Chapter Seventeen: The Yard
Sherlock glanced at the clock. 9:41.
"Okay," he whispered, slowly rubbing his hand up and down Hamish's back. "Time to get up. We've got a big day," he finished excitedly, leaning down to gently kiss Hamish's silky curls.
"Mmm... Da'ey?" the little boy asked groggily, slowly turning his head against Sherlock's chest. He groaned, yawning widely into the detective's shirt. "Up time?" he asked, lifting his head to peer tiredly at his father.
"Yes," Sherlock chuckled. "Time to get up. But guess what, Hamish?"
"'Es, Daddy? What?" Hamish replied, waking up at the excited tone of his father's voice.
"We're going out today. Annnnnd," he elongated comically, "you get to help me with a case! Isn't that exciting?" he finished enthusiastically, ruffling the little boy's curls.
"Case, Daddy? What?" Hamish asked, giggling as Sherlock stopped ruffling his hair.
"Well... You know how John is a doctor and that's his job, right?"
"Umm... 'Kay, Daddy," he said, sounding unsure of himself.
"Well my job is solving cases—like mysteries. And today you get to help me with one!"
"Oh... Um... 'Kay, Daddy," Hamish said, not understanding. Sherlock laughed, smiling broadly at his son.
"You'll see soon," he chuckled, quickly kissing the little boy's cheek. "Come on, then. We need to wake John up. Would you like to?"
The little boy giggled in response.
"All right, then. Let's go," Sherlock smiled, getting up off the couch. Bouncing the little boy in his arms, the detective made his way to the stairs, grinning at the small, tired smile on his son's face. As the detective hurried up the stairs, Hamish's chubby fingers curled around the collar of his shirt.
"Shh," Sherlock whispered quietly to Hamish before pushing open the door to John's room.
"'Kay, Daddy," Hamish whispered, using his free hand to cover his mouth. Smiling at the little boy, Sherlock pushed open the door to John's room, keeping a firm hold around Hamish's waist.
"Okay," he whispered, walking over to John's bed. "There you go," he groaned quietly, bending over the doctor's sleeping form to place Hamish on the bed.
"Daddy," he giggled quietly as he crawled over towards John's face. He situated himself closely towards the doctor's body. "John?" he whispered, smiling widely. "Joo-ohn?" Giggling, he prodded John's face with a single small finger.
"Wha'? Hamish? What's—Where's Daddy?" He yawned widely, wrapping one hand around Hamish's middle. Scooting the little boy closer, he rolled over to see Sherlock grinning at him.
"Morning, John. Hurry and get dressed!" he said excitedly.
"Ugh... Sherlock..." He glanced back at the detective and paused before finishing, "Fine."
"Excellent! Come on, then, Hamish. Let's go get ready!"
"'Es, Daddy!" Grinning, Hamish crawled over John's body, and reached his chubby arms up towards Sherlock.
"Be quick, John," the detective said excitedly as he hurried over towards the bed. Smiling at his son's own enthusiasm, Sherlock scooped the little boy into his arms. He hurried towards the stairs, closing the door behind him.
Eventually, the trio had finally managed to successfully eat, get dressed, and grab everything they would need for the day, such as food for Hamish, nappies, and items to keep him occupied at the Yard.
"Ready, John?" Sherlock asked happily. Hamish situated safely on his hip, he turned around to see the doctor, with two rather large bags in each hand, glaring at him.
"You could lend me a hand, you know."
"Well of course I could. Do please stop stating the obvious, John, and let's go. Ready Hamish?" he asked, turning on his heel to walk out the door.
"Of course," John huffed. Muttering angrily to himself, he began walking towards the stairs, glad he couldn't see the smirk he knew was on Sherlock's face right now.
At the bottom of the landing, Sherlock waited patiently for John to make his way down the stairs. He turned his attention to Hamish, who was gripping tightly to the collar of his coat with one hand, and slowly tracing his clavicle with the other. The little boy seemed rather dazed, now, by the whole situation. "Mmm," he hummed to himself, staring at the door with his mouth hanging open slightly.
Sherlock peered lovingly at the little boy as he began to mumble to himself, tightening his grip around the detective's collar.
"Wh'? No... Mmm..."
The detective couldn't help but smile as he realized just how much like him Hamish was turning out to be, already beginning to mumble to himself.
