"What am I supposed to do with him? I don't know what children like and dislike," Sherlock whined, imploring his husband to stay.
"I don't know, use your massive intellect to figure something out. You've helped raise Hamish since he was born, deduce something he'd like." John's normally patient demeanor was strained, mostly because he had told Sherlock about his trip last month, and Sherlock had conveniently forgotten about it until the night before John's departure. However, if he stayed, it would be the third time Sherlock had guilted him out of going.
"Fine," said Sherlock dismissively, "Now be quiet so I can go to my mind palace, since you're obviously not going to be of any aid to me." With that, he laid back in his chair, steepled his hands, and shut his eyes, deep in thought. John sighed. Sherlock could be quite moody at times but he supposed that's what he loved about him; they were so different, but they balanced each other out.
He smiled and collected cups, saucers, and the milk from the table. As he placed the china in the sink, he heard the light patter of footsteps behind him. "Hey Hamish, what's up?" he asked without turning around.
"I can't sleep," the boy replied, rubbing his navy blue eyes as he made his way into the kitchen.
"Let me finish up these dishes and then we'll talk." John finished washing the cups and turned to see his son peering into Sherlock's microscope, dark hair contrasting with his pale face - looking so much like his father. "So, what's the problem here?" John queried.
"Oh yeah," Hamish exclaimed, moving away from the microscope, "What are dad and I doing tomorrow? I know he doesn't exactly like to spend time with me." He trailed off, making quick glances towards the sitting room.
"Oh, no, Hamish," John said reassuringly, "your father loves spending time with you, he's just unsure how to, if that makes sense."
"I guess so," Hamish said skeptically. "What do you reckon he's planning? He has his mind palace look, so I assume he's deep in thought," he continued with a smirk.
"That he is," John chuckled. "He does have quite a peculiar expression at the moment. As for what he's planning, no clue."
"Okay. Thanks, Papa." Hamish said a little too quickly, before racing upstairs.
"Hamish - wait."
The boy stopped and turned to look at John. "What?" he asked quizzically.
"Don't worry about tomorrow; if Dad can't come up with something, I'll help him out," John said, hoping to alleviate Hamish's fears.
"Thanks," replied a relieved Hamish. "Night, Papa."
"Night Hay, sleep well," John replied before going back to sit in his chair.
"Does he really think that?" Sherlock asked as he slowly opened his eyes to peer at John, searching his face for a satisfactory answer.
"Well," said John slowly, "I think he does simply because of the way you treat him. You don't act like he's equal with us."
"Well of course not, he's a child," Sherlock said in a matter of fact tone.
"That's not the point, Sherlock!" John said, exasperated. "He looks up to you so much, the least you could do is be more accessible."
"Accessible?" Sherlock replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, Sherlock: accessible. When you treat him like a child, he feels like you don't think much of him. If you don't want to treat him like an equal, then, at the very least, don't dismiss him."
"I don-" Sherlock tried to interject.
"You do, you just dismiss him like Anderson," John said, annoyed that he need to inform his genius husband of something as elementary as talking to his own son.
"Okay, okay," Sherlock said almost apologetically, "I'll think of something you for the two of us to do that is both intellectual and fun. Happy?"
"Very," said John with a smile. "I'm glad you finally understand. Well - I'm going to turn in, have to take the morning train." He stood up and yawned. "Goodnight, Sherlock," he called, before heading upstairs.
"Goodnight, John," Sherlock replied absentmindedly, still in deep thought regarding what to do with Hamish the following day. He pondered his own childhood; it was completely different from Hamish's. His own father wanted nothing to do with him, except to show off his deductive skills when his mother threw dinner parties. He rationalized that was the reason he had difficulty getting close to Hamish - it was unfamiliar territory, as opposed to John, who had a close relationship with both his parents. His sister, Harry, was another story, though. He smiled as he remembered telling John about Harry's drinking problem after noting the scratches on John's mobile when they met at Bart's. That's it, he thought. That's what he could teach Hamish tomorrow - The Science of Deduction. His thoughts increased in tempo as he grew more and more excited He would take Hamish to a public venue where they could study people. It was far from ordinary, however, Sherlock rationalized they were not an ordinary family. "Brilliant!" He proclaimed, jumping to his feet before dashing upstairs to tell John.
