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Sherlock, clad in his pajamas and blue dressing gown, lay with his long body completely outstretched in his armchair. The night had long settled in after a frankly exhausting day. All was quiet throughout 221B save for the popping and clicking of the fireplace, the wind whipping up the snow against the great windows, and the rhythmic breathing of the newborn infant lying upon his chest.
The days prior had flown by in a whirlwind filled with emotions and a few too many cups of coffee. After thirty-six hours spent waiting apprehensively on the surrogate, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had officially become parents of a baby boy. With congratulatory remarks, the two of them practically raced into the room to see their newborn son.
"Hello there," John said softly, peering down at the tiny baby in his arms. Sherlock moved in next to him, securely wrapping an arm around John's waist as he watched their son intently. "I can't believe this is really happening."
"Start believing," Sherlock mumbled against John's skin as he pressed a kiss to his temple.
The baby struggled to open his eyes in under the bright fluorescent lights, but when he finally managed it, he peered up at John from his bundle of blankets in utter wonder of what must have been a strange new world. John's smile could have lit up the entire city, his grin threatening to break at the edges as his eyes crinkled with delight. Sherlock was frozen on the spot. When the baby let out a tiny yawn, his throat caught for a moment.
Soon, they allowed everyone who had been waiting with them to flock to the room. Molly cooed over his tiny fingers while Mrs. Hudson smiled at him brilliantly. Lestrade was timid to hold him at first, but after he did, he was reluctant to let him go. Mycroft had even managed to stop by in the nick of time, commenting on the resemblance of the boy's fine dark hair peering from under his cap to that of his brother's. The room became crowded rather quickly, and Sherlock grew increasingly frustrated no matter how much he smiled at them. John had thankfully noticed and gently ushered everyone out after some time.
"Look at him, John," Sherlock said after everyone had gone. "Amazing, babies are. A new life without any knowledge of the universe, hardly bigger than the palm of my hand, yet..." he trailed off, unsure himself of where the line of dialogue was headed. Every corner of his mind had become focused to one bundle in John's arms, and he couldn't be happier.
"He has the potential to do absolutely anything, possibly even change the world around him," John finished for him. "He's perfect," he sighed happily, "and he's ours."
"Yes," Sherlock agreed, grinning, "that he is."
Another long day and a half of waiting had to be endured before they could finally head home. Early March hadn't been kind to London, a snowstorm deciding to make it's descent upon the city the night before their leave. Mycroft had been kind enough to send a car to escort them back to Baker Street, but the drive took nearly three times as long as it usually did with the heavy snow falling from the sky, coating everything in sight. Once home late that afternoon, John immediately took to caring for the infant while Sherlock followed him around, unsure of what to do.
His mind couldn't focus on an experiment, and he certainly didn't want to go anywhere. At that time, he didn't even want to be in a room where his son was not, but he had no idea how to express it, or even if he should. John had eyed him cautiously throughout the evening, but made no comment on his behavior. When night fell and the baby was put into his crib, John leaned against his side.
"Coming to bed?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," Sherlock answered, eyes unmoving from the fragile young life wrapped in a warm fleece blanket in the crib in front of him. John had given him a slight squeeze before padding down the wooden steps and into their bedroom. Sherlock paced around apprehensively for what felt like forever after he'd gone. The room that used to be John's now housed a new life, along with new decor. The walls were painted white and lined with shelves of stuffed animals, blankets, and books. The wooden crib had a mobile hovering over it with colorful stars, and the small plug in light cast a soft amber glow upon the room. Taking in his surroundings, it had finally hit him that he was a parent, and it stopped him in his tracks.
He slowly crept over to the crib, peering down at the baby, his baby. Before he could change his mind, he carefully leaned over and picked up the bundle in his arms. The boy stiffened his limbs for a brief moment as if startled before letting out a yawn and boring his deep blue eyes into Sherlock's. His fingers twitched among the blankets and Sherlock felt a burst of absolute joy surge through his chest. He brought himself and the newborn down to the main flat, taking each step as slowly as possible, which led him to his current position.
The baby lay curled up on his stomach upon Sherlock's chest, facing the warmth of the cackling fire with the navy blue blanket draped over him, Sherlock's right hand placed securely on his back. He seemed undoubtedly warm and comfortable, his own breaths matching that of the rise and fall of Sherlock's chest. Sherlock let his mind lazily wander instead of blasting off at it's usual speed of light. He lightly brushed his fingers across the soft dark hair on the baby's head and stared at him with so much love in his eyes.
"You've met so many people in the last few days," Sherlock said, deep voice rumbling throughout his body. He saw the infant scrunch up his face and Sherlock couldn't resist letting out a chuckle at the sight. "Yes, tiring, I know. But..." he trailed off, nearly getting consumed by his thoughts once more. "They're not so bad, I assure you."
He stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating his past and future, and most importantly, the future of his son. He drew his bottom lip in and held it there as if trying to hold his words in. He stroked the fine hair again before speaking once more.
"There's a lovely woman downstairs who will feed you up with cakes and sweets the moment you get your first tooth, I'm sure," he stated with a crooked grin. "She'll smother you with hugs and will always see the best in you. You'll recognize her by the kind smile upon her face," he told him.
"There's also a hard working man you'll come to know who will give you the tools to find interest in the city around you." He paused for a brief moment. "He'll make ill attempts at humor but will always be there to see you through. You'll recognize him by the color of his hair, changed from years of working with idiots," he smirked.
"There's another woman who is absolutely brilliant, you see, who will further your knowledge on what you thought you knew," he said as he lightly tapped along the boy's spine, making the infant's lips twitch at the touch. "She'll give you plenty of affection, I'm sure, and will always be there to help you, no matter the circumstances. You'll recognize her by the focus in her eyes."
Sherlock stroked his fingers against the baby's cheek near the corner of his mouth. His gaze softened when his reflex kicked in, his mouth automatically searching for a bottle. The flames in the fireplace flickered on.
"Of course, there's another man who will attempt to do what he thinks is in your best interest," he said with an almost sigh, knitting his eyebrows together. "He'll become undoubtedly annoying at times but will give you infinite opportunities in life. You'll recognize him by his profile, physical and otherwise."
He paused for briefly. "These people are important," he breathed. "Never think for a moment they are not."
The second he heard footsteps, he fell quiet. He closed his eyes in waiting, focusing on the sounds of breaths being slowly drawn in an out. When he opened his eyes, John was standing in the entrance to the room with his arms crossed, smiling at him.
"Thought you were coming to bed," he said quietly as he made his way over to them both.
"He was cold." Sherlock mumbled.
"Mm. Likely story," he said as he moved behind the armchair, placing his left hand upon Sherlock's right over the baby's back. "Getting cold. With his own heater in his room and all."
Sherlock bit down on his lip. "I couldn't -"
"It's fine," John said fondly as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's temple. "Come on, let's go to bed."
Sherlock looked at John with a questioning expression until John picked up the infant from his chest. John understood, he always did. No words needed to be spoken between them. The baby sucked in a deep breath as John gathered him in his arms, his little fingers clutching at the fabric he was bundled up in. He watched them both slowly disappear down the hall into his and John's bedroom.
Sherlock lay in his chair for only a moment before following them where they had gone down the dark, chilly hallway. The bedroom was warm from their own personal heater, but Sherlock shivered as his bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. He stopped to take in the sight before him. John was on his own side, closest to the door, with his back turned to him. The tiny infant had been placed in the center of the bed under his blue blanket, John's right hand resting securely on his chest, head facing Sherlock's empty side. The baby had his hand clenched around one of John's fingers.
Sherlock quietly slipped off his robe and padded over to his side of the mattress, slipping in under the covers as carefully as he could without disturbing them. The glow of the city bouncing off the falling snow brought a cool hue to the room. John opened his impossibly dark eyes and pulled his face into a smile, holding Sherlock's gaze for a moment before drifting off once more. Moving his gaze to the infant in the middle, he noticed a pair of tiny eyes watching him in an expectant way.
"You want me to finish, don't you?" he asked lowly. The baby merely blinked at him.
"Alright," he said. "Well." He let out a deep breath. "There is another man, you see, the bravest you'll ever meet. He'll be the most important in your life. He will bring you joy and laughter, and will amaze you in ways you never thought possible." He flickered his eyes to John's sleeping form for a moment before giving his attention back to where it was currently needed. "He'll be there when you need him, and when you think you don't. He'll never let you down, not even once," he assured him. "Most importantly, he will always believe in you. Always."
He watched as the tiny hand clenched tightly around John's finger as if in recognition.
"That's right," Sherlock said, half smiling, "that's your... Papa," he breathed shakily. The pair of young eyes seemed to be watching him closely. Sherlock sighed.
"As for myself, I won't make any promises that I cannot keep," he said with an almost fear-like emotion trembling at the edges of his voice. "I won't do that." He brought his left hand up and placed his index finger in his son's other palm. "But I will promise you this; your life will be a fantastic one filled with happiness and knowledge and more fond memories that you'll know what to do with."
His own gaze became that of a more serious one as the baby closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep as well.
"But most importantly," he whispered after a beat of silence, "you will never go a single day without knowing you are loved. That is my promise to you."
The tiny hand gripped his index finger tightly as if to acknowledge his words. Sherlock lie awake the rest of the night, watching the two most important people in his life, determined to keep his word for as long as he lived. The snow outside finally began to die down and soon the clouds parted to make way for the glowing orange sunrise. The light cast itself over the bed where the three of them lay, bringing a promising warmth on the horizon for all of Baker Street.