"Hamish?" he asked gently, brushing the back of his hand across the little boy's forehead.
"Hmm? What, Daddy?" Still dazed, Hamish turned his attention back to Sherlock's face. His hand paused momentarily as he looked up at the detective.
"You okay?" Sherlock chuckled quietly, twirling some of the little boy's hair between his fingers.
"Oh. 'Es, Daddy," Hamish replied quietly. He shook his head at the sound of John bustling down the stairs, and gazed up at Sherlock. "'Ink, Daddy," he stated happily, his hand resuming the tracing of his father's collarbone.
"You were thinking, hmm? Well you'll have to tell me what you were thinking about later, okay? Because right now," he drawled, turning back towards the stairs, "I think John has finally made his way down the stairs." He smirked as the doctor practically growled at him.
Sherlock chuckled deeply. He stopped twirling Hamish's hair between his fingers, and stretched his arm out towards the doctor. "Here," he offered smugly.
Chuckling at this flat mate, John passed the heaviest bag off to Sherlock. "Thanks," he sighed.
Bag in hand, Hamish on his hip, Sherlock pushed open the door, and walked out into the brisk morning air, John right on his heels.
"I've got it," the doctor said, hailing a cab with his free hand.
"You ready, Hamish?" Sherlock asked excitedly, bouncing the little boy in his arms as his flat mate hurried into the cab.
"'Es, Daddy."
"Good!" Smiling at his son, Sherlock stepped into the cab, chuckling as he felt Hamish tuck his head under his chin, as the little boy did every time the two got into a cab.
"Scotland Yard," John told the cabbie. As the car sped away, Sherlock situated the bags in the middle of the cab and moved Hamish onto his lap.
"Look," he murmured, pointing out the window.
Though Hamish had been out and about many times before, he had yet to experience being in the heart of London, with huge buildings and large numbers of people.
Looking in the direction his father had pointed, Hamish stood up, scrambling towards the window. Using Sherlock's thigh as a sort of step, he pressed his hand against the window, splaying his chubby fingers across the glass as he stared out at the busy city.
"Wow," he whispered, staring wide-eyed at the passing buildings. "Look, Daddy!" He pointed excitedly, tearing his gaze away from the window to look excitedly at Sherlock.
"Yes, I see," he replied enthusiastically, wrapping one hand around Hamish's small stomach to keep him steady.
Throughout the entire short ride to the Yard, Hamish stared wide-eyed out the window, making sure to point out anything he found to be exceptionally extraordinary, which always received an enthusiastic reply from either Sherlock or John.
"Okay, Hamish. This is it," Sherlock told the little boy happily as the cab pulled up outside of their destination.
He grabbed one bag, slinging it over his shoulder as John grabbed the other, and then turned his attention back to Hamish, whose face was pressed tightly against the glass, peering up at the tall building they were stopped in front of.
"Wow, Daddy," he sighed in amazement. "Look."
"Yes, I know," Sherlock beamed. "And guess what, Hamish? We get to go in there."
Both he and John laughed out loud as they heard little Hamish gasp in wonder.
"Come on, then," John inputted happily, opening the door on his side of the cab.
Still chuckling at the amazement on his son's face, Sherlock pushed open the door, pulling Hamish close as he did so and exited the cab.
Though previously in awe of the building and the vast amount of people surrounding it, now that he was out of the safety of the cab, Hamish clearly seemed intimidated by his new surroundings. As Sherlock began to make his way towards the building, the little boy pressed his head just below the detective's jaw and wrapped his arms tightly around his father's neck.
"Daddy," he whimpered against Sherlock's smooth skin.
"Shh," the detective murmured reassuringly. "It's okay. I'm right here and John's just there behind us. See?"
Cautiously, Hamish pulled his head a way from Sherlock's neck just long enough to check and see if John really was following them. When he saw the doctor, close behind, smiling reassuringly, Hamish sighed in relief.
"'Kay, Daddy." Now more content, he returned to his previous position, and let his head rest against Sherlock's shoulder.
"Okay," John said as they reached the front doors. "Here we go." With a wide grin, Sherlock pushed through the doors, ignoring the whispering that instantly started. John smirked, knowing Sherlock was positively loving all of the attention he was already getting. And even though he knew the detective would never admit it, John could tell Sherlock truly was excited to be able to show Hamish to everyone, proud of the fact that he could claim the little boy as his son. The thought made the doctor smile to himself.
