30 Years Can Go By (Sequel to 60 Ways-ParentLock-BBC Sherlock)

Chapter One

This isn't going to be as long as 60 Ways, but I hope you guys like it! It's sort of a sequel I guess, but it's in Sherlock's POV. If you haven't read 60 Ways yet, I highly suggest you do that before starting this.

Also, it's not going to be a story where everything happens within a week or so. Each chapter is going to jump ahead a certain number of years. It makes for a more interesting premise.

I hope you like it and don't forget to vomment and fan!

-BB

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Chapter One

"Sherlock!" I could hear John's yell ring through the flat.

I opened my eyes to see him looking down at me, a disappointed look on his face.

"I asked you to watch Hamish for an hour," he said.

"Yes, and I did watch him," I retorted.

"No, sitting on the couch with your eyes closed, thinking about who knows what...that's not watching him," John was beyond angry. I had never seen him like this. "You said that you wanted a child, Sherlock, remember at our wedding? So why don't you help me with him?"

I frowned. "It's not really my area."

"As much as I know you hate it, you're a father now, this IS your area," John said.

"I don't hate it."

"Could have fooled me..."

I know that John loved me, or at least he used to. He never says it anymore. Ever since we adopted Hamish, he's been irritable and constantly worried. It's not that I blame our son or John, he just feels so distant and I don't know how to remedy that.

"I'm sorry," I apologized under my breath, but sincerely. John look surprised.

"I didn't know you knew the word 'sorry'," he laughed.

"Would you please just stop?" I clenched my teeth. "I'm trying my best and you're not making it very easy."

John looked more sad than shocked this time.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry," he said, sitting on the arm of the couch and looking down at me with big, sad eyes. "I know that this was a big change for you, and I realize that you don't quite understand how children work, but I can't do this by myself."

"I'll try harder."

John nodded and wrapped his arms around me in a hug.

"Now, you can start by cleaning the flour off of Hamish," he laughed.

I looked over to the kitchen, where Hamish sat in the middle of the floor. His dark curly hair was all white, as was the rest of him and there was a bag of flour upside-down on the floor next to him.

I nodded and walked into the kitchen.

When Hamish saw me, he smiled and giggled. I wondered what went on in his head. Children have a completely different view on reality, which was part of the reason that I couldn't understand them.

"I'm going to clean you," I told him (though I neither knew nor cared whether he could understand me), picking him up off of the floor. I carried him out in front of me to the washroom and set him on the counter beside the sink while I started running a bath.

I had read that the water should be warm but not too warm and that the tub should be about half-full. I was a better father than John gave me credit for. I cared, I just didn't execute.

I stared down at Hamish who seemed fascinated by his fingers. He was just over one year old and he already had a full head of hair. Though he wasn't my biological child, there was a great resemblance between us. His hair was dark and curled, just as mine was. His eyes were similar in color and his skin was so pale it was almost translucent. He was my son.

Once the bath was ready, I washed all of the flour out of Hamish's hair. He didn't love being wet, so he splashed around quite a bit. By the time he was clean, I had also gotten quite a washing.

He seemed to get quiet after his bath - a sure sign that he was getting tired.

I decided I would put him to bed.

I brought him to his crib and dragged a chair over so that I could sit.

When John put Hamish to bed, I could hear him singing softly, so I thought that would be a good thing to do.

I had never been a very good singer, or at least i had never tried to be, but I did my best, singing the one lullaby that I remembered my mother singing to me in my childhood.

"Hush-a-by, don't you cry,

Go to sleep my little baby,

When you wake, you shall have

All the pretty little horses.

Blacks and bays, dapples and greys,

All the pretty little horses.

Hush-a-by, don't you cry,

Go to sleep my little baby."

I saw a small yawn escape from Hamish's tiny little mouth. I sang a few more choruses of the song before I was sure that he was asleep. I kissed him softly on the head and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders. I smiled down at him.

I was proud to be a father, whether I showed it or not.

I turned around to go back into the sitting room. That's when I noticed John standing at the door.

"I don't think Hamish has ever fallen asleep that fast," he was smiling.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"I've been here the whole time. It was really lovely. Where did you learn that song?" He asked.

"My mother used to sing it to me. It's the only one I remember because I used to be quite fond of horses," I explained.

John stepped close to me and held me around the waist.

"You're a good father, Sherlock, when you try," he said, resting his head on my chest.

We stood there for a moment before retreating to our own bedroom across the hall.

I lied in bed, thinking, while John read a book.

"John?" I said, as if making sure he was still there.

"What?" He answered bluntly, making me cringe.

"Do you still love me?"

John set his book down and looked over at me.

"Of course I do. Why would you ever think that I didn't?" He sounded hurt.

"You haven't been acting normally. You seem angry a lot of the time," I told him my reasoning.

"Sherlock, I've been under a bit of stress lately, with Hamish and my job," he said, "It doesn't mean that I love you any less."

"Oh. Good."

"You love me, right?" He asked back.

"Yes," I answered.

John rolled over to my side of the bed and kissed me.

He rested his head on my shoulder while I draped my arm around him.

With my other arm, I reached over and turned out the light.

"Night, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John," I smiled to myself in the dark.