Hey guys! Okay. SO. My apologies (per the norm) for the delay. But I must say to unfortunately expect more delays in the future. As I'm sure is true from some of you, school started for me a little over a month ago. And I was not expecting the work load. It's far more than I was anticipating and I'm a tad bit overwhelmed at the moment. =/ So I do apologize for the fact that there will have to be bigger gap between updates. But all of you have been so supportive and so many of you who are still following this story have been following from the beginning, and I just want to say thank you so much for that. And, especially when it can be hard to write, I just want to let you guys know that your support is incredibly reassuring and motivating. So a huge thank you to everyone who has/is still staying with this story. It means the world to me. =) While I'd hoped to make this chapter a tad bit longer, I wanted to get something out to you guys, seeing how long you've waited. I hope this chapter can satisfy! =)

Once again: Thank you so much everyone! You all are incredibly understanding and supportive, and I truly do appreciate it. I love writing about Hamish and the Sherlock clan, and I love reading your responses to the chapters; it always brightens my day and I absolutely love being a part of this story. =) Hope you guys enjoy! I will attempt to update as quickly as I can and I hope that will be soon! Please bear with me. =) Thank you everyone! (I cannot say that enough!)

Chapter Fifty-Five: The Real Doctor

"Daddy?" Hamish whispered worriedly as he prodded at his father's sharp cheekbone with a single tiny finger.

Sherlock, having been completely immersed in his musings awoke with a small jolt on the couch. "Hamish?" he murmured, letting his steepled fingers slide from his lips. "What is it?"

"John be, Daddy."

Sherlock frowned. "John?"

Hamish nodded his head solemnly. "'Es, Daddy."

Sherlock's features tensed as he understood. "Do you want to come?" he asked, knowing Hamish usually preferred to be confined in the safety of his room during a "bad John nigh'" as the little boy had so dubbed these instances.

"I come, Daddy," Hamish whispered with a small voice.

"Right, then." Smiling sadly, Sherlock wrapped his hand around his son's little one and padded toward the stairs.

Stopping, Hamish tugged at his father's hand. "Up, Daddy," he stated with a frown, gazing down the stairs.

"Of course." With a sad smile, Sherlock hoisted Hamish's little form onto his hip. The detective began to descend the stairs to John's room, aw are that Hamish had draped several of his tiny fingers over his index finger and was gripping tightly. "Alright?" he asked gently, a hand on John's doorknob. Hamish nodded silently. "Alright." Sherlock flicked his wrist, opening the door to his flat mate's room. He could hear John's shallow, hurried breaths. "How about you stay here?" the detective murmured as he set Hamish on the ground near the door.

"'Kay, Daddy," the little boy barely whispered as he gazed warily at John's tossing and turning form.

"It's alright," Sherlock reassured. The detective gently pat his little son on the back and then padded over to his flat mate's bed. He sat down on the edge, throwing a reassuring smile Hamish's way when he heard a whine emit from Hamish's direction. Heaving a silent sigh, Sherlock turned his attention back to his flat mate and placed a gentle hand on the doctor's shoulder. "John," he murmured gently, not wishing to startle the doctor any more than was necessary. The detective frowned sadly when John jolted awake with a loud intake of breath.

"Mar... Hm... Sher... Sherlock?" the doctor managed in between deep breaths.

"Yes," Sherlock whispered with a simple nod of his head. "You were having a dream."

John chuckled dryly and without humor. "Yeah." Heaving several deep breaths, the doctor ran his fingers through his sandy hair, attempting to calm himself down.

Sherlock sat and waited patiently, expression solemn but guarded.

Having slowed his breaths, John allowed his hands to slide from his short hair. They landed in his lap with a muffled thud. "God I miss her," the doctor whispered, voice catching just slightly. A sob rising in his chest, John allowed his head to loll to the side, not even bothering to move when it landed atop his flat mate's shoulder.

Sherlock froze in place and flicked his gaze back toward the doorway. Hamish, who had plopped his little self on the ground, was gazing intently toward them, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the wooden floor. The detective quirked his lips reassuringly before turning his attention back to his flat mate. "I know," was all he could think to say. With the unique awkwardness of a Holmes, Sherlock placed a hand atop his flat mate's shoulder and gave his slender fingers a gentle squeeze. "I am sorry, John."

The doctor sniffled and lifted his head. "Yeah. I know you are," he whispered as he wiped at his nose. "Thanks, mate." John managed a weak smile. His gaze flicked towards the doorway and the smile slipped from his lips. "Oh. Hame—why—" Wiping hastily at his wet eyes, John quickly tried to compose himself.

Nearly tripping over himself in the process, Hamish stood up and, after looking to his father for confirmation, toddled towards the bed. "Up 'ease, Daddy?" the little boy asked quietly as he attempted to scramble onto the bed.