Hamish was clearly overwhelmed by all of the staring and whispering from the people around him.
Becoming increasingly more anxious, and now seriously doubting what Sherlock had told him about this trip being fun, Hamish tapped one of his fingers against the back of Sherlock's neck. "Daddy?"
"Yes, Hamish?"
"What doing, Daddy?" Hamish asked quietly, gazing up at the detective. His eyes quickly scanned the room, peering anxiously at the many chattering people.
The trio reached the lift. As John punched in the button, Sherlock turned Hamish around in his arms.
"It's okay, Hamish," he said reassuringly. "There's nothing to be worried about. We're just going to see Lestrade."
"Oh," the little boy replied, though he still appeared uneasy.
Sherlock smiled, hoping to reassure his son. He leaned forward, and very gently kissed Hamish's cheek. "It's okay," he repeated, murmuring against the little boy's skin.
"Mmm. 'Kay, Daddy."
"Good man," John said quietly, gazing over at his flat mates.
They reached their floor, and Hamish jumped slightly in Sherlock's arms at the sound of the bell ringing.
Both John and Sherlock took a deep breath as the doors slowly slid open.
"Ready?" John muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
"Oh yes," the detective whispered back, his lips turning up into a sly half-smile.
John chuckled to himself as Sherlock hurried out of the lift, shaking his head as the detective hurried forward towards Lestrade's office.
As soon as Hamish noticed that this part of the building was much more quiet and calm, he relaxed in Sherlock's arms. The detective couldn't help but smile sweetly as he felt Hamish relax against him.
"Lestrade," he called happily towards the Inspector's office.
Upon hearing his name, Greg looked up from where he was sitting at his desk.
"Oh!" he cried, standing up as John and Sherlock entered his office. "Sorry, guys. Almost forgot that you were bringing Hamish today."
"No big deal, Greg," John replied happily, placing his bag on the floor.
"I'm not surpised," Sherlock muttered under his breath as he set both Hamish and the bag on the floor.
"Unk Les'de!" Hamish cried upon seeing the Detective Inspector. He rushed forward, wrapping his arms around one of Greg's legs.
"Hey! Look how well you're walking, little man!" he praised, bending down to pat the little boy on his head.
"Uncle Lestrade," Sherlock scoffed, giving a little roll of his eyes.
"Sherlock," John warned, shooting him a look.
The detective smirked. "Come on, then, Hamish," he said happily, reaching his hand out towards the little boy.
"'Kay, Daddy," Hamish giggled happily, unwrapping his arms from around Lestrade's leg.
Now completely at peace, he hurried back over to Sherlock, taking ahold of the detective's hand. "'Etter, Daddy," he sighed contently, leaning his head against Sherlock's leg.
"Good," the detective said, smiling down at Hamish. He turned his attention back to Lestrade. "So! Anything new?" he inquired excitedly.
"Well," Greg said, turning around towards his desk. He grabbed a folder and handed it to John so he would be up to date on the facts of the case. "We raked over the crime scene again like you said, and we found something. We're processing it right now. It was—"
"A blood sample found behind the couch, as I had originally suggested? Hardly surprising."
Both John and Lestrade chuckled to themselves.
"Right. And don't worry," he added hurriedly, "We've already had a sample sent to the lab so you can... Do whatever it is you do with those things."
"Excellent," the detective murmured. "And I don't suppose you managed to notice the muddy footprint just under the coffee table?"
Lestrade sighed deeply, and turned around to his desk, picking up the phone. "I'll get someone back over there."
"Yes. I need that, soon, Lestrade, so we can pinpoint where he might have been. In the meantime," he added, talking in a more childish voice as he looked down at Hamish, who had been observing quietly from his position against his father's leg. "We're going to go to the lab and examine some blood! Hmm? How does that sound?"
"For God's sake, Sherlock, he's a child," John sighed incredulously, though, to be honest, he was not surprised.
"Obvious, John. And besides, he's my child. He'll get used to things like this; might as well start him early!"
"Right. Of course we must," the doctor finished sarcastically, though it went unnoticed by Sherlock as Sally Donovan had chosen that moment to walk into Lestrade's office.
