Hey everyone! I hope you all had an absolutely wonderful Thanksgiving! (And a good break for all who had one!)
I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! (Please excuse the errors, I am so sorry! It's incredibly late right now and I'm terribly exhausted, so I'll proofread it the first chance I get in the morning.) You all are simply the greatest, so thank you so much for all you do! Have a great rest of your weekend! Thanks, guys!
Oh! Also, if anyone has any chapter suggestions, or chapter they would love to see written, please let me know! It can be kind of challenging sometimes to come up with new ideas. =) Thanks all!
Chapter Thirty-Four: Babysitting
"Hamish?" John whispered softly as he pushed open the door to Sherlock's room. He paused in the doorway upon seeing Hamish, wide awake, snuggled closely to the detective's side, tracing patterns across his father's collarbone with his tiny, chubby fingers.
"He'o, John," Hamish whispered quietly, giving the doctor a tiny smile as he shifted slightly, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder.
"Hey, little man." Smiling, and taking careful steps so as not to wake his friend, John slowly moved towards the bed. "How about you come sleep with me tonight, hmm?" he asked quietly. "So we can give Daddy some time to rest, yeah?"
"No 'ease, John," the little boy answered softly, absentmindedly snuggling closer to the detective.
"You sure, Hame? I think Daddy might get more sleep if—"
"No, John. Daddy need."
"Hame," John started gently, giving the little boy a warm smile as he moved closer. He paused, however, as Sherlock shifted in the bed. The doctor watched with careful eyes as his flat mate's breath started to quicken, and suddenly felt incredibly sad for his friend; he'd had more than his fair share of nightmare's and understood the fear that accompanied them.
Chest heaving up and down with short, quick breaths, Sherlock's hand clenched into a fist where it was resting against his chest, as his eyebrows pulled together, forming an almost pained expression as his whole body visibly tensed.
"Daddy?" Hamish whispered gently, quickly sitting up in the bed and grabbing a fistful of his father's shirt. With sad eyes, the little boy scooted upwards, crawling onto Sherlock's chest, and laid down, pressing his cheek against the detective's neck as he snuggled into Sherlock's chest. "Daddy," he whispered again, tiny lips brushing against his father's skin as he spoke.
John watched with fond eyes as his flat mate's breathing quickly returned to normal, and couldn't help but smile when he saw Sherlock's hand subconsciously unclench and slide up to rest on Hamish's back.
"Daddy need Hame," Hamish whispered, pressing his small form even closer to the detective.
"Yes," John murmured, unable to help himself from smiling. "I suppose he does, doesn't he?"
"'Es, John. Hame stay. Daddy sa... Saf'."
"You're going to keep Daddy safe?"
"'Es. Hame stay 'ease, John?" Saf' Daddy?" Hamish asked hopefully, twisting his small form so he could see the doctor.
Giving the little boy a warm smile, John moved closer to the bed and, careful not to wake Sherlock, bent down and pressed a tender kiss to Hamish's temple. "Of course you can stay. Keep him safe for me, okay?" he whispered playfully, ruffling the little boy's hair.
"'Kay, John," Hamish giggled, closing his eyes as a content smile graced his lips. "Nigh' night, John."
"Goodnight, Hame," John chuckled, gently patting the little boy on the back before slipping out of the room.
"Mmm," Hamish sighed contently, opening his eyes to stare up at his father's now-peaceful face. "Daddy," he whispered, scooting closer to Sherlock and nuzzling against the detective's jaw. Bottom lip protruding slightly, the little boy reached down and wrapped his chubby fingers around Sherlock's hand, which was resting on the bed. "Nigh', Daddy," he whispered, pulling his father's fingers to his chest and wrapping his tiny arms the detective's wrist.
Sherlock awoke with a small shudder at the movement, taking a quick intake of breath as his eyes opened. Blinking slowly and closing his fingers in an effort to gauge his surroundings, the detective couldn't help but smile as he felt Hamish on his chest.
"Hamish?" he whispered gently, rubbing his fingertips up and down his son's tiny back.
"Daddy? Daddy up?" Hamish asked quietly, gazing up at the detective with wide eyes.
"Hmm. Yes," Sherlock yawned, absentmindedly pulling the little boy closer. "Did I wake you?"
"No, Daddy. Hame up," Hamish declared cheerfully, haphazardly pushing his chubby hands against his father's jaw and collarbone as he sat up.
"You've been up this whole time?"