"Of course." Sliding off his flat mate's bed, Sherlock hoisted Hamish up and then set him next to John.

"Tank-su, Daddy."

"You're welcome, love."

Hamish turned his attention away from his father to John, who was gazing intently at him, a rather melancholy expression pulling at his features. "Hey, Hame."

The little boy heaved an airy sigh. "He'o, John. Dids have ah bads dream."

"Yeah, I know... I'm sorry I woke you up, little man."

"It is 'kay, John. I did hear."

A chuckle. "Yeah, I know."

"... I is sorry, John."

The doctor turned a watery gaze to his little flat mate. "You're so precious," he whispered, pulling Hamish close to his chest.

'Oh," the little boy gasped against John's clothed chest, not having expected the embrace. "Is 'kay, John?"

"Yeah," the doctor sniffled as he released Hamish from his grasp. "Thanks, little man."

"Is welc'min, John," Hamish whispered as he snuggled against the doctor's chest. "I does 'ove."

Smile wavering as he once again began to cry, John pressed a kiss to his flat mate's curls while simultaneously patting his bare back.

Knowing it was time they left John to his thoughts, Sherlock walked over to the bed and gathered Hamish into his arms. "Come along, Hamish, love," the detective murmured with a hint of a smile. "Time to go back to bed."

"'Kay." Releasing John's shirt from his grasp, Hamish crawled into his father's arms and wrapped his arms around the detective's neck. "Nigh' night, John," the little boy called quietly and with a tiny wave as he was carried to the doorway.

Sniffling, but with a smile, John returned the wave with a smile and one of his own. "Night-night, little man."

Smiling, Sherlock shut the door behind him.

"Good, Daddy?" Hamish asked with a little sigh as he settled his head against the space where Sherlock's neck met his shoulder.

"Very good, my love. Very good," the detective reassured with a smile. Sherlock set his hand atop Hamish's bare back and gave the smooth skin there a warm pat. "You did such a wonderful job in there. I'm very proud of you."

"Mmm. Tank-su, Daddy."

Having reached his son's room, Sherlock padded over to the tiny bed situated against the nearest wall, and knelt down, knowing Hamish preferred to crawl into bed on his own. "There you go." The detective set Hamish down and released his son from his grasp.

With a little grunt, Hamish hoisted himself onto the tiny bed. "Tank-su, Daddy," he sighed quietly.

"You're quite welcome." With a bittersweet smile, Sherlock leaned forward and lifted the Thomas the Train Engine covers up, smiling when Hamish slotted his little self under them. "Good?"

"'Es, Daddy. Tuck?"

"It would be my pleasure." Sitting on the corner of his son's little bed, Sherlock carefully and gently tucked the blanket and covers around Hamish's form. "Satisfied?"

"'Es, Daddy. Is good."

"Excellent. Now. Try to get some more rest." Raising a playful brow, Sherlock pressed his lips to Hamish's temple.

"Daddy will?"

"I'll try my best," the detective chuckled. "How's that sound?"

Hamish's eyes travelled up as he contemplated and then back down again. "'Kay."

Sherlock smiled his fond half-smile. "Excellent." The detective stood and made his way to the doorway. "Well, then. Goodnight, love. I'll be just downstairs, yes?"

Pulling the covers up under his chin, Hamish nodded his understanding.

"Very good, then.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Hamish?"

Clearly contemplating what he wished to say, Hamish kicked his little feet beneath the covers. "Daddy?" the little boy repeated.

Sherlock chuckled. "Hmm?" he rumbled with a quirk of his lips.

"John is be 'kay?"

The detective's smile softened. "No. Not at the moment," Sherlock replied softly. "But he will be. Don't worry... I promise." A smile. "Goodnight, Hamish. I love you. And trust me. John will be fine, love." With a reassuring smile, Sherlock clicked off the lights and shut the door behind him as he left. Treading softly, the detective grabbed his blue silk robe off the arm of the couch and wandered into the kitchen in search of food. "Oh. Hello," he greeted in mild surprise upon finding John seated at the kitchen table, sipping at a cup of freshly-made tea.

"Mmm," John merely hummed in reply as he took another pensive sip while simultaneously rubbing at his tired eyes. "Can't sleep," the doctor mumbled as way of explanation.

"I assumed." Pouring himself a cup, Sherlock sat down next to his flat mate and twirled the teacup in his slender fingers. "Are you alright?" he asked seriously, deep voice rumbling around the dark flat. The detective watched as John, heaving a sigh, leaned back in his chair and took another sip of tea. "Yes, I think so," he answered eventually. "I just... I go through these periods of time where I miss her more than I feel my heart can possibly bear..." The doctor shrugged, eyeing a notch in the table. "And I do miss her so terribly much."