"John! John!" He shouted as he entered their bedroom.
"Wuzzit?" John said, a slightly confused and alarmed expression on his face from having just woken up.
"I know what Hamish and I are going to do tomorrow," he said excitedly. "We're going to go the park and I'm going to teach him how to deduce things about people."
"Brilliant," John mumbled. "Now, will you finally let me go to sleep?"
"Of course. I apologize," Sherlock said with a smile. "I'm just so happy that I found something that Hamish and I could enjoy together."
"Me too, Sherlock, but it's time for bed - we both have very full days tomorrow," John said. Sherlock nodded and shut off the light before curling up to John and going to sleep.
The next day, the Watson-Holmes family woke up to the sound of John's alarm. It was ten in the morning, and John was getting ready to depart for his parents' home. Harry had fallen off the wagon (again). He rolled out of bed and shuffled over to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and then got out his electric razor. Whilst shaving, he walked back into the bedroom to wake Sherlock up. When he entered the room, he found that Sherlock was already awake and sitting up in bed, texting away on his phone.
"Making sure your train is on time," Sherlock said. "Hamish should be up soon and then we can see you off."
"Thanks, Sherlock," John replied with a smile. "Once I finish shaving I'm going to go make breakfast. Would you like some tea or anything?"
"Just tea for me," Sherlock said absently, his phone taking up all of his attention. John stowed the razor with a shake of his head before walking downstairs into the kitchen.
As he busied himself with the tea, he kept thinking about Sherlock. All the detective drank was tea and he ate only when prompted by John - definitely not an example to set for Hamish. God he had enough trouble getting the boy to eat on a regular basis because he wanted to be so much like his Dad and only eat when absolutely necessary. He sighed as he got out three saucers and cups and set them on the table. He'd have to talk to Sherlock about that.
Just as the kettle whistled, he heard Hamish coming down the stairs. "Morning, Hamish."
"Morning, Papa," Hamish replied as he sat at the table. "Where's Dad?"
"He's upstairs, but should be down in a tick; he always comes down just as I'm pouring the tea." John remarked, the kettle whistling behind him. He went to take the kettle off the stove, while Hamish got up to get the milk and sugar.
As they made their way back to the table, Sherlock could be heard striding down the stairs. "Good morning, Hamish," he said as he sat down at the head of the table.
"Morning, Dad," Hamish returned as he accepted his cup of tea from John.
Breakfast at the Watson-Holmes residence was an interesting affair. John was always the first up so he always put the kettle on; however, if Sherlock had been up doing an experiment, he usually had the kettle on before John made his way downstairs. But if Sherlock is sleeping (an unusual occurrence) then he is usually the last up - despite his efforts, his body required just as much, if not more, sleep than everybody else. Hamish was usually up a little after John, the smells and sounds of his father making tea stirring him awake. As for what they ate, each member had eating habits as unique as they were; however, despite these differences, they were very steady in their breakfast choices. John always had a cup of tea, splash of milk with one sugar, and some toast with strawberry jam. Sherlock, on the other hand, only had his cup of tea, black with two sugars - he believed that his mind was the only thing necessary to his well-being, and everything else was transport. Hamish had eating habits that were a blend of both his parents; he took his tea like John, but only had one piece of toast instead of two - perhaps in an attempt to be like his Dad. John hoped to curb this practice by placing an additional piece of toast on Hamish's plate when he was close to finishing his first. When John had first moved into 221B, he asked Mrs. Hudson about Sherlock's eating habits; he felt that as a doctor he should not stand idle. Mrs. Hudson explained that because Sherlock's mind worked so quickly, he didn't realize that he required sustenance. He allowed his adrenaline to sustain him, rather than actual food. Since then, John had gotten Sherlock to eat at least one meal a day, which was a big accomplishment, considering that, when they first met, he only ate every two days.
As they finished their food, Hamish began to collect the plates and put them in the sink. Sherlock and John decided that giving their son chores would be beneficial in the long run; John hoped that the chores would instil a sense of responsibility, while Sherlock aspired to give Hamish a normal childhood.
"Well, I should be off," John said. "My train leaves at noon, so I need to be at the station at around 11:30."
