Sherlock and Son

Mary is dead and there is nothing John can do about it. He's got to move on, he's got Charlotte, his daughter, to think about. Life was alright, calm, maybe even peaceful. Until one day something turns up that will change life as him and Sherlock know it.

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7. Chapter 7

Sherlock threw his phone down on the floor. The case flew off but the phone was still intact, it was use to taking a battering. He often threw it at the floor, the walls and sometimes even at annoying member of Scotland Yard, namely Anderson. He pulled the sleeve up of his blazer. Exposing his watch, he pressed the stopwatch. John had three minutes to get home otherwise he was going to be in serious trouble, well not really, but it was a fun game to try and guess how long it would take him. Sherlock estimated it would take him at least four minutes and thirty seconds. And seeing as how slow John walked normally, and now that he had Charlotte to push in her chair as well he had to round the time up a little bit. It had been three minutes exactly. Sherlock stood up and walked over to the window. He consulted his watch. 20…19…18…17…16…15, not long to go now.
5…4…3…2…1… Sherlock saw John approach the house. He had his keys in his hand. Sherlock was glad to see he had. He couldn’t be bothered walking down those stairs to open the door for him. Sherlock looked at his watch. Where was he, he should be upstairs making him something to eat by now. He strained his ears.
“Sherlock,” a voice shouted suddenly. “Why is there a bloody baby on our front door step?” John burst into the living room. Sherlock sighed loudly.
“That ‘bloody baby’ is your daughter, her name is Charlotte,” Sherlock reminded him.
“Not Charlotte. For God’s sake come and help me!” John shouted. Sherlock sighed and stood up from his chair. He went over to the door. John was trying to carry Charlotte in her pushchair whilst carrying a small bundle under his left arm, on his right arm sat his new ‘man bag’ that he insisted he needed to carry everywhere with him now that he was a Father.
“What do you want me to do?” Sherlock asked.
“Take this,” John said passing Sherlock the bundle.
“It’s just a blanket,” Sherlock said.
“Look inside the blanket.” Carefully Sherlock peeled back the blanket to reveal a small smiling face.
“Jesus!” he exclaimed nearly dropping the baby. “John, you’ve wife has only been dead a few months and you’ve already impregnated another woman, shame on you Dr Watson,”
“Nice try,” John smiled. “There’s a note pinned to the blanket; this one’s all yours,” Sherlock turned the bundle upside-down looking for the note.
“What are you doing?” John exclaimed rushing over and snatching the baby out of Sherlock’s arms. “You can’t turn babies up that way! Watch,” John carefully unwrapped the baby and placed it back into Sherlock’s arms. He then looked at the blanket and unpinned a folded piece of paper. John took the baby back from Sherlock and handed him the note. Sherlock began pacing the room as he read.
“Dear Sherlock, meet little Sherlock. I know it has been a while since I have last seen you but this gift couldn’t wait until I returned to London. Meet little Hamish Michael Holmes, our little Hamish. Since I had to carry it for nine months and a further three whilst I was deciding what to do with it; I think it’s time he spent some quality time with his Daddy. Give my love to John and Charlotte; it’s such a shame about Mary. She was one of the good ones. Until next time Mr Holmes. ” He read. “Kiss, kiss, kiss,” he turned back to John. “What does it mean?” he demanded,
“It means, Mr Holmes,” John began lifting Charlotte out of her pushchair. “That you are a Father,”
“A Father, I can’t be, why would I have intercourse with a woman?” he exclaimed.
“But the true question is why would any woman consult to having sex with you?” John asked smiling.
“Who would want me to have a child?” he questioned glancing at the baby. His face was so small, so tiny and helpless.
“I don’t know someone who cares about you, who loves you; someone who wants you to be happy.”
“That can only be one person,” they both said at the same time.
“It’s you,” Sherlock said. “Irene Adler,” John said at the same time.
“What?” they questioned in sync.
“You think I gave you a baby?” John exclaimed.
“You think Irene Adler is the Mother?” Sherlock cried.
“How could I have given you the baby?”
“Think about it John, someone who cares about me, who loves me and wants me to be happy…, it’s you. It has to be you, there is no one else.” Sherlock said thoughtfully.
“Kind, caring, loving, it does sound like me!” John said. “Oh my God, it was me!” he exclaimed.
“But you said it wasn’t you,”
“I’m joking Sherlock, you idiot.”
“Well don’t joke, you know I don’t understand your twisted sense of humour!” Sherlock cried.
“The baby is yours. It’s addressed to you, I said about my middle name being Hamish, the only two people present at that moment in time were you and Irene Adler so congratulations.”
“Wait, I don’t understand!”
“Well Mr Holmes you are the baby’s Father. And by the sound of the letter, Miss Adler is the Mother.” He said. He was trying to supress his laughed; Sherlock’s face was a picture. John had never seen Sherlock so confused and speechless before.
“This can’t be true. Call Lestrade!” he ordered.
“Good idea, I’m sure he’s going to want to see this,” John said disappearing into the kitchen carrying Charlotte. Sherlock was left watching the baby, who John had placed on the floor. Hamish, she said his name was. John’s middle name. Impossible Hamish Michael cannot be his child. Sherlock stood over the baby inspecting it for a second. The child’s hair was a dark brown, his skin was clear and pale, just like Irene’s. His eyes were the same piercing blue as his were. But that didn’t matter; all babies have blue eyes, don’t they? This could be anyone’s child, anyone but Sherlock’s. John reappeared.
“Well,” Sherlock asked looking up at John.
“He is on his way,”
“What did you say to him, not that this monstrosity is my child?”
“I said that someone had left a baby on our doorstep, I didn’t say whose baby it was or anything about the note,” John reassured him.
“Good, thank you,” Sherlock sighed in relief.
“Naturally they will have to do a DNA test to make sure the baby isn’t yours,” John explained.
“Or yours,” Sherlock added quickly.
“Or mine,”
“So what do we do now?” Sherlock asked.
“We wait.”
 

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