"Yes. I miss her as well. She was one of the few people in his world I genuinely enjoyed conversation with."

Tears once again welling in his deep blue-green eyes, John laughed and a smile graced his worn features. "Yes. You did quite have that in common. And you both seemed to genuinely enjoy talking about me."

"Well, there's much about you that deserved ridicule."

Once again, John laughed, wiping away at a few of the tears that had slid free. "This is how I like remembering her. Happy. Funny. Not as dead. Just gone."

Sherlock hummed in agreement. "And she's not really, I suppose. Well. Of course she is gone literally; logic simply cannot argue that. But I do believe memories count for something."

"Of course they do."

"And we certainly have many of those." Sherlock's gaze travelled to his friend was staring into his cup of tea, a small half-smile tugging at one corner of his lips.

"But I do miss her."

In an out-of-place act, the detective set his hand atop John's arm. "We all do," he murmured, gaze serious but no longer sad.

With barely even a hint of sadness left, John patted his friend's hand and smiled.

Several days later, the trio of flat mates sat at the kitchen table, John reading that morning's newspaper, Sherlock peering into his microscope, and Hamish attempting to smear far too much jam onto a piece of toast.

Chuckling, John lowered his paper and scooted next to his little flat mate. "How about some help with that, yeah?"

"No. I is 'kay, John."

"Sure?"

"'Es. I can do." Sticking his tongue out as he concentrated, Hamish grabbed a nearby spoon and proceeded to shove it into the nearly-empty strawberry jam jar.

Rolling his eyes in a playful manner, John reached over Hamish—who was far too focused on scooping the jam out of the jar to notice—and grabbed the little boy's untouched piece of toast. The doctor then quickly fetched a knife and the new jar of jelly from the fridge that had been hidden in the back from Hamish. "There you go, little man," he chuckled as he returned to the table, spreading jam across the otherwise-plain toast.

"What, John? Oh." Eyes travelling between the jar in front of him , Hamish eventually resorted to abandoning the jam for the toast.

"Good man."

"Tank-su," Hamish giggled with a grin as he munched on the toast.

"You're very welcome."

"Does want, Daddy?"

Sherlock pulled his gaze away from his microscope to find Hamish was holding a piece of his nibbled toast towards him. "Oh." The detective smiled. Knowing better than to argue with his stubborn son, Sherlock leaned down and took a smile bite. "Thank you, Hamish." The detective's gaze fell to Hamish's positively filthy and nearly-naked form. "Oh my, you are quite dirty, aren't you?" Sherlock laughed, raising an amused brow.

"What, Daddy... Oh," Hamish mumbled upon catching sight of himself. "I is a mess."

Both Sherlock and John laughed. "Yes," the detective murmured as returned to his microscope and adjusted the knobs. "Indeed you are. You'll need a bath once you're done."

Hamish agreed by nodding his head and munching at his toast.

"Time for ah bath, Daddy!" Hamish declared proudly once he had finished his breakfast.

Sherlock, still seated at his microscope, once again pulled his eyes away from the lens. "Indeed it is! Come on, then. Off we go." Sliding out of his seat, the detective gestured towards his bedroom.

"Oh! I go, Daddy!"

Sherlock watched with a smile as Hamish toddled his little self out of the kitchen and around the corner. The detective could hear each of his son's little footfalls slapping quietly against the wooden floor. Smiling, the detective took off his suit jacket and placed it over the kitchen chair before he, too, padded into the bathroom.

"He'o, Daddy!" Hamish declared from where he was standing near the shower door.

"Well hello there," Sherlock chuckled, leaning against the doorway. "Have we decided to take a shower today, then?"

"'Es!"

Sherlock's lips quirked at the corners. "Oh?"

"'Ep. I wants ah try."

Eyes traveling up as he contemplated, Sherlock padded into the bathroom and grabbed several towels. "I suppose we could try that," he chuckled eventually.

With gasping laughs, Hamish bounced up and down on his chubby legs.

Towels in hand, Sherlock padded over to the shower and pushed back the curtain. "How about I just sit out here while you have a wash, hmm?"

"'Kay, Daddy."

Setting the towels out on the bathroom floor, Sherlock opened the shower curtain just enough to switch the shower head onto its lowest setting. "Right." The detective turned around to face Hamish. "Ready?"

"'Es!" the little boy declared proudly. "I is ready, Daddy."

"Excellent. After quickly checking the temperature of the weak stream of water, Sherlock pulled off his son's pull-up and then set him in the back of the shower. "Good?"

Vibrating with excitement, Hamish merely nodded before inching towards the water.

Sherlock watched in mild amusement at how intrigued and utterly enthralled his son was. For a moment, the detective longed to see into Hamish's mind; to understanding what thoughts ran through his head each day.