"Well," she drawled, "decided to come back did you, freak? You left in quite a hurry last night, didn't you? Probably went home so quickly because you and John wanted to—"
Before she could continue, though, and before Sherlock could yell out a very well-thought-out retort, they was interrupted by the sound of a very loud gasping noise. Everyone's eyes in the room fell to Hamish, who was glaring up at Sally, his arms crossed across his chest.
"Up, Daddy," he said firmly. He continued to stare angrily at Donovan as Sherlock picked the little boy up, moving him close to his chest.
"Hamish?" he asked hesitantly.
"No, Daddy." He pointed at Sally, who was gaping at the little, who had called Sherlock "Daddy" not once, but twice.
Keeping his finger pointed at the Sergeant, Hamish continued. "Bad," he stated, still glaring. "Corner." Frowning deeply, he pointed to the corner of Lestrade's office. "An' think," he added with a firm nod of his head. When Sally remained frozen to the spot, still staring wide-eyed at the little boy in Sherlock's arms, Hamish raised his eyebrows, mimicking the look he'd seen his father give him on the few occasions he'd been disciplined. "Mean. Corner. Now," he said, trying to sound as menacing as possible.
The two continued to stare at each other, Sally gaping, Hamish glaring until both John and Lestrade burst out laughing.
"Ohhh that was great!" John laughed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands.
"You heard him Donovan. Corner. Now. Because you were mean. Go think about what you've done," Lestrade chortled, gasping for breath. "I'm not kidding!" he added when he saw Sally staring at him. "Go on, then! Corner."
"You're all freaks!" she fumed, turning on her heel and marching out of the room, muttering angrily to herself.
Sherlock, who'd previously been staring at his son with wide eyes, began to laugh out loud, pulling the now-very-confused Hamish to his chest in a tight hug.
"Oh, Hamish! You're just wonderful! Oh, that was brilliant! I knew it was a good idea bringing you," he praised, gently kissing the little boy all over his cheeks and head. "I couldn't have come up with a better retort! Just—Oh!—So marvelous, Hamish!"
"Daddy?" the little boy managed to ask quietly in between his father's many kisses. "Mon'ov'onan mean. Corner?" he said in confusion.
Sherlock stopped the stream of kisses so he could answer Hamish's question. "Yes, Hamish. She was being very mean. And you did a very good job. She deserves to sit in a corner and think about what she's done," he finished, giggling to himself.
"Oh... 'Kay, Daddy!" Hamish declared happily. He reached up, and with a large smile on his face, wrapped his chubby arms around Sherlock's neck to give him a tight hug.
"Simply brilliant," he whispered into the little boy's silky curls. "Come on, then! On that wonderful note, I say we go down to the lab to examine some blood samples, hmm? What do you say Hamish?"
"'Es, 'ease Daddy!"
"Excellent. Coming John?" he asked happily, still beaming.
The doctor, who was still giggling hysterically with Lestrade, tried to catch his breath. "I'll head over in a minute," he managed, which only launched both him and Greg into another fit of laughs.
Sherlock chuckled in response. "Right, then. We'll see you over there. Come on Hamish. Molly might be in today!"
"Aunt Molly?" he asked excitedly.
"Mmm-hmm."
Grinning, Sherlock placed Hamish on the floor, and waited patiently until the little boy had wrapped his small fingers around his thumb.
"See you in a few," he called back to John and Lestrade as he made his way out of Greg's office, and back outside to hail a cab. As the cab quickly made its way to St. Bart's, Hamish seemed even more amazed than he had on the way here. He pressed his face against the window, sighing in awe at the passing scenery.
Occasionally, smiling lovingly at the little boy, Sherlock would explain something about a passing building, which only added to Hamish's awe.
Eventually, Hamish decided he'd had enough of walking. "Daddy? Up 'ease? Tired."
"Of course. We're almost there. Up we go," he said, lifting the little boy up.
"Ta, Daddy," Hamish said, absentmindedly playing with soft fabric of Sherlock's coat between his fingers.
"You're very welcome, Hamish."
The detective continued towards the lab, resuming his usual pace. He talked absentmindedly to Hamish as he walked, going over the details of the case, though he made sure to leave out all of the gory details.
