Hamish had insisted on going to ASDA with John. He'd whined that even though it was his school's holiday, he hadn't been out of the house in days and wanted a little trip somewhere.
"It's only ASDA, I'm buying dinner. You'll be bored stiff."
"It's something to do," Hamish argued, "I'm bored."
John had narrowed his eyes, "fine. But don't wander off. I have enough trouble controlling Sherlock."
Hamish grinned.
"Item not scanned. Please try again."
John groans, swiping the barcode for what felt like the twentieth time.
"C'mon," he knits his eyebrows together.
"Item not scanned. Please try again."
"Do you think you could keep your voice down a bit?" John hisses at the machine.
Hamish raises his eyebrows, "you're as bad as Mrs Hudson and grandmother. They refuse to use these," he takes the bag of vegetables from John and straightens out the barcode.
The machine beeps and the price appears on the screen. Hamish throws it into the bag and smiles sweetly.
John narrows his eyes, "alright, smartarse. You do the rest."
Hamish pulls the basket closer and starts scanning everything. What would have taken ten minutes for John (arguing with the machine included), takes Hamish sixty seconds. He places everything into the plastic bags and steps back to make room for John to pay.
He puts his card into the machine and waits.
And waits.
Until finally it bleeps and the screen shows, "Card not authorised. Please remove card."
"But I haven't done anything yet…" John frowns.
"It won't accept your card," Hamish says, stepping forward.
The machine pipes up again, "please use alternative method of payment."
John groans and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"Hamish, can you wait here with the shopping for ten minutes while I run home to get some cash?"
John gets back to the flat quickly, only to be met by Sherlock's "you took your time."
"I had a row, in the shop, with a chip and pin machine," John growls.
Sherlock lowers his book slightly, "a row… with a machine?"
"Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Hamish wasn't much good either; I thought kids knew about these things. I came back for some money."
Sherlock scoffs, "did you ask Hamish?"
"What nine year old carries enough money to pay for a week's worth of shopping?"
"My nine year old." Sherlock turns a page of his book, "he saves the pocket money I give him so he can buy himself things he knows I'd only get him for special occasions. He also knows how to use my card in emergencies."
John shakes his head, "of course he does. He didn't have anything with him, not even his phone."
"He's getting irresponsible," Sherlock frowns, "I told him to keep his phone with him. Take my card."
"You could have just gone yourself, you know," John says, eyeing a scratch on the kitchen table and tutting, "save me a lot of trouble."
He rummages through Sherlock's wallet and finds a card he knows the PIN number for, "what happened with that case you were offered, anyway? The Jaria Diamond?"
"Boring. I sent them a message."
John nods and goes to trot back down the stairs.
When John arrives back at the self-serve machine he waves the card, "Sherlock's," he smiles.
Hamish gives him a thumbs up, holding an open crisp packet in his other hand, making John frown.
"Should you be eating those?"
"The lady said I could eat them now as long as we pay for them," he says, stuffing a crisp in his mouth.
John rolls his eyes and picks up the bags, holding one out for Hamish, "carry this one for me."
"Don't worry about us," John mutters when they get back to the flat, "we can manage."
Hamish dumps his bag on the kitchen table and John ushers him out, starting to put everything into the cupboards.
Hamish takes a can of pop from the fridge and wanders through to the living room. He narrows his eyes when he spots a sword underneath Sherlock's chair, "dad, what-"
Sherlock puts a finger to his lips, flicking his eyes over to John, currently with his back to them, and whispers, shh.
Hamish nods and giggles quietly, curling into the sofa and picking up his book, while Sherlock goes back to concentrating on the laptop balanced on his knee.
Ten minutes later, John emerges with a mug of tea. He eyes both Holmeses, suspicious at their lack of noise.
"Is that my computer?"
"Of course," Sherlock says, not looking up, "mine was in the bedroom."
"It's password protected!"
Sherlock smirks, "not exactly Fort Knox."
Irritated, John snaps the laptop shut and takes it from Sherlock's lap, and shoves it under his arm chair. Sherlock narrows his eyes and moves his hands to their usual thinking position. He stays unnaturally still as John picks up and examines their post.
"Bills," he mumbles, "need to get a job."
Sherlock frowns, "dull."
Sighing, John leans forward in his chair, "listen, do you think I could… could you lend me some… are you even listening to me?"
Sherlock stands suddenly, "I need to go to the bank. Stay home Hamish, Mrs Hudson is currently baking and will no doubt want you to sample. Coming John?"
"I… okay," John nods, picking up his coat and following Sherlock out the door.