"Look, Daddy!" Hamish squealed in delight as he stuck his small hands above his head, catching small puddles of water in his hand. Sherlock merely chuckled and, lips twitching into a fond half-smile, fetched the soap bottle and, seeing how Hamish was currently distractecd, began to scrub the jam from his little form.

"How is it you always manage to get so filthy?"

Giggling, Hamish merely shrugged before continuing to play in the stream of water.

"Alright, Hamish. Time to get out, love."

"Oh. Done, Daddy?"

"Indeed." A towel in hand, Sherlock reached into the shower and switched off the water. "My apologies," he chuckled towards his scowling son, "but I'm afraid I need to get back to work." Knowing an argument would soon be coming, the detective quickly wrapped the towel around Hamish and pulled the little boy into his arms with a chuckle.

"Oof! Not nice, Daddy," Hamish mumbled with a frown as he attempted to squirm out of his father's hold, quite displeased at having been removed from the shower.

Playfully rolling his eyes, Sherlock set his towel-clad son down on his bed. "There. Better?"

A huff. "'Es. 'Etter, Daddy."

"Ah. Good." Attempting to conceal his amused smile, Sherlock watched as Hamish situated the towel to his liking.

Heaving an airy sigh, as if what he'd just done was incredibly taxing, the little boy swung his legs off the edge of Sherlock's bed. "Daddy?" he asked suddenly as he swung his little legs back and forth.

"Hmm?"

"Can I asks ah question?"

Sobering, Sherlock took a seat next to his small son on the bed. "Always, Hamish."

Twiddling with the edge of the large towel he was wrapped in, Hamish's bottom lip protruded slightly. "Does... does Daddy 'ove John?" he managed eventually and in a small voice. "An' does John 'ove Daddy?"

Exhaling, Sherlock gazed down at Hamish and a small smile graced his lips. "Well... I suppose that depends on what kind of love you are talking about... Oh." Realizing that Hamish was speaking of a more basic love than he was about to explain, Sherlock scooted closer to his son's form and ran several fingers through his wet curls. "Yes," the detective stated plainly. "I suppose in a way you could say we do. John is—quite frankly—my only true friend. So our love is based on our friendship. And I would imagine John feels quite the same. We... Well, we are very close, yes. We've been through quite a lot together." Sherlock's silvery gaze travelled back to Hamish, who seemed to processing. "And then there's you."

"What, Daddy?"

"Well... You've formed a bond between the two of us. We both have a mutual love for you, so I suppose in a way that also strengthens our friendship. But for the kind of love you would be referring to, you could very well say that we do have a mutual feeling towards each other... You've made us a family, Hamish."

"So... Daddy does 'ove John?"

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, Hamish."

Quite content with this answer, a small half-smile danced over Hamish's lips. "We does have a good fam'wy," the little boy sighed contently with a firm nod of his head. No longer fiddling with the towel, Hamish allowed his head to loll to the side so it was resting against Sherlock's arm. "'Es," he concluded, snuggling against his father's reassuring form. "We does have."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose we do. Hmm." Once again amazed by his young son, Sherlock wrapped a slender arm around Hamish's wet form and hugged him close. "You are quite brilliant, my love," the detective murmured, pressing a kiss to his son's temple.

"Hmm," Hamish hummed with a smile. "'Kay, Daddy... I go tell John," the little boy concluded with a serious nod of his head. A precious smile on his lips, Hamish quickly crawled atop his father's legs and, situating a hand on either side of the detective's sharp cheeks, planted a tender kiss to Sherlock's cheek. "Kisses," he whispered.

"Kisses," Sherlock agreed softly as he studied his son's features.

"Mmm." Releasing his father from his grasp, Hamish slid from the detective's lap, not bothering to bring his towel. "'Kay! We go tell John, Daddy!" the little boy called behind him as he toddled off.

Chuckling after his son's retreating and very naked form, Sherlock grabbed the discarded towel and headed after him. The detective could hear John's laughs floating in from the kitchen and soon the doctor's form appeared, Hamish settled in his arms. "I do believe he's forgotten something," the doctor chuckled, sharing a smile with his flat mate.

"Indeed he has. Did you tell John what you did, Hamish?"

A gasp. "Oh! John I tooks a big-boy bathtime!"

The doctor gasped. "Did you really now?" Keeping Hamish settled safely in his arms, John mouthed, "I'll get him dressed," to his smiling flat mate.

Flashing a grateful smile, Sherlock playfully tickled his son's bare belly when he was toted past by John and then sat back down at his microscope. The detective hummed contently as he heard Hamish's animated voice float its way down the stairs. Shaking his head in a fond manner, Sherlock returned to his microscope, listening to the sound of his son's joyous conversation. "I quite agree," he murmured suddenly and to no one in particular. "We do have quite a good family, Hamish."