Notes: I would just like to say, I know that so far, this has been a tiny bit unrealistic, but that's okay! Creative license, right? Anyways, just wanted to apologize for being slightly unrealistic in the beginning, buuut I hope you liked in anyways.

Also, there's more fluff in this chapter, because I just love it!

Thanks readers! =)

Chapter Three: Home

"Just here, please," John told the cabbie.

"Wait, where are you going? We aren't home yet," he asked as John began to get out of the now-stopped cab, an alarmed look on his face.

"Sherlock," John said as if he was a small child, "you're taking care of a baby. We have to get things like food, nappies, a cot, and baby clothes and—the list goes on and on. Soo," John drawled," I'm going to the store to get everything we'll need, and you're going home to take care of Hamish until I get back."

"But John, what if I do something wrong? What if I hurt him, or he starts crying or—"

"Sherlock! You're going to be just fine. Besides, I'm still working at surgery, so either way you're going to be home alone with him when I go to work. This will be just like that." He gave Sherlock a reassuring look, though he still looked terribly nervous. John smiled. "You'll be all right. I promise. I'll be back before you know it," he finished as he stepped out of the cab, leaving Sherlock alone with Hamish, who was still fast asleep on his chest.

The cabbie pulled up outside of 221B Baker Street, and Sherlock carefully opened the door, trying not to jostle the sleeping baby in his arms, and stepped out. He walked up the steps, and unlocked the door, entering the ever-welcoming flat.

"Mrs. Hudson!" he called out as quietly as he could. But there was no response. Eyebrows pulled together, he curiously walked the short length of the hallway to Mrs. Hudson's flat, and peered in. The lights were out.

"Oh," Sherlock sighed to himself, "that's right, Mrs. Hudson is still away on holiday." Shrugging slightly, he headed up to the flat he and John shared. He made to walk towards his bedroom so as to lay Hamish on the bed, but just as he reached his door, the baby stirred in his arms, letting out a large yawn, the sound of which made Sherlock smile.

The little boy sleepily opened his eyes and peered up at Sherlock, who, in turn, gave him a warm smile. Hamish's lips turned upward in what the detective was sure was almost a smile. The little boy turned his head around to look to his left, and he physically started in Sherlock's arms, startling the detective, in turn. The little boy's eyes frantically began to look at the new, colorful surroundings of the flat, his eyes darting this way, and that, his little chest heaving as his breath became very quick.

Sherlock, realizing that Hamish was panicking at his new, surroundings, hurriedly tried to calm the boy down by rubbing his back and telling him, "No, no, Hamish it's all right, you're safe, you're safe."

Upon hearing his name, Hamish turned towards Sherlock again, tears brimming in his green eyes.

In an effort to show Hamish that although his surroundings were new, they weren't scary or dangerous, Sherlock hurried over to the wall with the yellow smiley face drawn on it.

Very carefully and slowly, Sherlock moved Hamish so he was sitting on his almost-non-existent-hip, and reached for his tiny left hand, which was resting on the hand the detective had firmly wrapped around the little boy's middle.

Hamish flinched slightly as Sherlock's hand moved towards him, though he still allowed the detective to grab his own. Tears were threatening to fall.

Carefully, Sherlock moved closer to the wall, moving Hamish's hand closer and closer. When they were just inches away from the patterned wall, the little boy began to panic again and tried to pull his chubby little hand away.

"It's all right, Hamish. Nothing's going to happen." He gave Hamish a reassuring smile, and continued moving their hands closer.

Hamish gasped slightly when his small hand felt the surface of the smooth wall, but he didn't pull away this time. Instead, he began to move his hand along the surface, which was so different from the rough, grey e walls he was used to at the orphanage. His eyes widened with newfound wonder as he continued to move his small hand up and down.

"That's a wall, Hamish," Sherlock said looking down at the little child's face with a smile. He pulled the little boy's hand away and moved over to the window that faced the street below. Slowly, he moved Hamish's chubby hand to it.

"This is a window. You look out of it, and you can see things happening outside. I'm afraid we only have a view of a street and some cars, though." He smiled as the little boy began sliding his chubby hand up and down, his eyes, again, widening in wonder.

"Look out, Hamish," said Sherlock. He leaned their bodies closer to the window, trying to prompt the little boy to look down and out. Eventually, Hamish did, and when he saw the street so far below, and the cars hurrying by, he gasped and quickly turned away, burying his face in the detective's shirt.

"No, no, no, you can't fall out, I promise. See?" The detective leaned against the window, trying to show Hamish that they were both safely inside. As a result, the little boy just pushed harder against Sherlock's chest, trying to distance himself even further from the window.

