Chapter Text
He woke up with a splitting headache and a degree of nausea. He was in his own bed which was a plus but how he’d gotten there was a mystery. Blinking a few times against the offending sunlight coming through the window he came to rest an arm over his eyes and took some measured breaths. He was just about ready to work himself up into a sitting position when –
‘PLOP’
He felt the impact of small hands against his nose and mouth.
Startled he looked to his side and immediately frowned.
“What?”
There, sitting on his bed wrapped in nothing but a grey shirt that he knew belonged to Sherlock was a beautiful baby boy. He put him at around 6 to 7 months old. Black curls covered his little round head and a gorgeous set of blue eyes stared back at him curiously.
John looked around the room for a second before looking back at the baby…
“Where did you come from?”
*****
As well as he could manage, he carried the child out of the room and headed downstairs, stumbling, closing his eyes and leaning onto walls every now and then but holding it together all the same. He couldn’t say for certain if this was the result of an incredible night out or something else altogether.
“Sherlock?” barely a hoarse whisper came out of him as he reached the kitchen having found the living room empty but taken notice of Sherlock’s coat and scarf on the sofa.
The child in his arms ‘spoke’ up, so to speak. It didn’t last very long. Maybe a sentence or two, of which John caught; Joh, Ba, Du, Ta, Eh and something that sounded a lot like Myhh.
Slightly amused he continued his inspection walking into Sherlock’s bedroom and finding it untouched. He searched the bathroom. Same luck.
Shifting the child from his left hip to his right, he went in search of his mobile phone.
His search ended at the coffee table where he not only found his phone…but Sherlock’s too…
There was something terribly wrong about that. Sherlock was never without his phone. Never. Ever…ever.
He found no texts or missed calls on his phone and the same went for Sherlock’s. His fear for the detective’s welfare was increasing by the second.
Leaving the flat he raced downstairs to find Mrs Hudson, ignoring the pounding in his head.
“Mrs Hudson!” he called out as he knocked on her door.
“Oh. Hello dear. Oh who’s this beauty?” she asked immediately taken by the baby boy and reaching up to play with his curls and chubby cheeks.
“Wish I knew,” stated John a little distracted. “This is going to sound weird but…is Sherlock here?”
“Oh, no darling. Has he run off again?”
“I’m not sure…” he stated frankly quite confused
“Oh, he is a sweetheart,” continued Mrs Hudson enthralled by the baby. “Can I hold him?”
“Um. Sure I guess,” said John attempting to peel the baby boy off of him however the little creature was having none of that. He held onto John’s shirt with a vice-like grip and for the first time since their encounter he screamed into John’s chest clearly refusing to let go of him.
“I guess not,” he said. “I’m sorry,” he continued as he adjusted the child against his hip again.
“Oh that’s alright. He’s a shy little one isn’t he? But whose is he? Are you babysitting today?”
John sighed worriedly; “When I said I wish I knew who he is…I actually meant it.”
Mrs Hudson’s expression immediately changed to a more concerned one.
Being in no position to answer questions right now, John interjected before any of her thoughts could be voiced; “You know what, I have to go make a call. If you hear from Sherlock at all can you please let me know?”
“Of course.”
The mystery deepened and John liked this less and less.
Returning back upstairs he took his phone again, quickly searched for Lestrade and placed a call.
All the while the little boy quietly laid his head in the nook of John’s neck looking quite content with being carried here and there so long as John was doing said carrying.
“Lestrade!”
“Hey.”
“Hey…is Sherlock with you by any chance?”
“No. Last I saw him was Tuesday with you. Why?”
John’s frown deepened and his hands were suddenly sweating cold.
“John,” prompted Lestrade
John either ignored Lestrade’s query or was simply too distracted to catch it; “So he hasn’t contacted you at all?”
“No. Why? What’s going on?”
“Um. Nothing. Nothing….I hope. Hey uh...I’ll call you later ok. Thanks,” John quickly hung up.
Looking completely perplexed he whispered into the empty room; “where the hell are you?...and where did you come from?” looking down at his charge.
It was no more than a split second but, as the boy lifted his head, as if knowing he was being spoken to or rather at and meeting John’s eyes…there was something. Something that made John shiver.
