Because He Was Alone

Chapter Two: Hamish

Chapter Two: Hamish

"John, don't say anything," began Sherlock, "but I'm taking this child home with me today."

Lestrade turned around, a very confused look contorting his features upon hearing Sherlock's last comment. But upon turning around, and seeing the baby in the detective's arms, Lestrade's mouth, too, hung open.

"What?" John began, tripping over his own words. "No, Sherlo— It's—You can't just—" he stuttered.

"John, do please get it out," Sherlock sighed.

"N-no!" the doctor practically squeaked.

"John, I told you not to say anything," Sherlock scolded, contradicting himself. "And please be quiet, he's sleeping." Giving his flat mate a stern look, the detective gestured with his head to the sleeping figure in his arms.

Moving swiftly, Sherlock glided between the two men, who were both staring wide-eyed as the detective carried on as if nothing had happened, the small child sleeping soundly against his chest.

Sherlock approached the woman at the first desk who had, finally, looked away from her phone. She gazed annoyingly at the detective and was met with an icily cold smile. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock turned his head just slightly in the direction of John and Lestrade behind him, who were both still at a loss for words.

"John, Lestrade, could you please step outside for a moment? I'll be right out, I promise, I just need to have a talk with this young woman here. Besides, we all know already that this orphanage is going to be like all the others; there will be no information on the twelve-year old that was abducted, so we're wasting our time anyway." Sherlock carefully took his hand, which had previously been resting on the little boy's back and used it to pull his phone from his pocket. He pressed a number and held it up to his ear, waiting for the person to pick up. "Hello, Mycroft—yes I am in fact calling you. Wonderful observation skills, as usual, brother." He rolled his eyes. "Listen, Mycroft, I need your help... Yes… Yes… Well—" Sherlock turned around and realized John and Lestrade had not yet left.

"Go on, I said I'd be out soon," Sherlock said calmly. Still shocked, John and Lestrade began to sluggishly make their way back down the hallway they had just entered through moments ago.

The two had waited in silence for several minutes, though it seemed like much longer, when Sherlock finally emerged from the orphanage, his hand now back to cradling the still-sleeping child, and a smug smile on his face.

"Well," began Lestrade, "I guess he couldn't have done too much damage; the kid's still asleep." John released a dark chuckle as he walked up to Sherlock, determination in his step. "Sherlock," he began in a dangerous tone.

"I know, John," the detective replied tersely, sounding almost guilty. The army doctor stopped, his rant now forgotten, as he saw the sad look in the detective's eyes. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock continued, "But I couldn't leave him in there," he whispered, eyes falling to the sleeping child in his arms. "I just couldn't…"

John spoke again, his voice much more soft this time, though. "Of course you could have, Sherlock. He would have been just fine there. I mean look at him. He's an adorable kid; I'm surprised he hasn't been adopted yet! He'll be better of with a family who can care for him properly, rather than us—" The doctor stopped immediately, realizing what it sounded like he had just said. The hurt on his friend's face and in his eyes was evident.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "John, this little boy has been abused repeatedly, he hasn't been fed in who knows how long—just look at him! He's been neglected his whole life! Do you think I wouldn't be able to take good care of him, John? Is that it? Because of the way I am? Did it ever occur to you to think of why I am the way I am? Of course it hasn't, because if it had, you would understand why I couldn't leave him in there!" Sherlock's face was now flushed a light pink color. "I didn't take him because he was thin, or dirty, or neglected… I took him because he was alone, John! Because he was alone… I was alone all of my childhood, and do you see how I turned out? That's why I can't leave him in there, because if I do, his whole childhood will be ruined! And then he'll end up…" Sherlock's anger had subsided and was now replaced with sadness. "I just... couldn't leave him, John…"

The detective's eyes drifted again to the sleeping baby in his arms. Lestrade, a few feet away, awkwardly stared at the ground, as John looked at his flat-mate with utter guilt. He'd never known that about Sherlock's childhood. Although, admittedly, that did explain a lot. He looked at the innocent child in Sherlock's arms, and suddenly felt totally at ease with the whole situation, though he didn't quite understand why.

"Okay," he whispered. Sherlock looked back at John with hopeful eyes.

"You mean, you're okay with this?" He gestured down to the child.

John hesitated, but then answered confidently, "Yes. Let's take him home." He turned to try and hail a cab.

"Hamish."

"What?" John asked, confused. He turned back to the detective.

"Hamish," Sherlock answered. "His name is Hamish," he stated with a small smile. John couldn't help but smile, too.

"And you didn't just name him that, did you?" the doctor asked, somewhat incredulously. Sherlock shook his head 'no.'

"Hmm," John pondered, "It does make one believe in something, doesn't it?" he said with a smile.