"Sounds good. I'll go downstairs and hail you a cab." Sherlock left the kitchen to track down a cab, and Hamish turned to John with a worried look in his eyes.
"Did Dad tell you what we'll be doing today? I don't want him to be worrying about it because I'd be happy with whatever he decided, like if he wanted to do an experiment - that would be fi-"
"Hamish, Hamish, don't worry," John said reassuringly, smiling. "Your father has worked it all out, and he is quite excited about it."
"Are you sure?" Hamish said dubiously. "I could always watch telly while he did an experiment."
"It'll be just fine. If you have any doubts or need anything, you can always reach me on my mobile." John told him, patting his pocket.
"John!" Sherlock yelled from the street, "I've gotten a cab!"
"Coming, Sherlock," John replied, keeping his eyes fixed on his anxious son.
"Don't worry, Papa. Dad and I will be fine," Hamish said with a nervous smile. "If we run into any problems, I'll phone you."
John got up from his chair to give Hamish a hug. "Be a good boy," he said. John and Hamish pushed in their chairs and headed down to meet Sherlock out by the curb.
As John's cab pulled away, Sherlock and Hamish continued to wave until it turned the corner. John smiled as he saw Sherlock and Hamish waving; it was unlike Sherlock to engage in such an act the genius deemed "ordinary." But, since having Hamish, he had changed a lot. Well - not all that much, but for someone such as Sherlock, it was a significant amount. John turned on his mobile to text his parents and tell them he was on his way. His background portrait brought a smile to his face. The photo was taken when they had brought Hamish home from the hospital. It showed Sherlock holding Hamish and peering at him in quite an uncharacteristic fashion. Normally, when Sherlock looked at something, he had a very distinctive expression, since he was usually making a hundred deductions a second about it. But, in this particular photo, his face was completely etched with the the very sentiment that Sherlock claimed he was incapable of feeling. John texted his father about his train's schedule and peered out the window. He was sad about leaving his family, but happy that Sherlock and Hamish would have bonding time. He texted Sherlock. Have fun, and be patient. He's only 12.
Sherlock heard his phone go off immediately after the cab had turned the corner, and pulled it out to view the text with a roll of his eyes. He texted back, Obviously, before turning to Hamish.
"So," he began. "I thought we could go to Regent's Park for a little while, then perhaps we could go to that bookstore you like, and then meet Papa at Angelo's for dinner. What do you think?"
Hamish thought for a moment before responding, "Sounds great, Dad. Let me go and grab a jumper." They went back upstairs into the flat to get dressed to brave the brisk London weather. While Hamish was upstairs, Sherlock got ready in his own way. He buttoned up his suit jacket and grabbed his scarf, twisting it in his long fingers before slipping it over his head. After adjusting his scarf he donned his long, grey coat. Just as he was turning up his coat collar, he heard Hamish coming down the stairs behind him. The boy had put on a cream colored jumper over his t-shirt, a tartan scarf around his neck, and an army-style jacket on top. Sherlock allowed himself a small smile, Hamish was such a blend of both himself and John, right down to their clothing styles.
"Come on Hamish, we can walk since its only a few minutes away."
"Sounds good," Hamish responded, zipping his coat up as he followed Sherlock down the stairs.
As Sherlock and Hamish walked along, Sherlock took the time to study his son. Hamish had his hands in his pockets and was looking around, stealing the occasional glance at his father. In the past few years Hamish had changed a lot. His formerly round face, not unlike John's, had become slightly more angular especially in his cheekbones. Additionally he had grown an inch and a quarter over the past year, his head reaching Sherlock's mid chest area. While he had Sherlock's height he also possessed John's natural athleticism which coupled with Sherlock's nimbleness made him a formidable rugby and cricket player. In addition to Hamish's athletic abilities, he also possessed a superior intellect. He was at the top of his class in every subject, in particular science which made Sherlock quite proud although he did not show it. He only praised Hamish in his conversations with John, Sherlock had grown up in a home where the praise was only shown publicly however in private he was constantly criticized by his parents. As they neared the park, Hamish had plucked up the courage to say something. He knew not to bother his Dad when he looked deep in thought. "So what exactly are we doing here?" He asked apprehensively, it is impossible to predict what Sherlock Holmes is thinking. "Well Hamish." Sherlock replied, shifting his focus from his childhood to his son. "Why don't we sit down on this bench and then we can discuss why we are here."