"So it must mean that he was in London at precisely 7:15 on the night of the murder, right?" he asked rhetorically as he pushed open the doors to the lab. "Which means there must—" He stopped immediately upon seeing Molly, sitting on the ground, one hand on her forehead, other wrapped tightly around her stomach, sobbing hysterically.
"Molly?" he cried, rushing forward.
Ever since Reichenbach and everything Molly had done for him—everything she had sacrificed for him—the relationship between the two had grown significantly stronger. Sherlock had vowed to always be there for her if she ever needed anything and had to admit that he actually cared for her.
Upon seeing the detective rushing towards her, Molly stood up, hurriedly trying to brush away the tears from her face.
"Molly, what's wrong? Are you all right? Is everything okay with the baby?" he asked worriedly, hovering by her small form.
"No, no, Sherlock, really I'm fine. It's just—Well—Umm—It's, it's Daniel. He... Um... He's left—Just up and decided he didn't want any part of this anymore," she sniffled, nodding towards her stomach. No longer able to keep her emotions in check, though, she began to sob again, holding her head in her hands.
"Molly... I'm sorry," Sherlock murmured quietly. Keeping Hamish on his hip, he reached forward, placing his free hand on Molly's back. He was still very awkward when it came to comforting anyone besides Hamish. "Is there anything I can do?"
"What the hell is happening?" came a worried cry from the doorway. Both Sherlock and Molly turned to see John standing at the entrance to the lab, two large bags in his hands, and a worried look on his face. He dropped the bags and hurried over.
"Molly? What's wrong?"
When Molly only continued to cry harder, Sherlock turned to John and quickly summarized, "Molly's boyfriend, Daniel, has just decided that he no longer wants anything to with her pregnancy, so he's up and left, and, clearly, Molly is very distressed by it."
John did a double-take. "Wait. Sorry. What? Did you just say pregn—Molly, you're pregnant?" he asked incredulously.
Molly couldn't help but cough out a laugh. She turned to John with tears still streaming down her cheeks, though she was smiling.
"Yes," she answered quietly, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. "I told Sherlock... He didn't, tell you, did he?" she chuckled.
"Wha—How far along are you Molly?"
"Five months," Sherlock answered quickly.
John glared at him. "And how long have you known?" he asked Sherlock.
"Four months, two days and eight hours," the detective answered plainly.
"What!" John fumed, glowering at Sherlock. "You've known for that long, and you never told me!"
"My apologizes but—"
"Aunt Molly?" Hamish whispered quietly, concern written all over his small features. Everyone stopped talking. Sniffling, and hurriedly wiping her face, Molly turned her attention to Hamish.
"Yes, Hamish?" she asked gently, with a shaky voice.
The little boy gestured to Sherlock, who obliged by leaning forward, moving Hamish closer to Molly.
A sad look on his face, the little boy reached up, and gently brushed his fingers across Molly's cheeks, and then once across her forehead, moving some of her hair off of her forehead.
He leaned back, recoiling his hand from her face. "'Etter, Aunt Molly," he said, giving a reassuring nod.
Molly choked back a happy sob. "Thank you so much, Hamish," she sniffled. "May I?"
"Of course," Sherlock replied hastily, passing Hamish over to Molly. Smiling sadly, she hugged the little boy close, tucking his head under her chin. "Thank you, Hamish," she repeated, whispering into the little boy's hair.
"'Es, Molly," Hamish replied quietly, talking into Molly's neck.
Sniffling again, she pressed a quick kiss to Hamish's temple, before passing him back to Sherlock.
"Oh," she sighed, clearing her throat quietly. "Okay. I'm okay... We're okay." She gave a slight nod of her head, and, wiping away the last of her tears, turned back to Sherlock and John.
"Oh. Thank you. Thank you very much." She hurried forward, wrapping her arms around all three of them. "Sorry for all the crazy emotions. Hormones, you know," she chuckled, backing away.
"I just—I mean I can't believe you're five months pregnant and I'm just finding out about it now," John said, shooting a sideways glare to Sherlock.
"Sorry," he shrugged, winking at Hamish as he did so.
Molly laughed. "Oh it's okay," she said, placing her hand on John's arm and giving a reassuring squeeze.
"Umm... Daddy?" Hamish asked quietly, using one finger to gently prod Sherlock's neck.
