadn't met food for ages it seemed.

"D'you want some milk?" Sherlock asked in a weak whisper and saw the boy nod. "John?"

"Of course." John chimed and carried a smile that brightened his face's complexion, just happy to see his son eating on his own again even if it wasn't more than simple sweets. He disappeared into the kitchen and Mrs. Hudson made her way over to the two boys in the chair.

"Oh, Hay. If you only knew hat a mouthful your little kitty has been." she chirped and placed a hand on top of his head, played with the dark strands of hair that had formed a birds nest. "He sneaked out of the flat the other day and made his way into my place." Hamish just smiled and tried not to giggle. "I think you two are perfect for each other."

"He needs someone to look after him." he croaked and closed his eyes as his head fell to his father's shoulder. "I can't do it while I'm sick."

"We'll all be here to look after you both." John whispered and held the glass under his runny nose. "Milk, love?" He took a sip while John held it for him and the creamy taste sent sparks up his brain. That IV had't given him much more that nutrition. He would never understand how his father could go so many days without a single bite.

"I need to sleep." he moaned and wiped his lips with the blanket.

"Please do." Sherlock murmured and held him a little tighter and that's when Hamish understood. This is where he was going to sleep, right here in his father's arms just like when he was a infant. His father would not let him go now when he had him again, and he finally relaxed, made himself comfortable in the boney arms and placed his head heavily upon the pointy shoulder. Then he slept again, let go of the stressful world around him and let the darkness overcome his mind.

The detective didn't let go of the boy once he had him. He sat in the chair, stared out over the room and sometimes he inspected his son, took his temperature and breathing and smothered the wild hair that hadn't been washed for days. He remembered that John was sick enough to scare him. It was his appendicitis that was about to burst and his doctor had staggered around in the flat, popping pills but hurled them up a second later and his pain only grew until he fainted in the kitchen. Sherlock remember himself pulling his hair, the rest was just a wild blur and he could remember who or how he got John to the hospital, but he knew it went fast.

This time he felt worse, this was something he could have stopped, he should never let his concentration go to deep to forget about Hamish. It still felt like his doing, his fault that his son was now fighting pains and discomfort.

John hurried across the floor and put a steaming cup of tea in the side table beside the tray of cookies and then caressed Hamish's cheek with his warm hand while smiling. Then he fell down in his own chair across from the carpet and sipped from his cup.

"I don't think I've seen you two so close since he was born." he smiled and grabbed his third cookie for today. Then he saw the blanket move over their son's chest and he chuckled. "Is Boe still in there?" Sherlock just nodded, but this time with a warm smile on his heart shaped lips.

"He's not left his side since we got home." he answered secretly amazed of the connection those two actually had. Maybe this was why people enjoyed having pets as company so much, they were loyal and caring. Maybe Boe tried to repay the favour, a life for a life.

"They really like each other." the doctor grinned and kicked off his shoes. "I know you don't like pets but I think you have to get used to this one."

"I already have." Sherlock murmured and touched the little nose sticking out of the fluffy blanket. "They're perfect for each other it seems."

"How old d'you think he is?"
"You're asking me?" Sherlock frowned and saw the cat yawn and squirming out of the boy's grip. It stretched in that way that always would amaze the detective and it jumped to the floor with its broken leg still in that weird angle.

"You're the detective."

"You're the doctor. I think you're more capable of answering that question."

"Dad?" The croaking voice sounded from the blanket and Sherlock turned his gaze to Hamish's pale face. "Where did Boe go?"

"He took a trip to the kitchen." he answered and circled his ear with one of his fingers. "He might come back. Are you hungry?" He swallowed and shook his head.

"I want to take a bath."

"That sound like a good idea." John chimed and put away his cup. "Wash that hospital filth away. Let's bring the tank as well incase the water gives you a shock."

Sherlock heaved himself up from the chair and carried the cocoon of a boy through the flat and into the bathroom, he didn't open his eyes once during the short trip and as they reached the room he realised he had to take his clothes off. Just the thought of it made him shiver.

"I'm not gonna bring it to hot." John explained and turned on the water. "Just enough so your fever wont get higher, okay?" Sherlock placed him in the counter and unfolded the thick blanket around him, he trembled violently when he pulled the shirt off him and in pained both his parents to see him like this. He gave a strangle cry when the could came over him and he lost control of his own body into trembling and Sherlock cradled his head to his chest and felt the tears soaking his shirt.

"Hey." he mumbled and kissed his temple. "We're getting you into the water now, okay? Are you ready?" He just nodded and pinned himself a little harder to Sherlock's shoulders and he lifted the naked boy off the counter. "Feet goes first." he warned as he leaned over the water and brought him down. A second cry slipped over his lips as the water reached him.

"It's cold!" he shrieked and tried to pull himself up in his father's arms again.

"It's not cold, it's perfectly warm."
"It's cold!" the boy persisted and sobbed loudly into the crock of his neck.

"I'll hold you." Sherlock promised and stepped into the bathtub, the water soaked his clothes as he sat down and cradled his son to his chest. "Better?" Hamish neither answered or complained, just sobbed and John fell to his knees by the edge.

"Hamish?" he asked and cupped his hands under the surface and poured the hot water over his head. "There's nothing to be scared of okay?" He was on the edge of being delirious with this fever boiling under his skin and he had intentionally poured nothing warmer than lukewarm water into the tub, they needed to lower it before it went to high and they needed to bring him back to were they just came from. "Let's wash that nest of yours."

The room was soon to be filled by the smell of mint as they washed his dirty hair and Hamish took deep breaths of the smell, let it calm him a bit since this reminded him of home where everything was familiar and safe, and soon enough the world started to get clearer around him. The dizziness eased and his limbs hurt less for each second, but he was still cold, shivering violently.

"Hamish?" his soaked father behind him asked and he opened his eyes again, saw his doctor of a father observing him worriedly as he washed the soap off his skin. "Are you still with us?" The boy took a deep breath and felt the tears still falling.

"It hurts to breathe again." he moaned and shut his eyes hard. "It burns in my chest."
"I'm gonna let you sleep with the oxygen mask in later, okay? Just like at the hospital."

"Do I have to?" he asked sadly and John saw his bottom lip tremble as he held back the sobs.

"It wont hurt to breathe with that on." he explained and washed his little blue hands. "It's for your own good, okay?" Hamish sniffled and nodded, grabbed a hold of Sherlock's wet trousers and bundled up his face in a painful grimace.

"I wanna get out." he cried and Sherlock wound his arms around him to pick him up. The doctor made himself ready with a towel and Sherlock passed him over to his arms, kissed his face multiple times as he dried him.

"It's okay, love." he whispered and rubbed his skin. "Just a few more days and then you will be your normal self again."

"I wanna be my normal self now." he sobbed and took a deep rough breath. "I don't like this."

"I know." John murmured and saw his husband step out of his wet clothes. "But what can we do, huh? Just lots and lots of hot chocolate and sweets and it will finally pass. But for now, let's get you into a pyjamas and put you down on the sofa. We'll watch some cartoons, okay?"

Hamish nodded with is head buried in the soft towel. That sounded like a good idea.

As always, feel free to leave a review, they will always brighten my day.