I Don't Want To Believe

Homophobic Humans

"John, Sherlock, Harry, dinner!" Mrs. Watson called from the kitchen. John rushed to his feet at the promise of food, having completely forgotten that Sherlock had been on top of him. The poor boy fell flat on his face into the hardwood floor with a very disturbing thunk. John half expected him to burst into tears or something but he scrambled to his feet, brushing off his clothes and straightening up with a small frown.
"Ouch." He muttered.
"Sorry about that." John shrugged, and rushed off to the dining room. John's predictions had been correct; there was a big plate of sizzling pork chops, a large bowl of mashed potatoes and a tossed salad, just the type of meal he was craving.
"Brilliant, looks great mom." He decided with a smile, sitting in his chair with excitement. Sherlock sat down next to him, observing the food with a very suspicious look.
"So, that's meat, right?" he muttered.
"Ya, meat." John agreed. Sherlock nodded, looking over the mashed potatoes.
"What is that?" he asked.
"Mashed potatoes, it's only potatoes, and you've seen those before, right?" John asked.
"I don't recall." Sherlock admitted.
"They're good, you'll like them don't worry." John assured.
"I hope so." Sherlock mumbled. The rest of the family took their places, Harry was still rather angry about being shunned from putting Hamish down so there was a frown on her face as she over looked the food.
"Is Hamish asleep?" Mrs. Watson asked, a smile on her face as she thought about her grandson.
"I hope so." John shrugged.
"He'll be alright though?" Mr. Watson asked.
"Well, he can't really go anywhere right, he's a newborn." John pointed out.
"We already established that he's much more advanced than a human newborn." Sherlock insisted.
"He'll be fine. Right now, I'm starving, and that's the only thing I can think about." John admitted.
"What a selfless father you are." Harry snapped. John just scowled at her. He's been a father for maybe five hours now, he didn't even know how to be a selfless father yet.
"Do you think he needs to go to the bathroom?" Sherlock asked just as John was about to cut his pork chop.
"He'll be fine." John decided with a sigh, his stomach crying louder than Hamish.
"He might go on your bed." Sherlock pointed out.
"I don't care right now." John insisted. Sherlock just muttered something, probably about how terrible of a father John was being, but once again, John didn't care. He was starving! He must've finished his first plate of food in under five minutes, because even before Sherlock had even tested this new food called mashed potatoes, John was going in for more.
"Since you're done with your first plate, would you mind checking on him?" Sherlock asked. John groaned, looking around the table to see his entire family staring at him judgmentally.
"Yes, alright, fine, just so I can eat my dinner in peace!" John groaned, pulling himself to his feet and running upstairs. When he got to his room he found Hamish, safe and sound, asleep on the bed, just where they had left him. John sighed in relief; happy the thing hadn't rolled off of the bed or something, and closed the door, running back downstairs and falling back into his chair.
"Well?" Sherlock asked.
"If he was fine, would I be down here in under a minute? He hasn't' moved, he's fine." John assured.
"Good, I was worried." Sherlock admitted. John was silent, stuffing as much pork chop into his mouth as he could just so that he didn't have to talk to anyone.
"So, Sherlock, when you said that you loved John, were you, being serious?" Mrs. Watson asked as casually as she could manage. John's cheeks blushed wildly and he put his head down so that they couldn't make any awkward eye contact.
"Well of course I was, I'm not going to joke about something as serious as love." Sherlock laughed. He didn't seem to find this conversation uncomfortable at all, which only made the situation more embarrassing for John somehow.
"Like, romantically, or just as a brother?" Mr. Watson asked sternly, staring down at Sherlock as if daring him to say anything wrong. Sherlock's smile still didn't waver.
"What do you mean by romantically?" he asked, looking interested.
"Oh my god, Sherlock, stop, Mother, yes." John said quickly, his face so low that his nose almost touched his mashed potatoes.
"I knew that!" Harry said proudly. Mr. Watson looked as if he was going to throw up, and Mrs. Watson didn't really look surprised at all.
"You know that's illegal here on earth?" Mr. Watson asked. Sherlock looked over to John's buried head in confusion.
"I wasn't aware." He admitted.
"It's not illegal." John snapped, looking back up at his father in annoyance. Even though he was embarrassed, he wasn't going to listen to his father's lies.