"Yes, Hamish?"
The little boy thought for a moment, before gesturing for Sherlock to lean down. Lips turning up at the corners, the detective bent down, allowing Hamish to whisper into his ear.
"Aunt Molly an' baby? What?" he whispered, glancing towards Molly's stomach.
"Oh! Right! Yes, Hamish. Molly has a baby in her tummy right now," he said excitedly, grinning at the way the little boy turned back to Molly, his mouth hanging open, and his eyes wide with sheer wonder.
"Molly mummy?" he cried, glancing excitedly at Sherlock.
"Yes, Hamish. Very good! Aunt Molly is going to be a mummy very soon. In fact," he added, bending down to whisper in his son's ear. "I'll bet if you ask very, very nicely, she'll even let you feel her tummy, and you can feel the baby kicking."
"Wow! Real Daddy?" he asked in an amazed voice.
"Really," Sherlock said earnestly, smiling lovingly as Hamish gasped out loud.
"Aunt Molly? Hame tummy?" he asked hopefully.
"Oh. Oh! Yeah, yes of course you can, Hamish. Here. Give me your hands." Smiling sweetly as she saw Hamish's eyes widen in anticipation, Molly lifted up her shirt, holding both of the little boy's small hands in her own.
"Okay... Here. And here," she said, placing Hamish's hands on either side of her stomach.
The three shared a smile as Hamish stared intently at Molly's stomach, now completely serious at the prospect of actually feeling a baby.
Returning her gaze back to Hamish, Molly placed both of her hands over Hamish's tiny ones.
The room was silent as the little boy stared excitedly at Molly's stomach, practically frozen in Sherlock's arms.
Suddenly, Hamish gasped out loud. He looked up into Molly's eyes and then quickly back towards her stomach.
"Daddy!" cried, looking back to stare at Sherlock, a wide grin on his face, amazement accentuation his sweet features.
Practically bouncing with excitement in his father's arms, Hamish grabbed one of Sherlock's hands and began tugging on his fingers. "Come, Daddy."
"What? Oh. No, Hamish. It's okay. I don't need to feel, really—" But the little boy had already started to drag his hand towards Molly's stomach.
"'Ease Daddy?" he whispered excitedly.
Sherlock stared at the little boy, willing himself to just say no. But upon seeing the expectant look on his small face, the detective sighed, smiling lovingly at his son.
"Fine," he murmured quietly. "Molly?" He glanced at her for reassurance.
"Of course," she replied quietly, smiling fondly at father and son.
"Here, Daddy," Hamish told the detective excitedly, pressing his chubby hand against Molly's stomach. Giving the little boy a quick smile, Sherlock hesitantly placed his hand over Hamish's, now very uncomfortable from touching Molly's pregnant belly.
"'Kay, Daddy," Hamish reassured quietly, giving the detective a small smile. "'Kay... Shh."
The room went silent again. Sherlock waited awkwardly, desperately wanting to removed his hand, but remaining perfectly still for the sake of Hamish.
And then he felt it. Almost like a fluttering underneath his palm. And then like a pop, or a kick.
"Daddy!" Hamish cried triumphantly. Only making Molly laugh more, he leaned forward, pressing his ear just above her bellybutton.
"Wow," Sherlock sighed in bewilderment. "That was amazing," he murmured, smiling fondly at Hamish, whose mouth was hanging open as he listened intently to Molly's stomach.
"Aunt Molly mummy!" the little boy exclaimed happily, withdrawing both his hands and his head from her stomach. He turned around, wrapping his arms around the detective in a tight hug.
"Wow, Daddy," he murmured excitedly.
"Yes, I know, Hamish," Sherlock replied quietly, whispering into his son's hair. "That was amazing, wasn't it?"
"'Es, Daddy!" he replied enthusiastically, nodding up and down against Sherlock's chest. "Again?" he asked hopefully.
"As long as Aunt Molly is okay with it," the detective smiled, brushing away some of the little boy's curls from his forehead.
"Oh, of course," Molly replied happily. "Here. I can take him while you two... Do your thing."
Chuckling, Sherlock passed Hamish back over to Molly. Instantly, the little boy pressed his hands to her stomach, going completely silent as he waited to feel the baby move again.
Both smiling fondly at the little boy, John and Sherlock turned back towards the microscopes.