Sherlock and Hamish took a seat on one of the many benches littering throughout the park. However his bench was situated right in the middle of the park, ideal for people watching. "Hamish," Sherlock started, "do you know what I do for a living?" "Sort of," Hamish began, "you help Lestrade solve cases that he's having trouble with." "Yes." Sherlock responded, "but I was hoping you would go deeper." "Well umm you can see things other people can't, and that's how you solve the cases." Hamish responded slowly as the pieces fit together in his mind. "Exactly!" Sherlock said excitedly. "That's exactly right Hamish. I was thinking I could teach you some of how I do what I do. Would you like that?"
"Oh yes!" Hamish replied enthusiastically. "That's why we're at the park, right? So we can study the people and deduce things about them." "Precisely!" Sherlock returned with a small smile. "Ever since so was a little boy I was always quite observant about my surroundings. Even making deductions about people, however I did not share these with anyone. However once my parents discovered my abilities, they exploited it as a way to show off at dinner parties - the boy who saw nothing, but knew everything. What I'm saying is, that this is not a simple party trick. It is a tool that you can use to help you in life. For example, if you are in danger, by observing your surroundings you can figure out a way tot escape or figure out who or what the danger is. Further, you can use to to see if anyone is being deceptive. Another thing you need to understand is that sometimes people do not want to know what you have deduced about them or someone they care about. Your father has helped me in this field ever since I met him and it's something I want to instill in you before you even learn the basics. Do you understand, Hamish?" Sherlock saw a carbon copy of John's navy eyes looking back at him, however Hamish's eyes lacked the steadfastness of his father. "Hamish?" Sherlock prompted, afraid that he had burdened the boy with too much information. "Yes, yes. I understand," he replied. "Sorry it's just a lot to think about. Now I understand why you need your mind palace." He said with a small smile. "I suppose you're right," Sherlock replied, returning the smile. "So shall we begin?" "Yes," Hamish said with conviction; his features set with determination.
As they conversed, the park had begun to fill up with various sorts of people. There were mothers pushing carriages, businessmen scurrying about, and a few people who appeared to be put for a stroll. "Alright, Hamish." Sherlock asked. "What do you think you should look at when you as deducing people?" "Ummm," Hamish began. "I would look at his or her clothing and how they carry themselves." "Exactly." Sherlock said with a small smirk, "What someone wears can say a lot about themselves. For example, what would my clothing tell you about me?" Hamish looked at his father with new eyes, not from the perspective of a son but someone who had never met his father. Sherlock was wearing his usual grey suit, white shirt, navy scarf, and long, grey coat. "I would say," Hamish started, looking up at his father for guidance. "You can do it," Sherlock said encouragingly, "do not see, rather observe." "Okay." Hamish replied, taking a deep breath before continuing. "You are dressed like an office worker, but seem too high-energy to work in an office. Your shoes have little bits of mud on them so I would say not. You wear your scarf and coat a lot because you have a few blue threads on the coat. Ummm that's all I could get. How did I do?" Hamish looked up at his dad with apprehension. "Well, Hamish, not too bad." Sherlock answered slowly, "Like, I said, clothing is quite important, so good work incorporating them in your deduction. Also, good work in noticing the threads. Small details like that are what are of the utmost importance. Now, would you like to know what I would say about you?" "That'd be ace, then could you tell me more about how you make your deductions." Hamish replied excitedly. "Of course," Sherlock said with a small smile. "Keep in mind, Hamish, that I have been doing this for a long time so, naturally, I would have been able to pick up on a lot more than you. Not to worry, you will learn in time."
Sherlock took a deep breath and sat forward before beginning his deduction. "Your jumper has a stain on the collar, light tan in color, indicating your hand slipped while having tea this morning. Probably because of your injured finger, an injury most likely from cricket, judging by your stride. Your jacket and scarf indicate heavy wear, so you are accustomed to this type of weather your accent says London native. Your t-shirt is visible just above your collar, but not at all at the bottom of your jumper. Says you either have no funds to acquire new clothes, but your Barbour jacket says otherwise, most likely you recently had a growth spurt but haven't gotten new clothing yet." Sherlock sat back on the bench, and looked over at a quiet Hamish.
