So I have written a back story to Andrew called "Andrew's Story" It's on my profile if you'd like to read it
Sherlock sat primly at his desk looking over case files sent over by DI Lestrade when his phone went off, he hated being interrupted when he was working, but if it was the DI with more information then he was going to take the call. The Consulting Detective pulled out his mobile and looked at the unfamiliar number, setting it on the table to ring until the person on the other end hung up, which they did. He smirked while getting back to work, what he did not expect was for the strange number to call back, this time he answered.
"Shelock Watson-Holmes, what?" He hated being disturbed when he was working and twice was just two times too many.
"Hello, Mr. Watson-Holmes, I am a nurse at St. Barts and we have reason to believe that your husband, John Watson-Holmes, is here in our care." Her tone was clipped and careful, probably one of the nurses that usually saw him flitting about the hospital. But rather than ripping her to pieces or deducing her over the phone like he usually would have, Sherlock just sat there stunned. The words the nameless nurse spoke cut deep into Sherlock's heart, which only gave proof that he had one, but it was impossible he had to bury his husband already and was not going to allow his hopes to be gotten up by some nurse at the hospital.
"I think you are mistaken," His voice was barely above a whisper when he responded after what seemed an eternity of silence, "my husband was killed in action." Sherlock hung up and let his eyes fall shut. His head then fell to the table making a nice heavy thudding sound that matched the heavy weight in his heart.
There was another ringing sound breaking the silence of the flat, it was the land line that John had insisted they get in case anyone needed anything for Andrew. Grumbling Sherlock dragged himself out of his moping to answer the phone that, recently, hardly ever rang.
"Watson-Holmes residence." Just like John had taught him when they had gotten it.
"Sherlock? What are you still doing at home?!" Molly was on the other line sounding as though she was about to loose her mind. His ears perked up at her tone. Was there a development in the case?
"I'm waiting on Andrew, he's coming home. Why what's happened?" Sherlock was excited Christmas, he thought, was going to come early!
"Mycroft is letting him come home! Oh my God! I'll call Greg! You get here! NOW! It's John." Molly hung up leaving Sherlock in a puddle of cold water.
"But he's dead."
Andrew stared out the window watching the buildings go by, just like always, any other day any other time he would have been ecstatic to home, but not today. He was pulled out of his musings by Uncle Greg's ringing phone.
"Hey, Molly." He smiled into the receiver listening to words that Andrew couldn't even guess at, "Molly," The tone changed completely now, "you cannot be making any of this up. Do you hear me? If you are making any of this up not only will you lose your job, but I cannot begin to guess what he will do to you." Uncle Greg's smile dropped into Detective Inspector Lestrade's focused face, the one he only used when he was on a case and never used when he was around Andrew.
DI Lestrade turned in his seat taping on the glass to get the driver's attention, eventually he got it.
"Take us to St. Barts." Was all he said and was quiet the rest of the way even though Andrew was insistent on getting answers, but none were gotten.
When they got to the hospital DI Lestrade pushed his way out of the car leaving Andrew and Uncle Mycroft to trail in his wake.
"Greg! What's going on?!" Uncle Mycroft hadn't even attempted to get information out of the DI when they were in the car, but now that he was full out running in to the hospital it now seemed more urgent. What made Andrew feel better was that his uncle wasn't getting any more answers than he had gotten.
But that still left them at nothing- and, oh God, it was Father! Something had happened to Father while Andrew had been away and now he was being hospitalized! Andrew might still be on the fence about how his situation was handled, but his Father, his last parent, was in the hospital and Uncle Greg was making it seem as though it was life or death! Maybe the orphanage would have been less stressful? Rather than this constant running and worrying about his parents, but even now as DI Lestrade was having someone page after Aunt Molly Andrew wouldn't have traded it for the world.
Instead of taking the elevator like normal people they ran up three flights of stairs to get there in the fastest time, then with the DI double checking the room for the fourth time they took off down the hall to room 353.
That's where Uncle Greg stopped, after all that running and panicking he stopped frozen on the spot almost unsure of how to proceed with what lies ahead. Uncle Mycroft stepped forward and whispered softly in his ear, but all words were lost on the still statue, he needed a blanket for trauma right about now.
Eventually, he knocked himself out of it and looked right at Andrew who was scared and confused and was no longer very fond of hospitals. Uncle Greg returned to DI Lestrade, and he seemed to realize what this must look like to Andrew, with this new realization his entire demeanor change comfort Andrew.
"Andrew, I know what you must be thinking and I know that you must be scared, but it's okay, I promise. Your Father is fine, he should actually be on his way over now. Before you go in I want you to be gentle because he has come a long way to see you and has gone through quite a bit." Uncle Greg smiled at him lovingly and lead him into the hospital room to see the man behind the curtain.
"It's John."
Sherlock raced around the flat grabbing his coat, but forgetting his scarf. Going back for his scarf, then forgetting his phone. Grabbing his phone, then forgetting his coat!
He was a frazzled mess!
"It's John."
Sherlock stood in the middle of the flat breathing heavily trying to grab things, trying to look presentable, and failing at everything because to him none of it made any sense!
"Calm yourself." How was he suppose to that? According to Molly his husband had just come back from the DEAD!, "Gah!" Sherlock looked over to the couch where his phone lay on top of his scarf on top of his coat. Everything was together.
"It's John."
Almost everything was together John wasn't home yet and Andrew was still in Mycroft's clutches, though presumably they had headed to the hospital as well. Sherlock needed to go!
He ran out not explaining anything to Mrs. Hudson other than they might have company soon, but even that was a stretch of his attention now, all of his brain power was focused on getting to St. Barts, getting to John, and waiting for Andrew.
"It's John."
Sherlock hailed a cab and waited patiently in the back completely ignoring the driver's questions as to whether or not he was having a nice day.
"Is this your first?" That caught his attention.
"I'm sorry what?" Sherlock was caught off guard his first of what, husband coming back from the dead, he really hoped this didn't happen to too many people, "My first what?"
"Your first baby, of course! I've been driving 20 years and I swear that all you first time fathers look the same." The old man chuckled, "Your wife going into labor now? Sorry I can't do anything about traffic."
Sherlock furled his brow and shook his head.
"I'm not expecting, I don't have a wife, but it is still imperative that I get to Barts as quickly as possible. My husband who I thought was killed in action is somehow alive and under observation and my son is there with his terrible uncle."
"Oh, I see I was wrong on all accounts I am terribly sorry, sir." There was a pause as they pulled up to St. Barts, Molly waiting for him at the front door, "So, you are Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
That made Sherlock pause as he had paid and was getting out of the car, but he looked at the cabby dead in the eyes, through the rear view mirror.
"No, my name is Sherlock Watson-Holmes, I have lost what you might understand, only I have a chance to get them back." Sherlock let his eyes fall to old framed picture of young children though the picture was at least as old as the kids were, "Good day."
Sherlock climbed out to greet an anxious Molly and to lay his weary eyes on the man he committed himself to.
"Molly, is Andrew okay?" Molly nodded,"Is John okay?" Now he was breathless with anticipation.
They had taken the elevator up to the third floor. Down the hallway to room 353.
Molly stood to the side as Sherlock stood unsure in front of the door.
"Sherlock," Molly whispered, "go in! He is going to be happy to see you. He has waited just as long as you and probably wants to see you more. So get in there or I will push you!"
Sherlock gave her a thankful smile and pushed open the door to see Andrew laying in the hospital bed next to an unconscious John.
"Oh God, John." Sherlock rushed to the bed to find them both fast asleep.