Bouncing Hamish in her arms, Molly began to pace around the lab, talking to the little boy.
"Come on, Hamish!" Sherlock called excitedly several hours later, getting up from where he was seated at a microscope. "We've got what we came for! Finally."
"Oh. 'Kay, Daddy," Hamish said sadly, turning to Molly who was seated on the floor next to him. "Bye, Aunt Molly." Smiling at her, he scooted forward and wrapped his arms around her neck. He gave her cheek a quick kiss, and then bent down and placed his hands on her stomach. "Bye, bye, 'aby," he whispered quietly, pressing another tender kiss to her belly.
"Bye, Hamish. Thank you for everything. You're simply wonderful," she murmured, wrapping her arms around the little boy to give him a hug.
John and Sherlock stood, staring fondly at the little boy. The doctor hurried forward to help Molly up while Sherlock crouched down and began to put away the many toys and coloring utensils that were scattered across the floor.
"Bye, bye Molly an' baby," Hamish whispered again as Molly passed him to John. He gave a small little wave of his hand.
John smiled down at the little boy in his arms. "You really are wonderful, aren't you?" he chuckled, hugging the little boy close. He turned his attention back to Molly and rushed forward to give her a tight hug.
"I'm sorry to hear about everything. But, listen, if you need anything—ever, no matter the time of day—you give us a call, and we'll be right over to help, okay?" he said, running a soothing hand up and down her arm.
Eyes filling with tears, she reached forward, giving John another tight hug. "Thank you. Thank you, very much."
"'Course," John smiled. He turned his attention to Hamish. "Well! I say we head back to the Yard and let Daddy carry both the bags this time," he said smugly, not looking back at Sherlock who had already slung one bag over his shoulder.
"Yes, John," he sighed, standing up with the second bag in hand. "You two head over, I'll follow in a moment."
"Daddy?" Hamish asked, turning around in Sherlock's arms.
"Don't worry, Hamish. I'll be there in just a moment," the detective said reassuringly, giving the little boy a warm smile.
"Oh. 'Kay, Daddy."
"Good boy," John praised, turning to walk out the door.
"Bye, Molly!" he called again.
"Bye, bye 'aby!" Hamish shouted back just as the doors swung shut.
Sherlock chuckled, gazing fondly towards the doorway.
"Thank you," Molly whispered quietly, pulling the detective's attention away from the door.
"Oh. Well, yes of course Molly. It's not a problem."
She smiled, peering down at the floor as she paused for a moment. "You already knew what was happening as soon as you walked in, didn't you?" she asked fondly, giving the detective a knowing look.
"I—Well—Yes. Yes I'm afraid I did. I'm sorry I can't—"
"Thank you so much, Sherlock," Molly cried, wrapping her arms around the detective. She sniffled, wiping away her happy tears. "And now I'm crying again," she chuckled, pulling away from Sherlock.
"Right. Well, I'd best be off. Hamish is probably going to be becoming rather cranky here soon, and uh... Well let's just say I'd hate to leave John alone at the Yard if and when that happens," he said, giving Molly a reassuring smile. He bent down, and picked up both of the bags, slinging one over his shoulder.
"Bye, Molly," he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
"See you Sherlock," Molly giggled back, placing one hand over her stomach.
Smiling at her, Sherlock waved one last goodbye before hurrying out of the room.
After excitedly telling Lestrade of his findings (where the kidnapper would have been at precisely 7:15 on the day of the murder) Sherlock hurried back home, hoping to get Hamish to bed early tonight, seeing as he'd not been able to take a nap at all today and was becoming rather restless.
"Daddy, tired," the little moaned, leaning back against Sherlock's stomach in the cab, too tired to peer out the window at the lights, now that it was dark out.
"I know you are," Sherlock said, slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth across the little boy's stomach. He bent down to press a light kiss to Hamish's auburn hair. "And you did a wonderful job today. I'm very proud of you, Hamish," he praised happily, tightening his grip around his son's middle.
"Ta, Daddy," the little boy replied tiredly, turning around so he could lean against Sherlock. Placing one hand under his head, he snuggled closer, finding a comfortable position before closing his eyes tiredly.
John chuckled, and then turned his attention to Sherlock. "Four months... And you knew for four months," he sighed incredulously, giving a slight roll of his eyes.