"Mmm-hmm. Stay at Daddy an' Daddy saf'!"
Sherlock couldn't help but feel a flutter of warmth dance through his chest at his son's words. "You needed to stay to keep me safe?" he asked softly, running his fingertips over Hamish's forehead.
"'Es, Daddy. Good?"
"Very good," Sherlock murmured, bending upward and smiling as he pressed a tender kiss to his son's cheek. "You've done an excellent job so far... Thank you very much, Hamish. That was incredibly thoughtful of you."
"Ta, Daddy. 'Etter?" Hamish asked worriedly, bending forward to inspect his father's battered face.
"I'm alright, Hamish," the detective murmured, placing a reassuring hand on the little boy's back. "I promise. Just... A little more rest, and I'll be fine."
"Oh," he sighed in relief, sitting back on Sherlock's chest as a small smile spread across his lips. "'Kay, Daddy."
"Aren't you tired?" Sherlock chuckled lovingly, quickly rolling on his side and allowing Hamish to gently slide from his chest.
"No, Daddy!" the little boy giggled, throwing his chubby hands in the air as he grinned.
"No?" the detective sighed incredulously, propping himself up on his elbow as he began to gently tickle Hamish's bare stomach. "Well, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?"
"No! No, Daddy!" the little boy laughed, desperately trying to shove his father's hand away. "'Ease, Daddy!"
Chuckling fondly at his son's efforts, Sherlock leaned forward, taking the little boy's tiny hands in his own and started to pepper ticklish kisses all over Hamish's cheeks and bare stomach.
"Da! Daddy!" Little face scrunching up as he laughed, Hamish squirmed happily, trying to escape his father's ticklish kisses. "Daddy!" he gasped.
"Alright, alright," Sherlock chuckled, his deep, baritone voice filling the quiet room and mixing with his son's light giggles. "Sorry," he murmured, hovering over Hamish's tiny form. Smiling with warm eyes, the detective bent down and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of the little boy's nose, keeping his tiny hands wrapped safely in his own fingers.
"Mmm," Hamish sighed happily, blinking slowly as Sherlock placed a tender kiss to his nose. "Daddy," he whispered gently. With a content smile on his face, the little boy pulled one his hands from the detective's grasp and placed it it to the Sherlock's jaw, splaying his chubby fingers over the skin.
"Daddy 'kay?" he whispered, fingers curling against his father's skin as he stared up at the detective, his deep green eyes wide with worry.
Eyes suddenly going sad as he gazed down at his son, Sherlock sat back and gently pulled Hamish into his lap. "Yes, Hamish," he murmured, running his fingertips through the little boy's silky curls as he leaned back against the headboard. "I promise I'm okay." Hoping to give his son some sort of comfort, Sherlock gave Hamish a warm smile and pulled him close to his chest, giving the little boy a tight hug.
"Daddy," Hamish whispered, gently shoving away from the detective's chest and giving him a look that clearly said he was not convinced. "Daddy 'kay?"
Sherlock stared at his son with a careful gaze for a few moments, steel-grey eyes slowly scanning his son's features. "Hamish?" he started gently, turning Hamish in his lap so the little boy's back was pressed against his middle. "Do you remember, quite a while ago, when I told you that I never want you to feel sad for me? Because I want you to be happy?"
Hamish thought for a moment, leaning back into his father's comforting embrace before looking up, tilting his head so he could see the detective's eyes. "'Es, Daddy. No Daddy Hame sad."
"Exactly," Sherlock praised encouragingly, running a thumb across his son's bare stomach. "Hamish, what happened to me was not your fault. And I don't want you to feel sad for me, alright? I want you to be happy... Can you do that for me?" he asked gently, turning Hamish in his lap so they were face-to-face.
"Bu... Bu Daddy ouch," the little boy whispered sadly, placing an incredibly tender hand to Sherlock's cheek. "An' Hame Daddy saf'."
Smiling at his son's words, the detective closed his eyes and leaned into Hamish's gentle touch. "I know," he murmured, opening his eyes and feeling his breath suddenly dissipate in his throat as he gazed into the little boy's strikingly beautiful eyes; as he saw the concern and love his son clearly had for him. "Oh, Hamish," he murmured sadly, pressing the little boy's hand closer to his cheek as he tried to catch his breath. "You're right... I do need you to keep me safe, after all. But just... Can you make me a promise, Hamish?"
