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Golden sunlight filtered through the clouds that were lazily drifting through the London sky. Laughter echoed in the air casually making its way into John Watson’s ear. The park was filled with people, children were scampering around the playground their anxious parents scurrying around after them. It was absolutely beautiful. John stopped pushing his stroller and plopped down onto the lush grass. “Sit.” He said, and patted the ground beside him. Pouting, a tall, curly-haired man plunked down beside him. “Stop pouting Sherlock, you aren’t five. Look around, enjoy the normality of it all for once.”
The tall man only deepened his pout at John’s words. Shoulders sinking John reached into the stroller and unbuckled his child. Cuddling him close he said, “Sherlock, you are setting a bad example for Hamish, please stop pouting.”
Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around him and snuggled into it. His blue eyes observed as John set the four year old on the grass. Hamish grinned and tugged on John’s hand. “Papa, come play.”
“Go on love, I’ll be there in a moment.” John turned to Sherlock, “What is it?”
Sherlock sprawled out on the ground, sighing deeply he reached for Johns hand without taking his eyes off the curly haired blonde boy racing around the playground. His long fingers gently caressed the gold circlet on John’s ring finger. John looked down at his hand, a smile lit up his grey eyes. How in the world he got so lucky he would never know.
Sherlock rolled closer to John, “Sometimes I get to thinking about how innocent he is right now. What’s going to happen when he realizes it isn’t normal to have two fathers.” “Sherlock, everything will turn out just fine, I promise.”
“But the other children will tease him.” Sherlock protested, his curls shaking around his face.
“I know they will, but we will teach him to stand up for himself. He will know to be the bigger person, and no, he won’t always be innocent, but when he learns things he shouldn’t and messes up, we will be there for him. And he will always know love.” John said. He looked at his husband and grinned.
The two men stood up and looked around for the blonde boy, he was on the purple slide. “Look father! Watch me slide!” Hamish yelled at them.
∞∞∞
In the living room of 221B Baker Street, a small curly headed boy threw down his backpack and ran to his father. He aimed himself at the tall man’s lap, and Sherlock, who had dosed off at the time, violently started awake. In the doorway a shorter, stiff army veteran smiled softly at the sight of the boy throwing his arms around the tall man’s neck. Unintentionally John Watson found himself playing with the golden ring on his left hand.
“Father,” the youthful voice said, “Why don’t I have a mother?” Sherlock grew rigid. This was the moment he had been dreading since the moment his son had been born. Sherlock stated into the boys big eyes, so innocent. His son had not yet been corrupted by the world, but the moment was approaching.
“‘Mish, some children have a mommy and a daddy and some have two daddies or two mommies. People will make a big deal out of it, but the truth is that it doesn’t matter. Children with two mommies’ or two daddies’s like you are the same as someone with one mommy and one daddy. You are loved exactly the same amount as they are, and that is all that matters.”
John smiled and shook his head, reassuring Sherlock that his answer was a good one. “And ‘Mish, we want you to know you can always come to us about anything. We will always love you no matter what.” John said.
Hamish beamed at his parents, “O.K.!” he said and ran off to play just like that.
∞∞∞
Grey lockers slammed closed all around a young curly haired adolescent. Students rushed up and down the tight, white hallways, so as not to be late to class. Hamish Watson-Holmes clicked open his combination lock and opened up his own grey locker. He stared at the familiar books with piercing blue eyes just like his fathers. Mathematics was the one he was looking for. It was in the very bottom of his locker he remembered. Blonde hair bouncing, Hamish struggled to retrieve the book from under the other heavy subjects. Suddenly the book came loose, papers flew across the hallway and books thudded onto the tile floor.
“Hey Gaymish.” A loud voice echoed down the hallway, “Can’t you keep your crap in your locker?” Hamish stiffened, he knew that voice, dreaded that voice, it was the voice he hid around the corner from. He did not look up from his things.
“Didn’t you hear me Gaymish? Why don’t you look at me when I’m talking to you? Huh?”
The blonde-haired boy ignored the large bully and picked up the last page of math homework. A yellow sneaker lifted his chin towards the ceiling.
“Gaymish, why don’t you go home to mommy and cry? Oh wait- you don’t have a mommy.” Hard brown eyes glared down at him. Hamish bit down on his lip hard. Silver tears threatened to slide down his pink cheeks. Huffing, Hamish turned around and practically flew to his next class, a single tear sliding down his face.
∞∞∞
“Hamish, why don’t you tell me what happened.” The superintendent said levelly.
The seventeen year old stared at the older man through a bruised eye. “You know what happened. It was the same thing that happens every time I get into a fight.”
