DISCLAIMER: I do not own.

A/N: Well, this is the end my dear friends. I hope you enjoy this last chapter. Thank you for everyone who has left reviews so far.

Blood, so much blood. It's everywhere. The thick, crimson liquid is soaking into John's unsteady hands, it's all over the previously pristine bed sheets, and it's coating the unnaturally lifeless detective sprawled out upon them.

John is aware of two sets of eyes watching his every move. Mycroft was studying him, scrutinizing him, and pinpointing the cause of his baby brother's pain all on John. The guilt that had been building inside the ex-army doctors' gut over the past six months was now burning inside of him like a bonfire on fireworks night, smoking and spitting, and slowly building into an impressive glow. Because Mycroft's eyes are enough to know that this is John's entire fault, that he shouldn't have gone along with Sherlock's ridiculous plan to keep the child, that he was the one at fault. Lestrade is gazing on at the scene as though it's one of the most horrific murders he's ever witnessed. John has no choice but to ignore them, to go into his own little bubble whilst he desperately tries to save both Sherlock, and if possible the premature baby. He doesn't know whether he'd be able to live with himself if he didn't save Sherlock, not that Mycroft would likely allow him to live, not if his only remaining family had died because of John's stupidity.

His scalpel slid into the far too pale flesh with as much precision as he can make with his shaking and currently useless hands. He knows the anatomy of the human body like the back the of his hand but it still takes him awhile to find the right spot for the artificial womb. It's not like a woman's womb. It's significantly smaller. His hands shook further as her opened Sherlock up, pulling back layers of thick muscle, and caught sight of an alien creature. No, his mind informed him sharply, this is not an alien, this is a human being and you have ignored them for far too long. He pulled out the miniature human. The tiny creature's skin is a red sort of color, not the healthy pink a baby should be. That was probably due to it being premature, not because it wasn't a … normal child.

Everything is in slow motion now. He does a quick medical check-up on the fragile form in his hands, notes the way its chest is heaving up and down as though it is struggling for breath, and hurriedly placed it in an incubator that Sherlock had helped design and John had made from scratch, attaching it to all sorts of wires just to keep it alive. It was funny how Sherlock had seemingly adapted to their situation as though he was dealing with some sort of scientific experiment, but had also stayed remarkably attached to the child. John had been rather amused by how Sherlock recorded every little change in his body in a journal, a smug grin on his face as he chattered on about it being an amazing scientific breakthrough. But really, truly, John didn't quite believe that Sherlock had decided to keep the child out of wanting to complete an once in a life time experiment, and that maybe Sherlock was really attached to it. John didn't see how, seeing as the baby had been making him weaker and had been physically hurting him. Even now John can't quite see why Sherlock's attached to the thing –yes, in his mind it's still a thing. He barely registered the sex of the child. It doesn't seem important now, right now all that is important is the curly haired man slowly bleeding out.

His hands, slick with blood, made fast work of stopping the bleeding, cleaning the wound and stitching him up. It seemed to take far too long but once he's done and he steps back to admire his work he's satisfied that he hasn't made a complete botch job of things. He raced to attach Sherlock to a bag of blood (He had been prepared for every eventuality, medical wise at least.) Once Sherlock was attached and the blood began dripping into his system it was a simple matter of cleaning the sheets and the man on them of the blood.

He glanced up at Mycroft and Lestrade through teary eyes and gave them a fake smile of reassurance, as a doctor he was practised in doing so. "Help me." He begged softly, his voice cracking as though an immense pressure was bearing down on it.

Lestrade was the first one to move. He still looked like he was in shock about the whole Sherlock and baby thing but he seemed more concerned than anything. "Will he be ok now?" He asked gently, his soft brown eyes studying the brutal scene on the bed. It looked like Sherlock had been in a fight with a blender and had lost.

"He should be. Just a matter of time. We need to clean him up." John wet his lips slightly, his mouth suddenly devoid of words.

"And the kid? What about them? I presume that was a kid I just saw and this isn't some sort of pissing joke on my part. I mean how the hell did this happen?"

"It's a long story." Mycroft spoke for John, walking cautiously to the homemade incubator, his eyes inspecting the life inside of it. "And this is no joke, not by far. I shall explain later. For now I suggest you do exactly as John tells you to." Mycroft peered closer at the baby on the other side of the warm glass, his nose pressed close against it. "It's a boy." He stated, his tone neither impressed or unimpressed, merely neutral.

John swallowed. A boy? A son. He glanced guiltily over to the incubator. "He'll be in there till he's stronger." John said, only realizing a second later that that was blindingly obvious. He pulled the dirty sheet off from underneath Sherlock with the help of Lestrade, turning his gaze away from Mycroft and the baby.

"And after it no longer needs to be attained in such a manner am I under the understanding that you and Sherlock will be bringing the child up?"

John let the silence roll out for couple of minutes as he dabbed a cloth over the now mostly flat plain of Sherlock's stomach, mopping up the dried blood and revealing the true pale cream colour underneath. "We hadn't given it much thought." Well, actually that was a lie. Sherlock had tried to bring up the topic of the child's future a numerous amount of times, only for John to knock him back. It wasn't that John wasn't interested in providing for a child that was his, not at all. He was a man of reasonability. It was just at the time John had barely believed the baby would make it out alive, and had barely seen it as a living being. Even now he found it hard to believe that his flesh and blood was right there – barely alive- fighting for life.

"I could help out." Mycroft said, his tone so soft that it took a while for John's brain to associate the voice with the Elder Holmes.