"Mmm-hmm," Hamish whispered, curling his fingers against the hollow in his father's cheek.
"Can you promise me that you won't be sad for me? Please?"
Hamish paused for a moment, his wide eyes carefully scanning over his father's pale face. "'Kay, Daddy. No Hame sad... Bu' Hame stay at Daddy so saf'?" he asked hopefully, chubby fingers wrapping around the collar of Sherlock's shirt.
"I would love that, Hamish. You'll stay and keep me safe?"
"'Es, Daddy."
"Promise?"
"Mmm-hmm. P... Prom'kiss."
Chuckling fondly at his son, Sherlock slid down the headboard, resting against the bed and waiting patiently as Hamish got situated, watching with loving eyes as the little boy sat up on his chest.
"'Kay, Daddy," Hamish declared expectantly, holding a single, tiny hand in front of the detective's face.
Brows pulling together in confusion, Sherlock's gaze quickly slid from his son's outstretched hand to his expectant eyes.
"Hame help," the little boy stated, raising his eyebrows at his father. "Daddy," he giggled, when it was clear the detective was not understanding. Smiling contently to himself, Hamish reached behind him, and with a small grunt of effort, tugged Sherlock's hand up until it was resting in his lap. "Hame help," he explained, offering his hand once again, and gently tapping on the detective's fingers arm with his free hand.
"Ah. I see." Unable to contain his smile, Sherlock reached up and wrapped his slender fingers around Hamish's tiny hand. "Thank you, Hamish," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the little boy's cheek. "I love you..."
"'Ove, Daddy," Hamish yawned, half-leaning, half-collpasing forward onto the detective's chest as he pulled Sherlock's hand close to his tiny body, wrapping his free arm around the detective's wrist as he yawned again.
"You're probably tired, aren't you?" Sherlock murmured sadly, remembering vaguely that John had mentioned Hamish had not been sleeping well the past few days.
"'Es, Daddy," the little boy sighed contently, curling his small form around the detective's arm as he snuggled into his father's chest. "Hame here," he whispered, pressing a tired kiss to Sherlock's thumb.
"I know you are, Hamish," the detective chuckled fondly. "Thank you for keeping me safe."
"Hmm... Good, Daddy."
Sherlock quickly recovered over the next several days, his nightmares soon dissipating with the comfort of Hamish's tiny form close every night.
Eventually, after much help (and fits) from Hamish, Sherlock's eating was back on schedule and he had gained most of his strength back, seeing as the little boy would refuse to do much else until his father had consumed at least two meals a day, one of which was usually hand fed to the detective by him.
And, though he tried to pretend otherwise, Sherlock was immensely grateful to have John's help as well as the comfort of his son closeby.
"No 'ease, Daddy," Hamish declared, crossing his chubby arms across his chest as he glared up at his father, bottom lip protruding in a firm pout.
"Hamish," Sherlock warned, raising an eyebrow at the little boy, who was clothed only in a t-shirt and nappy. "We are going out. You must wear pants."
"No 'ease, Daddy," Hamish repeated, quickly plopping down on the floor as he huffed a small breath of disagreement.
"Yes. Pants, or you don't get to go see Lestrade with us."
"No Unk Lestrade?" Hamish gasped quietly, eyes suddenly going wide as he stared up at Sherlock's tall form.
"Nope. John and I will go without you and you can stay here all by yourself," the detective tried, forcing himself to keep a straight face as he watched Hamish's eyes widen even more.
"'Eave, Hame?"
Grasping the tiny pair of trousers in his fingers, Sherlock crouched down and held the pants out in front of him. "Pants?" he asked quietly, quirking an eyebrow at his son's clearly-shocked form.
"'Es, Daddy!" Hamish cried quickly, curls bobbing slightly as he fervently nodded up and down.
"That's what I thought," Sherlock smirked lightheartedly, chuckling slightly as he watched Hamish quickly stand up.
"'Kay, Daddy," the little boy sighed, bracing himself as he splayed his two chubby hands across his father's shoulders.
"Very good." Giving Hamish a quick kiss on the cheek, Sherlock pulled on his son's tiny pants, chuckling as the little boy wobbled and fell forward against him. "Sorry," he chuckled, pulling the little boy into his arms.
"'Kay, Daddy," Hamish giggled, draping one of his arms over the detective's shoulder as they made their way to the landing, where John was leaning against doorframe.
"Alright," Sherlock sighed dramatically, giving his son a knowing smile. "Shoes," he stated plainly.