“Jeffery says that you started beating him out of nowhere. Is that true?” he asked sighing, knowing that it wasn’t.
Hamish shook his head, “Of course he said that, he says it every time. Look you know I ignore him as much as possible, but there are some things he says I just can’t look past.”
“What would that be this time?”
“He yelled down the hallway, he said ‘Hey Gaymish, are your gay-ass daddy’s gonna come watch you sing tonight or will they skip over you to butt-fuck with their buddies?’ And Sir, I couldn’t let him talk about them like that.” Hamish’s shoulders drooped.
“I understand son, I will deal with Jeffery as I see fit. I called your parents so you are free to go with them.” The older man smiled and opened the office door.
Blonde hair hung over his eyes as Hamish exited the room. He could see his Father and Papa standing in the hallway talking with a teacher. He quickly wiped a tear from his black eye. He couldn’t let them see it. “Papa, Father.” He acknowledged them quietly.
“Hamish!” John cried, “Let me see it, is it bad?” he asked as he pulled the blonde curls away from his sons face. Sherlock looked on from behind his husband, playing with his gold wedding band, after all John was a doctor.
“It’s fine Papa, just a tiny bruise. Come on, let’s go home.” Hamish said walking out the door. John and Sherlock glanced at each other before following him outside. Both were thinking the same thing, I’m so sorry ‘Mish. I’m so sorry.
∞∞∞
Hamish kissed Kara’s soft pink lips on the steps in front of 221B Bakers Street. Giggling softly the two lovers breathed each other in. Silver Christmas lights were hanging around the door and running up the staircase inside the flat.
“Come darling,” Hamish spoke quietly, “Oh they will be so surprised!” His voice was tinkling with excitement. Kara stood on the landing of 221B playing with her new silver engagement ring. She could hear Hamish’s muffled voice inside the flat.
“Father!” he cried hugging the tall man tightly, a smile breaking his face. “Papa, I’ve missed you!”
Kara peeked through the crack, the blurry figure of three men locked in an embrace filled her vision and she smiled. They looked so nice. She did so hope they would like her.
“I brought someone to meet you,” Kara heard from the other side of the door. “Kara, my love, come in please.” Carefully she opened the door and stepped into the flat. It was a lovely flat, all decorated up for the holidays. She noticed what seemed to be bullet holes in the wall, and she remembered what Hamish had told her about his Father, Sherlock, shooting the wall when he was bored. The skull on the mantelpiece was a complete surprise and she stared at it for a good ten seconds before Hamish told her it was his Fathers friend. It was extremely overwhelming.
“Hello,” she said, “I’m Kara.”
“Hello,” the two men said in unison. John smiled at her, he quite liked her. She was a pretty girl. Sherlock on the other hand looked her up and down. It was after all his baby she was going to be married to.
∞∞∞
A black limousine drove down the quiet London streets towards the church. Hamish Watson-Holmes gazed tearfully out the window. Rain slid down the pane and dripped onto the wet ground. Hamish couldn’t believe they were gone. Too soon they had left this world. There were still too many crimes to solve for Sherlock Holmes to have left the earth.
John had cried himself to sleep every night for a month after the accident. The newspapers had talked about it for longer than that. Every headline read: Sherlock Holmes: Is he really dead this time? Or Sherlock Holmes: He Faked Death Once, Did He Do It Again? Heartbroken, John had put a gun to his head exactly a month later. The newspapers kept talking about it. Now the headlines read: Genius Detectives Death Causes Partners Suicide . Hamish begged his Uncle to make them stop publishing the stories, but even Mycroft couldn’t stop them.
Hamish had found both of them. He had seen the black taxi run off the road on his way home from teaching at the University. The blonde man had stopped to make sure everyone was alright. He had found his father barley breathing fifty feet away from where the taxi landed. Sherlock was pronounced dead at the scene. His funeral was held three days later and he was buried in a plot meant for two. A month later Hamish had gone to 221B to check on both his Papa and Mrs. Hudson, he found John lying curled up on Sherlock’s couch holding his violin, a single tear running down his face. There was a note on the floor beside him. It read: ‘Mish, I love you more than you could ever know. Please bury me with your father. I couldn’t stand one more moment without him, not . . . not after the last time. I’m so sorry. Hamish had sat there with his dead papa and cried for two hours before calling Greg.
The limo stopped in front of the graveyard. Hamish stepped out squeezing his wife’s hand tightly. A tear slid down his face, matching pace with the rain on the window. He looked at the grave holding his parents, smiling sadly at the engraving on the stone. It was a poem they had written together. Hamish had it written on the stone for them. I was so alone, I turned around and there you were; my savior to rescue me. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.