"Hamish! Get down here!"
Sherlock was staring at an object used for undesirable weather. It was bright and in good shape. But no one in the flat had anything like it.
Hamish Watson-Holmes pattered down the steps noiselessly, thinking nothing of his father's tone.
John Watson, his dad, was out for the day. He said he had a few errands to run but really, he was preparing for a night out to be spent with Sherlock.
Hamish got down to the last step and yawned. Today had been busy, and the rain always made him sleepier than usual.
"'Sup, Pop?" He murmured, walking into the living room.
He froze instantly at the sight of Alex's umbrella, eyes widening just a fraction. Hamish recomposed before his father could jump on the reaction.
"What is this?" Sherlock's tone was one that suggested he was not to be reckon with.
"An umbrella." Hamish answered plainly.
"Don't be smart," Sherlock snapped. "Whose is it?"
Hamish squinted at it as if remembering where he'd gotten it from.
Finally the lad snapped his fingers and smiled triumphantly.
"Martha's! From Bio! Of course."
Sherlock raised his brow.
"Martha? I've never heard you speak of a Martha."
Hamish nodded, trying to quickly and accurately form an excuse.
"Yes, well, I haven't known her for long."
"Yet she allowed you to borrow her umbrella."
"She had a spare?" Hamish was grasping at straws.
"That's your final answer?" Sherlock's face was painted with mute amusement.
"Ah… Yeah. Yes." The boy blinked a few times before holding his hand out. "Shall I take it upstairs?"
Sherlock smiled, eyes snake-like.
He handed his son the umbrella and watched him walk away.
As soon as Hamish was out of hearing distance, he breathed a sigh of relief and hugged the wet thing to his chest.
Downstairs, Sherlock was placing a call to Mycroft Holmes, holding a slip of paper originating from a small, almost unnoticeable pocket on one of the tips of the umbrella's water resistant fabric.
"Hello, brother. I need you to find all the information you can regarding one Alex Moran and send it over. The quicker the better." He hung up and ran his fingers over the piece of card stock.
What was his son hiding? Or rather, who?