"Daddy!" Hamish whined, leaning forward and pressing his tiny face into Sherlock's neck as he frowned. "No 'ease?" he asked quietly, voice muffled as he spoke against his father's skin.
Absentmindedly swaying back and forth, Sherlock thought for a moment, ignoring the smirks John was shooting him. "Socks," he compromised eventually, cheek brushing against Hamish's auburn curls as he turned towards the little boy.
Frowning as he contemplated, Hamish relaxed, turning so his cheek was resting against Sherlock's collarbone. "'Kay, Daddy," he sighed eventually, automatically sticking a tiny leg out in preparation as he sighed deeply, giving his father what almost looked like an eye roll.
"Well!" John laughed, quickly grabbing a pair of the little boy's socks and passing it to his flat mate. "We certainly know whose son he is, don't we?" he chuckled smugly, watching as Sherlock managed to slip the incredibly tiny socks onto each of Hamish's feet, using only one hand.
"Please," Sherlock groaned as he quickly situated both Hamish and his scarf, giving the doctor an eye roll of his own. "He most definitely does not get that from me."
"Right. Nope. Don't know where on earth he gets it from," John sighed, following as his flat mate hurried down the stairs.
"You don't get that from me, do you?" Sherlock whispered playfully into Hamish's ear, smirking as the little boy started to giggle in his arms.
"No, Daddy," Hamish whispered back, giggling madly.
"Exactly." With a sly smile, the detective turned back to smirk briefly at John before hurrying out into the brisk London air, quickly hailing a cab.
"When was she found?" Sherlock asked curiously, gazing at the large photos Lestrade had given him when they arrived at the Yard.
"Yesterday."
"Mmm. Dead for how long?"
"Three days."
"Interesting. Very few signs of decomposition. Identified her yet?"
"Uh, no. No, not yet."
"Excellent," the detective sighed sarcastically. "John? What would that be?" he asked curiously, passing the photo to the doctor.
"Uhh... Well... To me that looks like... A lesion of some sort. It's deep. But—" John's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone going off. "Oops! It's Molly. Excuse me."
"John," Sherlock groaned crossing his legs impatiently as the doctor hurried out of Lestrade's office.
"Be back in a moment."
"Fine... Where's Hamish gone?" Sherlock asked worriedly, turning around in one of the Inspector's chairs as he looked through the glass walls, trying to find his son.
"Probably terrorizing Donovan again," Lestrade chuckled.
"Mmm," the detective hummed in reply, lips twitching into a smile at the thought. "Hamish?" he called softly into the open office, observant eyes quickly scanning the desks. He frowned slightly as he saw the little boy, sat up on Anderson's desk, scribbling contently on a sheet of paper.
For some reason, Hamish had taken quite a liking to Anderson, despite his father's adamant protests. The little boy had been dismayed at first when he learned that Sally and Anderson were girlfriend and boyfriend (John's explanation for what Sherlock had started to explain), but quickly recovered, and returned to spending time with Anderson whenever they came to the Yard.
"Hamish!" he called, giving the little boy a warm smile in the hope that it would draw him away.
"Hmm? Daddy!" Spotting his father, Hamish grabbed the drawing in his chubby fingers, clutching it close to his chest as he attempted to jump off the desk, only to be caught and helped down by Anderson, which earned a significant scowl from the detective.
"What have you got there?" he asked excitedly, quickly kneeling down as the little boy hurried close, and taking the picture from his son's tiny hands.
"Draw! Like, Daddy?" Hamish asked hopefully.
"I love it!" Sherlock cried animatedly, giving his son a bright smile. He paused, however, as he gazed down at the picture, amazed yet again by how intelligent and insightful Hamish was. "This is lovely, Hamish. May I keep this one?" he murmured as he gazed down at a haphazard drawing of himself and John, each holding one of Hamish's hands, with the little boy nestled safely between them.
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish sighed contently, giving Sherlock a cheerful smile. "Fam... Fam'ry," he stated, gently tapping the paper with a tiny finger. "Daddy, John, Hame," he whispered, pointing out each person on the paper, not noticing the way his father was studying him with an incredibly tender gaze.
"Very good, Hamish," he murmured, barely noticing as John re-entered the office. "What was that about?" Sherlock asked absentmindedly, still smiling fondly at his son's angelic face.
"Uhh, Molly needs us to babysit for her. On Wednesday."
