You had disappeared to the bathroom to be sick for the third time today, covering your mouth and running before you had the chance to be sick all over the lovely clean carpet that Mrs Hudson just finished cleaning.
There could only be two possibilities as to why you were vomiting so much; one, mother nature was deciding to be a bitch as per usual. Or two, you were pregnant.
And you were hoping it was the first option.
Not that you wouldn't be happy that you were pregnant, with Sherlock's child of all things.
You just didn't feel like you were ready to bring a child into this world, you weren't even sure if Sherlock even wanted to bring a child into this strange yet wonderful world.
You weren't sure if Sherlock even liked children for that matter.
You threw your head into the toilet allowing whatever you had for breakfast this morning return.
You were thankful that your hair was in a loose bun.
"(Y/N)? Are you okay?" John asked, standing my
"What?" He smiled over at you.
"Where are you taking Hamish?"
His smile grew a little bit as did your sons.
His smile was crooked, much like his fathers. He was the spitting image of him and was already showing his intelligence at such a young age. His hair curled and bounced at the top of his head while his eyes shimmered a bright (e/c).
"Dad's taking me to see a crime scene!" Hamish blurted out excitedly.
"What? Oh no, you are not going to a crime scene." You frowned, lifting the small child up into your arms.
"It's not going to be that bad, (Y/N). Just one of the suicides that have been taken place recently." Sherlock explained.
"That's even worse!" You turned away from him.
You thudded your way upstairs towards Hamish's bedroom.
"Mum! Let me go! Dad promised that he would take me to see a real crime scene!" He whined and squirmed but you wouldn't budge.
"When I say no Hamish I mean no."