"John," Sherlock whined, returning the look with his own royal eye roll. "I'm sorry! It just sort of slipped my mind."
"Yeah, yeah I know," John chuckled, trying to hide his smile by gazing out the window.
The two sat in comfortable silence all the way home, with Hamish snoozing soundly against Sherlock's stomach, practically curled up into a little ball.
"No, no, it's okay, I'll get both the bags. You take him up and get him into bed," John whispered upon seeing how his flat mate was having trouble holding the sleeping Hamish and grabbing a bag.
"Thank you, John," Sherlock whispered back thankfully, stepping out of the cab.
He hurried inside, careful to leave the door open so John could get through more easily.
"Ohh," he sighed gently as he walked into his room. "Shh, there we go," he said, lying the still-sleeping boy down so he could change his nappy. "Sorry, Hamish," he apologized quietly as the little boy awoke, groaning as the detective continued to change his nappy.
"Daddy," he whined, halfheartedly trying to push Sherlock's hands away.
Chuckling at his son, Sherlock finished the nappy, deciding to leave Hamish in just his nappy tonight.
He hugged the little boy close, bouncing gently as he walked over to the bed.
"Daddy?" Hamish asked quietly, gently tapping Sherlock's chest as he did so.
"Yes, Hamish?" Sherlock asked gently.
"Um... Why Mon'ov'on... On... Onan," he said slowly, trying pronounce Donovan's last name.
"Donovan," Sherlock smiled, helping the little boy.
"'Es. Why said Daddy freak? What freak?"
"Oh," Sherlock sighed sadly. He began to pace around the room, absentmindedly puling Hamish closer. "Well... I'm afraid that as you get older, you're going to find out that I'm a little different than most people," Sherlock began quietly, whispering to Hamish who, though tired, was clinging on to his father's every word.
Smiling sadly at his son, Sherlock began to rub his hand up and down the little boy's back as he continued, "Well, sometimes, there are mean people, people like Donovan, who believe that because you're different, you're somehow bad. And 'freak' is a very mean word to call someone when they're different... It's very mean."
"Make Daddy sad?" Hamish asked worriedly.
"Umm... No. Not anymore," Sherlock said gently, brushing his fingers across Hamish's smooth cheek.
"Hame no 'ink Daddy freak," the little boy whispered, pressing his face into Sherlock's chest. "Hame 'ove Daddy. No freak. 'Ove."
Sherlock couldn't help but laugh sadly, feeling an overwhelming sense of love for this little boy.
"Thank you, Hamish. That means more to me than you can possibly know," he murmured, bending down rest his head on top of Hamish's silky hair.
"No Daddy be sad. Hame 'ove... No sad?"
Feeling that familiar warmth flood his entire body, Sherlock laid down on the bed, pulling Hamish close to his face.
"No," he whispered. "I'm not sad. I'm actually... So incredibly happy, Hamish. Thank you, so very much. I love you, Hamish." He leaned forward, tenderly kissing Hamish's nose.
"Mmm," the little boy hummed, closing his eyes. "Hame nigh night' here?" he asked tiredly, already crawling off of Sherlock's chest.
"Of course you can, Hamish," Sherlock whispered happily. He quickly pulled off his jacket, tossing it aside, and then rolled over, pausing to stare lovingly at Hamish's small form. "Mmm," the little boy sighed happily, curling into a ball as he waited for his father.
Tenderly, Sherlock crawled back into the bed, lying on his side, and gently pulled Hamish close to his torso.
"Mmm... No Daddy freak," the little boy mumbled to himself as his eyes began to slide shut. "'Ove Daddy," he whispered, kissing the closest thing he could find, which happened to be Sherlock's arm.
The detective chuckled, a mix of sadness, happiness, but mostly an overwhelming sense of love causing his eyes to burn.
"Nigh, nigh, Daddy," Hamish barely managed before he quickly fell asleep, wrapped in his father's loving embrace.
"Good night, Hamish. Thank you." Overcome with emotion, he bent down, pressing his lips to the top of Hamish's hair. "I love you."
That night, Sherlock did not sleep. The words, "No Daddy freak," kept playing over and over in his mind, and each time, he thought he felt a little bit more love for the sleeping boy wrapped tightly in his arms.