Suddenly coming back to reality at the doctor's words, Sherlock clutched his son's drawing close and stood up, staring at John with accusing eyes. "Did you say yes?"
"Of course I did!"
"Great," Sherlock muttered under his breath, absentmindedly pulling Hamish close to his leg.
"What?" John cried, glaring at his flat mate.
"Nothing, I just... We've never had a baby with us before. I mean... I—"
"Molly? Baby?" Hamish asked curiously from where he was hovering behind Sherlock's leg, and handful of the detective's dark pants clutched in his fist.
"Oh. Yes!" John exclaimed cheerfully, turning his attention to the little boy's hidden form. "Molly's baby is going to be coming over in a few days, and we're going to watch her for a little while."
Eyes widening and mouth quickly dropping open, Hamish quickly tugged on Sherlock's trousers, already bouncing up and down with excitement. "Real, Daddy?" he gasped excitedly, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Shooting John a dismaying glare, the detective dared a glance down at his son, instantly melting as he saw how excited the little boy was. "Oh, fine," he sighed dramatically, running his palm over Hamish's back.
"Oh! Molly baby! Yay, Daddy!" the little boy cried triumphantly, pulling on his father's pant leg. "Up 'ease?"
Chuckling in spite of himself, Sherlock bent down and pulled his son's bouncing form into his arms.
"Ta, Daddy," Hamish sighed happily, wrapping his arms around the detective's neck.
"You're welcome," Sherlock laughed. "So. Wednesday, hmm?"
"Yep! Three more days," John chuckled, smiling at his two flat mates.
"Ah, Sherlock! I've just got the call, they've identified her. Her name is—"
"Doesn't matter, " the detective sighed, giving a submissive wave of his hand towards the Inspector. "It was the uncle. Call you with details later."
"Oh. Right. Great! Uhh, thanks!"
"Yes. Come along, John," Sherlock called over his shoulder as placed Hamish on the ground, leading the tottering toddler out of the office.
Three days later, Sherlock was awoken by the soft sound of shuffling on the other side of the bed, followed closely by Hamish's tiny voice murmuring to himself.
"Morning, Hamish," the detective yawned, not even bother to open his eyes.
"Oh. Morn', Daddy!" Hamish declared happily, not having expected his father to have already been awake. Vibrating with anticipation, the little boy hurriedly crawled over to his father's resting form, draping himself over Sherlock's middle.
"Hamish," the detective groaned, pressing his face into the pillows in an effort to fall back to sleep.
"Up 'ease, Daddy? Molly an' baby!"
"Yes, I know. Molly and her baby are coming today. However, I highly doubt they will be coming at—" A glance a the clock. "Ugh. Four A.M."
"Oh. Seep, Daddy?"
"Very. Aren't you sleepy?" Sherlock yawned, shifting slightly so his hand was resting on Hamish's back.
"No, Daddy. Up."
"Yes. I can see that... Well... How about we rest for just a few more moments, alright?"
"No up, Daddy?"
"In just a moment," Sherlock murmured tiredly, deep voice filling the dark room. "Just... A few more moments."
Frowning slightly at the arrangement, but eventually giving in, Hamish slid off of the detective's middle, tugging his father's hand with him.
"'Kay, Daddy," he yawned, draping Sherlock's limp arm over his tiny body as he snuggled close to the detective's side, realizing how tired he actually was. "Seep, Daddy," he whispered, pressing closer to his father's middle.
"Mmm-hmm," Sherlock hummed in reply, quickly falling asleep again.
"Molly!" Hamish cried excitedly, the puzzle he had been working on quickly forgotten with the ringing of the doorbell. "Come, Daddy!" he called, quickly toddling into the kitchen and pulling anxiously at the leg of Sherlock's pants.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," the detective chuckled, quickly scooping Hamish into his arms and hurrying down the stairs. "John! Molly!" he called behind his shoulder as he rounded the corner.
"Ah. Molly," Sherlock greeted politely as he opened the door.
"Molly!" Hamish called, a wide grin spreading across his small face. "Baby, Daddy! Baby!" he whispered loudly, pointing down at the light pink baby carriage as he simultaneously tapped the detective on he shoulder.
"Yes, yes, I see," Sherlock chuckled, welcoming Molly in and ushering her up the stairs.
"Ah! Hello, Molly!" John called cheerfully as they entered the flat.
"Hello, John! My goodness, thank you, you two for doing this on such short notice. I really appreciate it!"
