A continuation of a Parentlock fic on Tumblr.

Bolded is the part from Tumblr User utopia-in-atlantis

Italic is the part from Tumblr User johnsarmy

And normal is my part, whiteotterbenedict

If you two are on FF and you see this, send me a PM and I'll add your FF names to this story. The first two parts are by no means mine.

"I'm giving you the power to save just one of them, Hamish." Sebastian said, watching the little boy that stood frozen in front of his two fathers, who were both tied to chairs in the middle of the cold, dimly lit basement. "Your call."

Sebastian walked over to the two adults, standing next to Sherlock first, and pressed a gun to the detective's temple. "Should we kill Daddy?" He asked. Sherlock said nothing, only breathing out shakily. Blood seemed to be everywhere on him. In his clothes, his hair and dripping from a large wound on his head. One eye was swollen shut and the other just stared ahead. He didn't even look at Hamish.

"Or…" Sebastian started, stepping just six feet away to where John was tied up, and pressed the gun to his head this time. "Daddy? Or whatever you call this one, eh?" He said, looking up at the tearful child, giving him an amused smile. Blood covered John's clothes, but he himself was mostly intact, save for a large gash on his head that was slowly streaming blood. He looked away from the gun and let out a large breath, giving a rather shaky smile to Hamish. It was meant to be comforting, but clearly failed.

Neither of the two men dared to speak. Hamish said nothing either, sniffing as tears welled more in his eyes. It was cruel, forcing a boy to pick between his two fathers who lived and died. Sebastian knew that, and he didn't care. He waited a beat, but frowned when he heard no answer from the child. He was growing impatient

"It can't be that difficult, can it?" He asked, going to stand in between the two chairs now, his green eyes glistening in the main light that hung from the ceiling. "Just think to yourself.." He started and pressed the gun once more to Sherlock's temple. "..Who do you love the most?" He asked and pulled out another gun from the holster at his side, pressing it to John's temple. Another beat of silence, then he spoke. "I suggest you choose, Hamish, before I do." He said, his tone calm like his expression, but with a sense of urgency.

This time, Hamish let the tears that grew in his eyes fall as he watched his two fathers, both looking down at the ground now. He let out a sob and let his lip quiver before he opened his mouth.


"Yes, daddy" Sebastian said, rolling his eyes "but which daddy?" Hamish looked at Sherlock who was still refusing to look at him, then John who was still trying to look calm. A sudden panic tone took his voice


Sebastian rolled his eyes again, he was getting tired of this game. All he wanted was revenge, that was all, not waiting around for a smart-ass kid to make up his mind about which parent he loved more.

Sounds emitted from Sherlock as he tried to say something, but all that came out was a dribble of spit and blood that soon blended in with the other blood on his face. John glanced at him, then said "Hamish, dear, we forgive you. You are very strong. This man is cruel, and it is not your fault. We don't care, we would die for you. You're my brave little solider, remember? All we want is you to be safe."

The smile widened Sebastian face, his white teeth gleaming like a tigers.

"Time to choose, solider"

Hamish started crying, his tears like a waterfall streaming down his face. "I…both, just stop please give me them back" he started crying hysterically and hid his face in his arms. Sebastian's gin widened even more, like a grotesque mask.




Sebastian jiggled the guns at John and Sherlock's heads, in an impatient gesture.




"Times up and I told you I would choose"

Sherlock and John screamed in horror as Sebastian raised his gun, aimed at Hamish who still had is head in his hands and…


Blood splatted the walls.

Sherlock's mouth was wide open, a silent scream as he watched his little boy, tears on his face. He felt blood and spit drip down his chin, but he couldn't nor did he have the strength to wipe it away.

How could this have happened? How selfish had he been, thinking that he could have a child and bring it up safely? It would never have lasted. And now his little boy was in danger.

His little boy.

Who was crying right now, trying desperately to figure out who to kill. Oh my boy. Sherlock thought, though he could not say it. Pick me. I was never the best parent anyway. Just pick me so you and John can go home. Just choose me. He heard John say something similar.

"Time to choose, soldier." Moran said, his face adorned with the ugliest smirk.

Hamish muttered something, and Moran was enjoying this, the bastard. Sherlock would've gladly killed this man, this monster who dared hurt his son. He would've done it, if he hadn't been tied down and beaten half to death.

Moran was counting down now, from five to one, and Hamish had his face hidden in his hands, crying hysterically. Sherlock felt bile come up in his throat. He couldn't stand to see his little boy hurt like this.

Moran grinned like the devil. "Time's up and now I get to choose."

To Sherlock's horror, the gun suddenly pointed at Hamish. Oh dear God, please, no, not my son! NOT MY HAMISH! He wanted to shout, but couldn't. All he could do was scream horrified, like he'd never screamed before. He heard John do the same, and the room was filled with desperate screams of two fathers who were about to lose their kid.

Then a shot rang out.

Blood splattered on the walls.

Sherlock stared a moment, trying to comprehend what happened. He couldn't move, could scarcely breathe. A soft cry escaped his throat, and a hand wrapped around his wrist.

"Sherlock." a voice whispered, and suddenly he understood, and yet another cry escaped his throat, louder. "Shh, it's okay." the voice said gently as the hand untied him.

Then he heard the voice. The voice that shook him to his core, waking him, making him cry out again. "AUNTIE MOLLY!"


Hamish, his little boy, was alive and it was /Moran/'s blood that painted these walls. Sherlock slid out of the chair and to the ground as he came lose, and above him stood Molly Hooper, a gun still in hand and her face set in angry determination. Hamish Watson Holmes was clutching her side.

"Hamish." Sherlock whispered, the only word he could speak at the moment, and the boy turned to him. The tear-stained face of his son was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he held out his arms to him.

Hamish let out a strangled cry. "Daddy!" he said, letting himself fall in his father's arms. "I'm so, so sorry, daddy."

"Oh my son. Oh my brave little boy." Sherlock closed his arms around his son, hugging him tightly to his chest, not planning on ever letting go again. "It's not your fault, Hamish. It's mine. And I will never let it happen again. I love you so much, Hamish." His brave boy. He could never have chosen. He was too much like John.

"I love you, too, daddy."

Molly, meanwhile, had stepped around the body with great disdain and had untied John. John who, battered and bruised but otherwise all right, was furiously fighting tears but failing miserably, and staring at his Sherlock, holding their son, safe and sound, alive and well, in his arms. "Thank you, Molly. I owe you everything."

Molly smiled, putting a hand on his arm. "Nobody hurts my nephew. The police are on their way. Go. Be with them. Be with your family, John."

Sherlock was still sitting on the ground, his arms tightly around his son, crying softly, when he felt two arms wrap around himself and the boy. John.

"Oh, my boys." John whispered, hugging his family close.

Hamish let out another cry of relief. "Daddy."

Sherlock moved so that John could wrap his arms around their son, too, and together they sat, arms around each other, all crying softly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Sherlock murmured. "I love you. Both of you."

"It's not your fault." John said. "Is it, Hamish?"

Hamish shook his head, clutching his fathers' arms tightly, still crying softly.

Dr. John Watson Holmes slid his hand in Sherlock's neck to make his husband look up. "And I love you, too." he said softly. Sherlock blinked away a few tears, and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his lover's lips.

Then they continued to hold each other, right there on the floor, as the police began to arrive and clean up the scene around them.

Sherlock pressed a kiss so his son's black hair and looked at Moran's body that was being covered by plastic. "Never again," he whispered, a promise, "never again."