"Hamish, look." Upon hearing his name, Hamish very slow turned his face out of the detective's shirt, and peered out the window, fear and tears still in his eyes. He looked at Sherlock's shoulder which was leaning heavily against the window, and, seeing how both of them were still safely inside, reached his little hand out again, and began touching the window, a small smile playing on his lips.

Sherlock saw the smile, and took it as encouragement to go on, and began running around the room, showing Hamish everything he could, and explaining what it was to him. He showed him the skull, the kitchen table, the refrigerator, how the cabinets opened and shut, how the curtains on the window moved, the feeling of his and John's chair, and the funny sound the keys on John's laptop made when they were clicked. Sherlock was becoming excited at the prospect of being able to fill Hamish's mind with information and being able to teach him everything. The prospect of having a mind, so barely touched by the world, filled Sherlock with a feeling of pride and happiness he knew he had never felt before.

Upon hearing each new item, Hamish began repeating the words back to Sherlock, which received much encouragement, though most times, he just ended up making little baby noises and gurgles.

Sherlock was sure the little boy's growth had been stunted by his time spent in the orphanage, but he still felt a swell of pride every time Hamish tried to pronounce something.

After Sherlock had shown the little boy everything he could think of around the flat, he was practically dancing around with Hamish in his hands, the little boy squealing with happiness.

Sherlock fell onto the couch, pulling a still-squealing Hamish onto his chest. He chuckled lightly as he saw the little boy smile widely up at him. Slowly, the detective sat up, propping himself up with a pillow behind his back. The little boy was settled on his hips, his back leaning against Sherlock's folded legs.

Hamish stared up at the detective, the smile slowly leaving his face to be replaced by one of concentration. Sherlock looked back at him, a small smile playing on his lips. He took a good moment to really look at Hamish, and noticed how, to some, he could look like he actually was Sherlock's biological son. Hamish's hair was very similar to Sherlock's, though his wasn't quite black like Sherlock's was, but both had equally curly hair. Even with his baby fat, you could tell he was going to have rather prominent cheekbones, much like Sherlock already has. And though his eyes were not the same steele-grey color as the detective's, they had that same piercing look Sherlock's always had.

The detective was so lost in his observations; he didn't notice Hamish trying to stand up on his stomach. Pulling himself away from his thoughts, Sherlock moved his hands under the little boy's armpits, and gently lifted him up so he was no longer leaning back against his legs, but was now standing on his chest.

With a determined look on his face, Hamish stuck out his bottom lip, all the while looking at Sherlock, and moved closer to the detective's face. Tentatively, he reached one hand out, placing his chubby fingers on Sherlock's sharp cheekbone.

Sherlock's breath caught in his throat as the little boy touched his face, the small fingers moving ever so slightly against his skin. A warmth flooded Sherlock's chest, something he'd never experienced before. He looked into Hamish's deep green eyes, who were still focused on Sherlock's cheek. Carefully, the little boy moved his other hand to Sherlock's other cheekbone, and used the detective's face to gently pull himself into a standing position so the two were eye-to-eye. The little boy flattened his hands against Sherlock's cheeks and then looked into his eyes questioningly.

Finding his voice again, Sherlock whispered, "What, Hamish?"

Hamish made some sort of humming sound in response, then, in replace of asking a question, took his right hand and pointed at Sherlock, a questioning look on his face. He then placed his little fingers back on the detective's face, his tiny fingernails scratching at the skin ever so slightly.

Finally, Sherlock understood what Hamish wanted; he had been telling Hamish the names of everything else around the flat, and now the little boy wanted to know what he was called. Still feeling the small hands on his face, Sherlock started to answer, "Sher—,"but then realized that, technically, to Hamish, he wasn't Sherlock. To Hamish, he was now his father.

At this realization Sherlock froze, just now understanding the gravity of what he had done by adopting Hamish. A small smile graced his lips before he whispered to Hamish, "I'm Daddy."

Upon hearing this, Hamish's large smile returned, and he once again tried to repeat what Sherlock had just said.

"Dddd… Ddduuu…. Daaaa!" He shouted triumphantly. "Da'! Da'!" he squealed. Realizing that Hamish had almost said 'daddy,' Sherlock sat up quickly, clutching Hamish to his chest, a large smile spreading on his face. "Well done, Hamish! Oh! Very, very good job!" The little boy smiled widely at the detective, his eyes bright with excitement.

Still smiling, Hamish leaned forward, resting his head against the detective's chest.

The two sat like that, curled up on the couch, just enjoying each other's company. They were interrupted, though, by the sound of John bustling through the door downstairs.