"Oh, of course! It's not a problem at all! We're delighted to have her. Is she sleeping?"
"Yes. She just fell asleep, so with any luck, she should be out for a few more hours," the pathologist chuckled sweetly. "I've just got a few more bags in the cab. I'll go—"
"Hame do!" the little boy volunteered suddenly, beaming triumphantly at Molly from Sherlock's arms.
The three adults quickly shared a knowing smile, all knowing the crush Hamish had on Molly, which had been discovered on a night the little boy had told Sherlock how beautiful the pathologist was and how he'd be okay if she and her baby moved in.
"All right," Sherlock chuckled, placing his son on the ground. "Let's go get the bags." Smiling fondly, the detective reached down and took Hamish's hand in his own before leading the little boy towards the stairs.
"Thank you, again, John."
"Really, don't worry about it," the doctor assured Molly gently, giving her a warm smile. "So! Anything in particular we should know?"
"Oh! Thank you for reminding me! Yes."
John listened patiently while Molly explained everything to him, already knowing it would be an interesting day.
"Oh, and one last thing. She really enjoys being held. So when in doubt, just bounce her around for a little bit, and she should calm down. If all else fails, just sing or hum to her. She enjoys music."
"Great! I think I have everything, then. Do you want to say goodbye to her?" he asked gently, noticing the way Molly had been eyeing the baby carriage.
"Hmm? Oh. No, thank you. I'm afraid if I say goodbye now, I won't be able to leave!" she chuckled lightheartedly.
"Of course."
The two turned towards the stairs at the sound of Sherlock bustling into the flat.
Molly couldn't help but laugh as she saw the detective, two large bags slung over his shoulders, and Hamish, trailing closely behind, a large grin on his face.
"There," Sherlock sighed, placing the bags on the floor. "That was all, yes?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Molly," Hamish declared happily. Grinning, the little boy toddled forward and shoved one of the bags his father had brought up over by the baby carriage. "Hame help," he stated, smiling up at Molly.
"Yes you did, didn't you?" the pathologist laughed, bending down to press a quick kiss to the little boy's temple. "You did a very good job, Hamish... Well, I've got to be off then. I shouldn't be too long. I will be sure to be back before dark! Thanks again, you two! I really appreciate it!" With one more wistful smile at the pink baby seat and a thankful nod of her head to John and Sherlock, Molly quickly retreated down the stairs.
"Hame see?" the little boy asked immediately, slowly walking over towards the carriage.
"I suppose. But she's sleeping right now, so you'll need to be very quiet," Sherlock murmured.
"Oh. 'Kay, Daddy."
Sharing a quick smile with John, the detective slowly led Hamish forward and then knelt down by the baby seat, pulling away the covering. "See? She's resting."
"What na'e?" Hamish whispered, staring down at the baby with wide, observant eyes.
"Rose-Marie," John supplied softly, bending down to stare fondly at the slumbering baby. "That's a pretty name, isn't it?"
"Mmm-hmm, John. Bat'm'ful. Li'e Molly," the little boy giggled suddenly quickly covering his mouth and staring with fond eyes at the baby girl.
"Beautiful like Molly?" John chuckled, playfully ruffling Hamish's curls.
"'Es... Daddy?"
"Yes, Hamish?"
"Can?" he asked hopefully, pointing to the little girl's small hand.
"Yes. Just be gentle, all right? Remember, she's much smaller than you."
"'Es, Daddy." Suddenly very serious, Hamish took a single finger and, eyes quickly flitting to her face to make sure he had not harmed or woken her, touched her incredibly tiny hand.
"Mmm," the little girl sighed in her sleep, hand subconsciously reached out and wrapping around Hamish's own chubby finger.
The little boy gasped at the sudden movement, jumping slightly as Rose-Marie wrapped her hand around one of his fingers. "See, Daddy?" he whispered in amazement, quickly glancing between John and his father as he hesitantly wrapped as much of his own hand around hers as he could.
"Lit..."
"Yes, she's very little, isn't she?" John murmured, sharing a quick smile with Sherlock. "Very tiny."
Hamish ended up taking his first nap of the day curled up on the sitting room floor, his hand still draped inside the baby seat, Rose-Marie's hand still wrapped around his tiny finger.
Unable to help himself, and waiting until John had fled to the kitchen to make a bottle for her, Sherlock quickly pulled out his phone and snapped several pictures, feeling a fluttering in his stomach as he bent over from his perch on the couch and took a picture of his the little girl's hand wrapped tightly around his son's finger.