"Your father just said it was." Sherlock whispered loudly.
"I know what he said, but he's lying, it's not illegal and it never was, he just doesn't want to have a gay relationship in his house. Just how he doesn't want aliens in his house." John snapped.
"Why would I not want that John?" Mr. Watson asked in a threatening tone.
"Because you're a homophobe, and you're scared of what you don't understand." John insisted.
"I understand this perfectly fine, this alien here is tempting you with his liberal ways, and you don't know how else to respond because he's threatening." Mr. Holmes decided.
"Sherlock? Threatening? How about this dad, you take your head out of the sand and look around, I love Sherlock, and he loves me, and right now, we have a son. You can't split us up no matter how hard you try." John insisted. Mr. Watson glared at him and John glared right back, knowing Sherlock was doing the same. Why couldn't his father be more acceptant? Why did John have to fit the perfect son mold he had created, a straight, popular, smart soccer captain? What if John wanted to be someone else, what if he didn't want to go out with a girl just because his father said so? Sherlock was all he wanted right now, who cares what Mr. Watson thought?
"I'm not very hungry." John decided, even though his stomach was still growling.
"Yes you are." Mrs. Watson insisted. John still got to his feet, looking at his father in disgust.
"You know what, you're right, I am." He decided, and with that he took the big bowl of mashed potatoes from the table and marched determinedly back to his bedroom. He thought he heard Sherlock say something, either an apology or his own excuse, and in less than a minute the door opened and Sherlock marched in as well.
"Thanks for leaving me there." Sherlock muttered.
"I knew you would follow me." John shrugged. He sat on the bed with the bowl of mashed potatoes, with nothing but a large serving spoon to eat them with. Then again, that wouldn't stop him. Hamish was still asleep even with their dramatic entrances, so they had to keep their voices down to avoid waking the baby.
"Your dad doesn't like me." Sherlock decided.
"What was your first clue?" John asked with a laugh.
"Well, when I first..." Sherlock started, but John laughed again and he stopped talking immediately.
"What's so funny?" he wondered.
"Nothing, that's just an expression Sherlock, I don't actually care." John assured. Sherlock nodded as if sort of ashamed for taking John seriously and sat next to Hamish, whose little chest was rising and falling slowly.
"Why doesn't he like me? What did I do wrong?" Sherlock muttered. John sighed, taking a large bite of potatoes and looking at Sherlock with a half-smile.
"He doesn't like you because he feels like your arrival messed up our normal, soccer obsessed family." John guessed.
"Soccer, the sport you play? Why does that matter to him?" Sherlock asked.
"For him it's not just a sport, it's a religion." John pointed out.
"Interesting." Sherlock admitted.
"And your arrival, and your kidnapping me, messed all that up. Now I can think for myself, and although I still enjoy it, it's not the center of my world anymore." John admitted.
"What is the center of your world now?" Sherlock asked. John pretended to think for a while, because obviously Sherlock was leading himself up to complements or he was just too stupid to realize what he was really saying.
"That'll be you. And Hamish." John decided. Sherlock blushed, smiling down at the floor as if embarrassed for being flattered.
"That's really sweet." He decided. John just nodded, taking another bite of the potatoes.
"So just don't listen to my dad, alright? He'll probably try to take all his anger out on you, just don't listen to him. I love you and that's all that matters, not what my dad thinks." John insisted. Sherlock nodded a bit sadly, as if he didn't like the idea of someone despising him.
"So, what now?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, I'm going to finish these potatoes, I don't know about you." John decided.
"I mean long term, what are we expected to do?" Sherlock asked.
"I want to stay here as long as we can, but if the aliens do find us, we run. They're after me and you, not my other family; we need to keep them out of the way." John insisted. Sherlock nodded, thinking for a moment.
"Are there woods anywhere around here?" he asked. John looked at him in confusion, but nodded.
"Ya, out behind the school, next to the soccer fields." He agreed.
"Well, we should go there, should they come. They can't beam a person up and down through tall trees, that's why they use corn fields because people would notice if all of the trees had fallen. Corn, well, that can be passed off as a hoax, you humans do it all the time." Sherlock shrugged.
"So get to the woods?" John asked.
"Yes, that sounds safest." Sherlock decided.
