Sherlock had been dreading this moment, since John had asked to go to the Christmas market. Santa Claus. A fictional character, brought to life each year by countless old men, who most likely were out of work alcoholics and addicts, who would prey upon guillabile children and nostalgic parents, and weave lies about flying reindeer and the amount of favors that would be bestowed upon them if they were good little children. He sat there on a throne in the plaza, surrounded by fellow miscreants dressed in outlandish costumes as they helped to organize and bring forth the next unwitting victim of this centuries old farce.
Sherlock gave a quick glance down at Hamish and over to John, as they made their way through the crowd hand in hand. Perhaps they had not noticed yet...and gave a slight pull to take his family into another direction, away from this insanity. But Hamish gave a tug back and stood steadfast, staring in slight awe at the scene before them.
Throughout this month, Hamish had seen numerous Santa Clauses, but this whole scene was different, complete with a house and sleigh, and what appeared to be real reindeer. As his father's son, Hamish began his deductions.
The telly and movies he had seen gave part of the story, and certainly the stories that papa had read to him gave him some indication as to what to expect, but these were partial truths that had been handed down generation after generation, who really knew the facts? Given the sheer number of copy cats Hamish had seen, careful observations must be made to determine, if in fact, this was the real Santa Claus.
The suspect was wearing a red suit, with white fur trim. Although, the reflective nature of the trim gave away that this was not real fur. Perhaps money was tight in the Claus household. Slightly obese, possibly due to consumption of cookies, if the tales were true. Ruddy complexion...could be from the coldness of the day or excessive drinking. Considering the stress the man must be under, he could have turn to alcohol to help him manage. This was the first time Hamish had seen Santa Claus at work, and at four years of age, he did not have much recall to draw upon in regards to Santa. Father was very wise and had eons of experience, perhaps...
Hamish looked up at his father, and could see the tightness of his face. Father was...unhappy, holding back, clearly wanting to say something, but was thinking perhaps not...then father flicked his eyes over to papa. Hamish turned his head towards papa, who was giving father "the look". Papa bent his head down at Hamish and gave a soft smile, then warmly looked over the children laughing with eager eyes as the man in the Santa suit let out a hardy "Ho Ho Ho!", which made Hamish look back at his suspect.
"Father, do you think that this is the real Santa Claus?" Hamish asked very carefully, without taking his eyes off the man in question.
John gave Sherlock a pleading look. For John, Santa Claus was a wonderful part of his childhood Christmas memories, and he wanted that for Hamish, however briefly. He and Sherlock had at least agreed to allow Hamish to discover on his own what he believed.
Sherlock knelt down and gave Hamish a quick peck on the cheek, as he looked over his son. His soft black curls covered in a sock hat, with Sherlock's old blue scarf tied around his neck, the ends nearly touched the ground. Despite John bundling him up with mittens and a black top coat just like Sherlock's, the tip of Hamish's nose was red as were his cheeks. Hamish's adorable face gleemed with a curiosity that made Sherlock so proud.
"You've already observed the scene, what are your deductions so far?" Sherlock asked.
Hamish carefully considered before responding,
"It's possible that this is the real Santa." Anything was possible.
Hamish folded his arms and rested his chin on his palm, deep in thought. He came to a decision and leaned over to father.
"I think we should interview the suspect," Hamish said in a whisper into his father's ear.
Sherlock gave his young son a broad smile and stood. "Right then, remember what to look for, what the key indicators of an equivocator are."
Hamish gave an affirming nod, placed his hand in his father's as they marched over to the blessedly short queue, with John following quickly behind.
John hissed at Sherlock in a quiet whisper, "Sherlock, you promised me that - "
Sherlock just raised his hand and gave a mischevious smirk, "I am doing exactly what we agreed upon, letting him deduce for himself."
John opened his mouth to speak again, but just let it go, and shrugged in defeat.
Hamish stood in line in front of his parents, leaning over to the side to see around the people ahead of him, but he could only see the black boots that the man was wearing. There were made of synthetic material, not leather, although the brass buckle looked real. The boots were well worn, with numerous scuff marks. He needed to be higher up to get a better look at the rest of the man.
Hamish tugged at his father's trouser and held his arms up. Sherlock quickly scooped him up and turned him around. From this vantage point, Hamish could observe much better.
John looked over the Santa and was fairly impressed. He had a real beard and long white hair, no makeup required. He spoke with a kind voice and a pleasant demeanor, with a hardy laugh. Perhaps he could fool his son...John very much wished he could.