"It's sweet." Sherlock nearly jumped as he turned to see John, leaning against the doorway in the kitchen, smiling at him.
"Yes, I... Suppose it is," the detective murmured, quickly pocketing his mobile and turning back to gaze fondly at his slumbering son. "He's so enamored with her."
"I know," John chuckled, moving into the sitting room with a completed bottle in hand and sat down on his chair, smiling at the two slumbering children.
"Hmm," Sherlock hummed, bending down to run a quick hand through Hamish's auburn curls. "Do you think he gets lonely, John?" he asked quietly, expressing a worry he'd had since Molly's baby was born.
"What?" the doctor exclaimed, a little taken aback by his friend's question.
"Do you think he gets lonely? I've just worried that he might be yearning for another sibling."
"Why do you think so?
"The way he acts around Molly's baby. He told me he wanted one. A baby, I mean... But I don't know if that means he just likes the idea of having a baby or if it means he wants a younger sibling... It's just something I've been worrying over, that's all."
"Ah, I see... Well... I don't think he's lonely, if that's your concern. He always seems perfectly content to me. I think the idea of a baby is new, so therefore it's interesting, that's all," John said gently, giving his friend a reassuring smile.
"Thank you, John," Sherlock responded softly, quickly grabbing a blanket and draping it over his son's sleeping form.
The little boy was jolted awake by a piercing cry that echoed through the entire flat.
Sherlock, who had been resting on the couch with his eyes closed, hands steepled under his chin, nearly fell off the couch at the wail.
"John!" he called to the kitchen, suddenly unsure of what to do.
Thoroughly displeased at having been so rudely awoken, Hamish covered his ears and with a deep frown on his face, hurriedly scooted closer to Sherlock, desperately trying to crawl onto the couch and away from the sound.
"Yep, she's awake!" John chuckled, laughing at his flat mate's reactions. "Shh," he soothed, quickly bending down and undoing the harness around Rose-Marie's body and pulling her small form out of the seat.
"Shh," he whispered, grabbing the bottle and quickly slipping it into her mouth.
Both Sherlock and Hamish sighed in relief as the piercing wails finally stopped. "Sorry, Hamish," the detective sighed, reaching down and pulling the little boy onto his lap as he frowned at the now-peaceful baby. His brows pulled together slightly as he studied John, watching with observant eyes as the doctor began to gently rock back and forth, humming down to the baby in his arms.
"Oh! John! Hame do?" Hamish asked excitedly, gently tapping Sherlock on the chest as he stared at the calm baby.
"You'd like to feed her?" John chuckled, smiling fondly at the little boy.
"'Es 'ease, John. Can?" he whispered, a tiny smile pulling up the corners of his lips as the stared at the little girl.
"Sure. Why don't you see if Daddy will help you?"
"What? No, I really think you should do it, John."
"Why? It's not different than Hamish."
"She's much smaller than Hamish. What if I... Drop her or something?"
Just as he was about to pass the little girl to his flat mate's arms, John paused, almost chuckling at Sherlock's insecurities. "You won't," he promised calmly, pulling the bottle out of Rose's mouth and passing the baby to the detective.
"Ro'e!" Hamish whispered happily, quickly sliding off of his father's lap, and pressing both of his chubby hands against Sherlock's shoulder as he waited.
"There we go," John sighed, placing the little girl in his friend's arms.
Almost instantly, she began to cry, waving her tiny fists in the air as she wailed, her face scrunching in discomfort.
"What, Ro'e?" Hamish asked worriedly, a frown drawing down his lips as he stared at the crying girl.
"Nothing, Hamish," John chuckled, quickly handing Sherlock the bottle. "She's just hungry, that's all."
Understanding, the detective quickly slipped the bottle into Rose's mouth, smiling in relief as the wailing instantly stopped. "Thank goodness," he whispered. "Alright, Hamish. Would you like to come help?" he asked gently, looking over his shoulder at the little boy, who was now smiling down at the little girl, a tiny fistful of his father's shirt clutched in his hand.
"Hmm? Oh. 'Es, Daddy! What do?"
"How about you hold the bottle, hmm?" Sherlock suggested gently, looking to John for confirmation.
"'Kay, Daddy."