Quickly looking away he figured there was one more person he could try…but the mere thought was ‘ughhhhh’ inducing; “God. Sherlock. You made me,” he whispered as he held his phone and opened the messages icon.
He had not even begun to type when the doorbell rang.
Much against his better knowledge he whispered; “That had better be you saying you forgot your keys and everything else too.”
Leaving his phone on the counter, he headed for the door.
“Where the hell have you…Mycroft!”
None other was waiting on the other side.
“Wow. I was actually just about t…” he had to pause at the look on Mycroft’s face; shock.
“Mycroft,” John prompted
“What did he do to him?” whispered Mycroft with clear agitation in his voice looking at the child like some sort of impossibility.
John looked down at the boy and then back up at Mycroft. He knew the Holmes brothers well enough by now and if there was something they never let on was their emotions…yes those silly things they both denied ever having but John knew better.
The boy who had lifted his little head at the commotion burst into giggles at the sight of Mycroft.
“Wait! Stop! Who did what to whom?” asked John trying to gain a bit of reasoning in all this. “Do you know this baby?”
Mycroft didn’t say more but instead stepped inside without tearing his eyes from the boy and letting the door shut behind them.
“Mycroft,” John continued softly almost afraid of causing some sort of damage to the man in the state he was clearly in.
What happened next made John go cold. Mycroft with the utmost care took the boy from John’s arms. And unlike before this time the boy quietly allowed the man to take him.
Mycroft held him with both hands just under his little armpits leaving them almost face to face. Little legs dangling as little hands reached out for Mycroft’s face.
John couldn’t help it but the sight was making him…dizzy actually…though that might have been the migraine.
What the hell was happening?
“Mycroft. Please tell me what’s going on?” he was reduced to a whispered plea.
“Doctor Watson,” he started slowly. “Has my brother ever mentioned…” he seemed to struggle to get the next words out. “The doctor?”
“The doctor?”
“Yes. The doctor.”
Being a doctor himself and moreover being Sherlock’s doctor since the first day they met, John would have felt a twinge of jealousy and even anger at hearing of another doctor and worst still being emphasized as the doctor who had some kind of connection with Sherlock. Of course at this very moment he had more immediate things to be concerned about.
“No. No he never mentioned any doctor. At least not that I remember.”
“Well you’re about to meet him. Because he owes me a very serious explanation,” stated Mycroft regaining his very matter-of-factly tone.
The child who was carefully handed back to John attempted as well as he could to wrap his little arms around his neck but ended up just gripping onto his shirt collar.
Mycroft had made it as far as his vehicle when John stopped him in his tracks; “Wait! No!” Quickly putting a hand over the car’s door handle impeding Mycroft’s getaway; “No! What is going on? Who is this kid and where is Sherlock?”
Mycroft looked at him almost incredulously and then looked at the child; “I thought you of all people would know my brother better than that.”
John was frankly very insulted and hurt by that. His simmering anger very clear as he stepped a little closer to Mycroft and replied with a degree of bite in his voice; “I know your brother probably better than you Mycroft, but right now is not the time.” Taking a deep breath he tried to control himself and continued with a little more patience. “Where is Sherlock? At least tell if he’s ok?”
John was expecting a strong response from Mycroft, perhaps a shot to the head whilst they were at it, but instead he got the toned down and controlled voice of a man who seemed to know so much but let on very little; “Doctor Watson. Sherlock is where he always is. At home. Clinging to one person in this world that he trusts.”
Without another word Mycroft got into the vehicle and was driven away, leaving John standing on the footpath, carrying a baby, carrying a headache…and missing a 6-foot detective.
Unless…
John was a very smart man. He truly was. And at this very moment the chaos in his mind, the pounding, the racing, the shouting and screaming confusion…came to a grinding halt and an absolute silence….
With a heavy realization he looked down at the baby in his arms who mirrored his action and looked up at John…
And there it was.
That look. Those eyes.
They couldn’t be anyone else’s.
Those gorgeous eyes.
Those beautiful curls.
John lifted his hand almost in fear and ran it over the baby’s soft curls to which the child reacted by letting his eyes slip shut for a second…
“Sherlock?” John asked meeting the boy’s eyes.