"There's no way we can fight these people, right? I mean, we can't defend ourselves?" John asked.
"Best not to. Human weapons will hurt them, but I don't want to get close enough to have to use them. We need to run, get out of there as fast as we can, save ourselves and our son and not get in anymore trouble. The more people we hurt, the worse they'll torture us." Sherlock decided.
"Oh, right, good." John agreed, thinking of all the methods of torture these aliens could undoubtedly create.
"I can't let them kill either of you, you're already more valuable than my own life." Sherlock admitted.
"You say that as it we'll let you die." John pointed out.
"If it comes down to either my life or yours, that is a choice I will not hesitate to make. To sacrifice myself for my family is a privilege." Sherlock insisted.
"How about you live for your family? Because even though Hamish can't express his feelings, I love you more than my own life as well, and if we both try to play the hero than all of this would have been for nothing. They'd kidnap Hamish, they'd run tests on him, torture him for science, and we'd both be dead." John pointed out.
"Then we run." Sherlock agreed.
"Yes we do." John said with a slight smile. The rest of the night was really uneventful. Eventually Harry joined the three of them, talking and playing with Hamish for a little while before Sherlock decided that he was off to bed. It had been a long day and everyone was exhausted. After a bit of an argument it was decided that they'd let Hamish sleep in John's room for the time being, since they didn't feel like moving him very far. So Sherlock shuffled off to bed, Harry following shortly after, leaving John to change quickly into his pajamas and crawl into bed. He had arranged for Hamish to sleep on the floor, just in case he rolled off of the bed in the middle of the night, or by some tragedy get kicked or smothered. So John laid out a bunch of sweatshirts and clothes for Hamish to sleep on, to which the baby had no objection really. He just lay down in the pile and looked up at John with those adorable round eyes, a large toothless smile on his sleepy face.
"Goodnight Hamish." John said with a smile, planting a kiss on the baby's head before crawling into his own bed and turning out the light. What an odd day that had been.                      

       John was woken to the violent sounds of crying. It looked as if it were three in the morning, but to John's relief it was only shortly after eleven, plenty of time to get Hamish sorted out and still get the full nine hours.
"Hamish, shush." John groaned, rolling over in bed and looking down at Hamish on his bed of clothes. He continued crying. John rolled out of bed, landing clumsily on his feet and grabbing the baby from the mess, cradling him in his arms and rocking him back and forth gently.
"What's wrong Hamish, huh?" John asked. Hamish's crying started to subside, but he was still carrying on as if someone had personally offended him.
"What's wrong?" John repeated.
"He's probably just lonely." said a voice above him. John turned quickly to see Sherlock standing near the bed, his hair sticking up in all different directions, rubbing his eyes and looking very sleep deprived.
"Well, I'm here; I don't know what else he wants." John shrugged.
"Give him to me." Sherlock suggested.
"Alright, play nanny for a while." John agreed, handing the baby over to Sherlock. To John's shock, Hamish quieted down, his cries slowly turning into soft cooing sounds as he smacked his chubby little arms against Sherlock's chest.
"You're kidding me?" John groaned, but at the moment he was too tired to care.
"Nice to be appreciated." Sherlock said proudly, sitting against the headboard on the bed and rocking Hamish back and forth.
"Should I heat him up some milk?" John offered.
"He'll be alright; he's a strong little baby. He's an alpha male." Sherlock insisted.
"Doesn't mean he's not hungry. It's not really alpha, it's just human and alien mixed, I mean, big deal?" John grumbled.
"It's most certainly a big deal; he's the first of his kind." Sherlock pointed out.
"Yes well, I'm flattered to be his father, but at the moment all I want is sleep." John decided, falling back into the bed and smashing his face into the pillow.
"He's falling back asleep." Sherlock assured, laying down as well and letting Hamish sleep sprawled across his chest.
"That's great." John groaned.
"It is." Sherlock agreed, shushing John softly. John just rolled over, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's chest (while carefully avoiding hitting Hamish, in case he woke up), and burring his face in Sherlock's warm shoulder.
"Feeling cuddly today, are we?" Sherlock asked.
"It's been a long day." John assured.
"That's alright, I'm not complaining." Sherlock insisted, snuggling against John and slowly closing his eyes, the soft weight of Hamish going up and down with every breath he took.