With the help of John, Hamish was soon situated to the left of Sherlock, sitting halfway on the detective's lap, halfway on the couch, grinning as he held the bottle up while Sherlock held Rose.
"Good, John?"
"That's excellent, Hamish! You're doing a very good job."
The flat mate's watched with fond eyes as Hamish fed Rose the rest of the bottle, taking note of the way the little boy's eyes would light up each time Rose would look at him.
"He'o Ro'e," he whispered happily after the bottle had been finished. "Hame," he stated slowly, pointing to himself. "Daddy. John. See?"
Beaming when the little girl started to giggle, Hamish quickly crawled over his father's legs and moved to the other side of the couch so he could better see Rose's face.
Sherlock and John watched with tender eyes as Hamish bent down and pressed an incredibly gentle kiss to Rose's forehead. "He'o." Giggling happily to himself, the little boy reached down and held a curious finger in front of her curled fist, gasping with happiness when she reached out, once again wrapping her tiny fingers around one of his own.
"Look, Daddy!" the little boy whispered loudly.
"Yes, yes, I see!" Sherlock cheered quietly, giving his son a warm smile. "You're doing a very good job."
"Hmm."
Nearly two hours later, both Rose and Hamish had fallen on Sherlock, with his son draped across his legs and the little girl resting peacefully against his chest.
"You look cosy," John chuckled, smiling at the overwhelmed look on his flat mate's face.
"How on earth do people manage with two children?" Sherlock sighed, gazing down to make sure he had not woken either child.
"Practice," John laughed, quickly pulling out his phone and taking several shots of the scene in front of him. "At least she's warmed up to you a bit," he murmured, gesturing to the sleeping little girl.
"Hmm. Yes. She looks like Molly," Sherlock murmured absentmindedly, freezing as she shifted against his chest.
"Yeah. She has her eyes... Sherlock?"
"Yes?"
"I've been meaning to talk to you about this for awhile... Mycroft told me a while back that you... Hade made me Hamish's guardian?"
"Of course I did. You're the only one I'd trust."
"What?" John asked, taken aback by his friend's response.
"You're the one I would trust most to take care of him and raise him," Sherlock answered simply. "You're my friend, John. One of the few I've got. And I know you'd take good care of him," he murmured, glancing down at his son's sleeping form and smiling as he felt the little boy's breath against his legs. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer me take you off?"
"What? No! No, I'm flattered, and if anything were to happen, I would be more than happy to take him in. I just wanted to make sure that wasn't some sort of mistake or something, that's all..."
"John. I've trusted you with my life. I most certainly trust you with his," Sherlock murmured, nodding down to Hamish's sleeping form. "There's no one I'd rather have take care of him should... Anything happen."
"Thank you, Sherlock," the doctor replied quietly. "That uhh... Mean's a lot," he stated truthfully.
"Of course... Uh, John?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you mind? Taking her, I mean? She's small, but she does become heavy after an hour and a half."
"Sure," John laughed, quickly hurrying over from where he had been sitting. "There we are," he murmured, gently taking Rose from his friend's arms and pressing her close to his chest. "There we are."
Molly returned shortly before dark and quickly took her sleeping baby from John's arms.
"She was wonderful," the doctor whispered truthfully, not wanting to wake Hamish, who was still sleeping soundly in Sherlock's lap.
"Good. Thank you two so much!"
After a few more thank you's and a quick kiss for all three of them, Molly grabbed her bags and hurried down the stairs, followed closely by John who helped by carrying the baby carriage.
Smiling after his friends, Sherlock slowly stood up and pulled his son's sleeping form into his arms, knowing that he would be thoroughly displeased tomorrow when he discovered he had not been able to say goodbye to the baby or Molly.
Chuckling slightly at the thought, the detective silently moved into his room and gently tucked Hamish's small body under the covers. "There you go," he murmured, using the back of knuckles to brush some of the little boy's unruly curls off of his forehead. "Goodnight, Hamish. I love you. Hope you had a good time." With warm eyes, Sherlock bent down and pressed a tender kiss to Hamish's cheek. "I suppose it wasn't too awful," he murmured against the little boy's skin, cradling his son's head in his hand.
"Hmm." Hamish sighed in sleep, subconsciously curling around the duvet and leaning into his father's comforting touch.
"Sleep well, Hamish," Sherlock chuckled lightly, pressing a quick kiss to his son's fingers. "We may have to do it again sometime," he murmured, gazing fondly at Hamish's peaceful form. "Goodnight..."