I was sat in the chair again. In that big room where voices echoed slightly. By that window. Last time I was here it was almost nine years ago, when my best friend had died. She was a different therapist, the last one - the one I had when I came back from the war had left. But the new one had my notes, she knew my past but then so did everyone. You just need an internet connection too, or just pick up a newspaper. Seven years ago Sherlock Holmes returned to my life. Everything went so fast from then on. Three years ago I found myself getting married to that madman. I sort of loved how fast it was going but now... I wanted time to stop. Within a year of Holmes returning somehow we ended up with a tiny boy. None of us really know how we persuaded each other. It was a spontaneous sort of year. But we had a little boy. Hamish Timothy Watson-Holmes. The name was plastered everywhere. For the first months of his life we couldn't move from Baker Street; a countless number of press were at the door of our flat. Newspaper reporters, TV reporters, Radio presenters, blog writers and just fans that wanted to see our baby boy. The last time a baby made this much fuss was another little Londoner. Well, I say little, William and Kate's baby boy. As annoying as it must sound we liked it, having so much time to our selves with Hamish. Sherlock couldn't keep his emotionless act up around him. Anyway, I mentioned I wanted time to stop. And the reason why was the same reason why I was sat in the room once more. So I'll start in the most logical place. When this whole thing started.
A week after Hamish's sixth birthday. I was sat on his bedroom floor with him, the bedroom that was once my room. Putting different sized pieces of Lego together, we both were quiet. Concentrating. It made me laugh a little, Hamish stuck his tounge out the corner of his mouth as he carefully put the pieces together. Sherlock stood in the doorway, watching us, Smiling at the sweet sight. "So what was the best birthday present, 'Mish?" Sherlock stepped more into the room. The smaller version of him looked up, "Lego pirate ship of course!" He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I chuckled and ruffled his hair. "Well me and Daddy need to go to work soon, Mrs Hudson will look after you. So you be good and I expect to see this ship sailing when we get back, okay bud?" Hamish nodded , his dark hair flipping over his eyes. "Okay!" I nod back and get up, going over to Sherlock. "See you in a bit then, baby." Sherlock then pulled me down stairs and out the flat, hailing a cab. It was obviously more then a seven. We slipped into the black cab and headed off to the crime.
I stood by the detective as he scanned every part of the room, Lestrade just behind us both. After a scan of the room Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket, I got a quick glance of his lock screen as he did. It hadn't changed. A four year old wearing Sherlock's famous coat. It buried Hamish. But he looked so adorable because as well as the coat he was wearing Holmes' slippers.
We were gone for hours. It was nine by the time we got home. Hamish would be asleep. Sherlock was raring to get home. It was his thing to put Hamish to be, read him a story to get him to sleep and he'd missed it so he was grumpy. More then usual. I unlocked to door and we both went upstairs, Sherlock heading straight to Hamish's room when he was stopped by a tight hug, a small smile cracked on his lips and he picked up his son. "What are you doing? It is way past your bedtime, little one." Mrs Hudson wondered over to me and said quietly to me. "He's not feeling to good. His temperature was so high about an hour ago, he's cooled down a little now he's had some medicine but he won't sleep." I squeezed her shoulder gently and nod. "Thank you. I'll sort him out." Hamish talked away to his father, telling him what he'd done today. Not mentioning he didn't feel well but This was Sherlock. He knew. It wasn't a hard deduction anyway, his face was pale and his curls were sticking to his hot forehead.
It didn't take long to get Hamish to bed. Sherlock read him another chapter of The Hobbit, doing all of the voices for him. After that he was asleep within 10 minutes. I said goodnight to Mrs Hudson and thanked her once more before Sherlock lead me to bed. I was exhorted. He wasn't. However he knew I wouldn't go to sleep if he didn't, he probably didn't sleep that night just lay there in his mind palace. He does that most nights.
That was the day it started. A normal day for the Watson-Holmes family.
By morning Hamish was curled up like a kitten around his Charlie Bear (it was the only thing of Sherlock's childhood he had) at the foot of our bed. I yawned and stretched my arms before sitting up. Speedy's was open. I could smell the sausage sandwiches. The weather was... English. Clouds. That was it. Yawning once more I carefully lifted Hamish in the middle of me and Sherlock and strokes his hair, placing the bear back in his arms.
Another day.
