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Sherlock stared at the small and squirming bundle. There was nothing to calculate, nothing to deduce. Just a small, squirming, red faced bundle. His big blue eyes were bright and had Sherlock’s burning intensity, which was impossible. Except it wasn’t impossible, not one bit.
His little mouth was opening and closing and his arms were raised, searching and grabbing at air. Sherlock stared and then he frowned, before a small yawn escaped the tiny mouth. It lingered in the air and tore through Sherlock’s frown and then settled around them. It was all consuming. Sherlock gasped, suddenly remembering to breathe. Noting the effect the small intake of air had on him, on his heart. It felt as though the sun was shining around them, it felt as though the heat was booming through them, emitting energy and it was intense. It was beautiful and it was confusing. It was terribly illogical, but it injected itself into Sherlock’s veins and it made him feel.
Only John has ever made him feel worthy of breathing.
Only John, until this moment.
He suddenly felt as though there was nothing else in the world which would pierce his heart than the two most important souls in his life.
Completely illogical Sherlock thought, no sooner did this thought bloom did Sherlock feel a strong hand on his lower back, a familiar hand. It began to trace slow, intricate, circular motions, almost absently.
“Hello” John whispered into Sherlock’s ear, ever so softly.
Sherlock could only hmm in acknowledgement.
John’s hand stilled and he reached around Sherlock and softly caressed his son’s cheek, which caused a smile to radiate towards them both.
Sherlock was silent.
John’s smile Sherlock thought.
“Impossible. No. Completely maddening”
“What’s that, love?” John asked, almost as a natural reaction. Not entirely consciously.
“He has your smile. How does he have your smile? It’s wrong”
John tilted his head and leaned it against Sherlock’s.
“Sherlock?” John breathed
“I don’t understand” Sherlock admitted, almost unaware that he said it out loud.
“Sherlock, he has your eyes. Those eyes which are a magical concoction, every colour of the ocean and the sky. Sherlock, he has your beautiful eyes.”
The room fell silent, or as silent as a room can fall when there’s a small infant cooing and breathing.
“He is yours” John said suddenly. Forcing Sherlock to break the steady gaze he had with his son His son, to look at John. “He’s you. He’s your brilliance, your intelligence, your awareness. He is yours.”
Sherlock wasn’t sure; he knew that this child would grow up to be known as his. This child would grow up and he would be brilliant and extraordinary and loved. He would be like John. He would be like John because John’s influence is impalpable, it’s contagious and it made Sherlock whole. Sherlock wasn’t a complete entity before John. He often doubted whether he was human, and yet here he is, almost seven years later, and he has a complete other half. The person to make him whole and to make him feel, but that wasn’t enough, because now there’s this small life, this small him and he doesn’t know what this means because look at him, he’s so...John.
Sherlock inhaled deeply and almost choked as he exhaled his words in a rush of emotion.
“John, look at him. Really look. He’s so small, look at him. Yet he’s strong. Look into those eyes which remind you of mine, he’s fiercely strong...his heart; you can feel his heart piercing through you with those eyes. His heart is pure, I’m sure he has an infinite capacity to love with that heart. His beautiful heart, which we own. It’s a vessel of love, which can only be described as a Watson heart. He is all you, John. How else could I love him as much as I do at this very moment?”
John’s grip on Sherlock’s back tightened and then relocated at the nape of his neck. John pressed a small kiss into the mass of ebony curls which consumed Sherlock’s head.
“You’re fantastic. You’re brilliant when you don’t even mean to be. Sherlock look at him staring at us, he’s observing everything. He’s yawned over and over again and yet he won’t sleep because we’re here and he doesn’t want to miss anything. He’s you, Sherlock. He’s nosey and he’s stubborn, and I love him for all of those things because that’s what I love about you. I love that you will never listen to me, yet my influence has the biggest impact on you, so I’m grateful. I love that you’re utterly bonkers and I love that I came to terms with the fact that I fell in love with a madman, many years ago. I love you and when I look at our son – who is yet to be graced with a name, just incidentally – I see you and all of the love I have for you and it’s fantastic.”
“Thomas, I like that name, or Andrew? They are agreeable names” Sherlock says suddenly.
“Thomas. I like Thomas too” John answers, smiling into Sherlock’s curls.
“Of course we could name him Hamish?” Sherlock said, smirking.
John lifted his head so he could see Sherlock’s face.
“No...I think he’s a Thomas” a lingering smile trailing off with the end of his words
“Very well. He is your son”
“He’s ours”
Sherlock gazed at the small bundle as he yawned again and without breaking the gaze he answered his husband.
“Yes, I dare say he is”