"Um – I don't think – " Mycroft sent him a glare that told him not to argue and he instantly shut his trap.

"Right, all clean." Lestrade sighed tiredly. This was not how he imagined today going at all. He'd imagined a day of dealing with Sherlock, yes, but not quite like this. He glanced over to his lover. He looked enthralled by the baby inside.

"So, Sherlock was ill, huh?" He cocked an eyebrow, shaking his head in disbelief.

" It was better to say that than knocked up with his flatmate's offspring." Mycroft scoffed, but there was a definite smile on his lips as he watched the baby.

"Yeh, alright." John huffed. "There's really no need to rub it in."

Mycroft seemed to study John for a while. John suddenly felt a lot like an ant underneath a magnifying glass. He seemed to come to a conclusion about John as his face visibly softened. "Shall I leave you alone to tend to Sherlock and the child? I highly doubt he will be thankful of my presence when he awakes. And I think you have quite a few things to discuss with him."

"Yeh, um, we have a lot we need to discuss."

"You a couple now then?" Lestrade asked, a smirk that seemed far too smug slapped was slapped across his face.

"What? No! I'm not gay." The same old line tumbled from John's lips. It was almost as much a reflex as sneezing and blinking was to him. Mycroft scoffed loudly. Lestrade suddenly seemed quite uncomfortable. "Not – not that there's anything wrong with being gay." He quickly back tracked, acknowledging the heated looks Mycroft and Lestrade were sending each other. Had he said something offensive? Oh – "Oh." John repeated out loud. "Are you two err –"

"We are, yes." It was Mycroft who answered. Lestrade just gave a dumbfounded nod. "And I suggest that you stop dillydallying and get down to business with my brother. Either that or stop dancing around each other like two love struck teenagers."

John stared after the fast retreating Elder Holmes and Lestrade, mouth agape at his words. His eyes soon snapped back to the sleeping Sherlock and his heart jumped up into his throat, making it almost impossible to breath. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I – the fact that he arrived too early was my fault. I neglected your emotional well-being. I was here as a doctor for you, but not as a friend." He took a shaky breath and walked over to Sherlock. He pushed a hand through the slightly sweaty curls pooling over his forehead. "And I'm truly sorry for that. I'll be a better – " He swallowed. "Friend – oh, what am I saying?" He leant in further and placed a kiss on the corner of Sherlock's mouth. "I'm in love with you, Sherlock." He whispered softly, not wanting Mycroft or Lestrade to hear him. "I'm hopelessly in love with ya. I must be. I don't think I've ever been so scared of losing someone." Sherlock snored in response.

Smiling sadly John walked over to the incubator. "We have a son." He said to the sleeping detective. "He doesn't look like much right now. But he'll get there." He pushed a hand up against the glass and stared at the impossible child inside. "I'm sorry little one." He choked on a sob. "I should have been there for you. "I just – I'm so sorry. I'm here for you now. I'm not leaving. " He dragged up a chair, sitting half way between his sleeping child and his sleeping Sherlock. His. Yes, he thought to himself, they're all mine.

A few months later...

"We're home." John felt a soft sigh escape his lips as he entered 221B, the familiar smell of Mrs Hudson making coffee hitting them as they entered the flat.

"Yes, yes we are." Sherlock said from behind him.

John turned and laughed at the sight of the detective cradling their sleeping baby in his arms. He looked like an entire different person to the man John had first met. He looked tired and not as composed as before, but overall he looked blissfully happy. "You know," He mused. "We really need to give him a name."

"Hmmm. Names are dull."

John raised an exasperated eyebrow. "He needs a name."

"Hamish." Sherlock said decisively.

John stared at Sherlock, his eyebrow going up further. "After my middle name?"

"Well, obviously. It's the perfect solution for the whole name thing." Sherlock's face was so deadly serious that John couldn't help but falling into a fit of giggles. "What?" He huffed in response to John's giggles, looking not entirely impressed.

"It's just, I dunno, you."

"Me?"

"You." John shuffled forwards and grabbed hold of Sherlock's face.

"John, what are you –" John cut off the rest of Sherlock's sentence with a soft kiss. He hummed loudly, starting off cautiously as kissing men wasn't exactly his area, but he soon pressed more firmly into the kiss. Sherlock met him eagerly, prying open John's lips to explore further. They broke apart when they heard a small gurgle of protest from Hamish. Sherlock was panting heavily, eyes wide, studying John like he was the most interesting case he'd ever come across. "What was that?"

John shrugged and bit his lower lip. "It was a kiss. Didn't you like it?"

"Did I- ? Yes. I did rather enjoy it. But that's beside the point. When?"

"When did I start to see you in a, um, romantic light?"

"Yes. It's not as if you showed much interest whilst I was pregnant with Hamish."

"I was an idiot. The fact is I didn't really know how to handle what had happened. And there were so many risks you were taking. I was terrified of losing you. I just threw myself into the medical mechanics of it all. I made sure you had all the nutrients and hormones in place to at least keep you stable. I was so focussed on that that I didn't realize I was in love with you." John's eyes were starting to swill with tears. His heart was bobbing in his chest as he feared rejection. He closed his eyes and waited for Sherlock to get angry or to scoff at him. What he received was another kiss.

"I love you too, Idiot."

"Come on. Let's take a nap." John gingerly took Sherlock's hand and led him to his bedroom. They curled up together, baby Hamish nestled between them, sleeping peacefully side by side. John smiled in his sleep, Hamish's tiny hand holding one of his fingers hostage. There was space for one more in his heart.

I hope you enjoyed this little journey I took you on. As always reviews are greatly appreciated.