"How did you get all that from my clothing?" Hamish queried. Sherlock smiled, as he remembered the very same words coming from John's mouth when they met back at Bart's. "Well Hamish, over time I have practiced observing people and making deductions. All of these observations I have stored in my mind palace so I can reference them at a later note. People are so mundane that almost everyone goes through the same thing eventually, so I am able to discern various patterns and apply them to various people and situations. Essentially it's experience that led me on to the tea stain and the injured finger." "I see what you're saying," Hamish said slowly, "I just need a bit more practice and I'll be as good as you some day!" Sherlock smiled at his son's excitement, John was right, the boy did idolize him. Sherlock frowned slightly, while he was a good role model in regards to intellectual matters, John was a better role model for other aspects of life. He would have to talk to John about that later.
"Dad?" Hamish asked, his eyes searching Sherlock's blank face. "Apologies," Sherlock replied, "got a bit lost in my mind palace. Now, would you care to attempt a deduction yourself? I'm sure we can find good candidates from our bench." Sure," Hamish replied. The boy was always up for a challenge, not unlike both of his fathers. "Who do you think we should pick?" He looked around the park for a potential subject. Sherlock peered around the park, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. "How about him?" He said, pointing at a man sitting on the other circle of benches. "Okay," Hamish said, "give me a few minutes." He then turned his attention to the man sitting opposite them, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts. While Hamish observed the man, Sherlock began a deduction of his own.
The man was wearing a well-tailored charcoal grey suit, judging by the fabric, it was well over £500 - high paying profession. Blue and white striped tie with the Harrow seal - public school education. Slight limp - old rugby or cricket injury. Short salt and pepper hair, reading glasses in inside suit pocket, crows feet around the eyes, and slight slump in posture - middle aged. Discolored pocket handkerchief, hastily replaced with traces of mucus - beginnings of a cold. Well worn platinum wedding band on right hand - married about 10 years, left handed. Expensive aftershave (obviously purchased by the wife) and expensive cologne (purchased by the mistress) - two vastly different choices, suggests two totally different buyers. Smells of Earl Grey, ink, and play doh - suggests young children - married late, younger wife. Young children explains the tea stain on the left front pocket of the suit. Judging by the time, the man just escaped from a hectic day at work - hair is ruffled on the sides where his hand has run through it multiple times. Pulling all the pieces together, Sherlock postulated the following: day trader, on going affair, comes from a wealthy family, golden boy at uni until the sporting injury - relives the glory days with the school tie, stress from work and having an affair led to a downtrodden immune system which leads to the cold, has two children - one older boy and a younger girl, job is not going well - as seen in the tired eyes and messy hair, the stress of leading a double life has clearly gotten to the man whose shoes did not even match his suit - blasphemy to a man who spends more than £500 on a suit. That stress has brought him here to the park, a place where he can contemplate what to do next.
Having completed his deduction, Sherlock allowed himself a small smile. This was his favorite part, being able to glean so much information from what most people do not even notice. Ordinary was not a phrase used often in the Holmes residence. Ordinary was boring and the Holmes boys were anything but - Mummy Holmes saw to that. Looking at Hamish, Sherlock saw that his own son was far from ordinary. His parents were not ordinary by any means, Sherlock was well, Sherlock, and John was a former army doctor who put up with Sherlock's antics - something beyond the scope of many ordinary people. Yet Hamish was not so extraordinary that he was bullied for it, rather he had taken some social cues from John to stay out of the limelight, keep his head down, and just do his work without flaunting his intelligence like Sherlock often did - a skill that kept him under the radar of potential bullies.
"Dad," Hamish began, having finished his deduction. "I believe I am finished." "Excellent, Hamish. Now, what have you discovered about our test subject?" Sherlock replied with interest, eager to know what sort of deduction skills Hamish had acquired in their brief time at the park. "Well," the boy began, "I would say he's a banker because of his nice suit and tie. Umm he is married because of his ring. He has a slight limp like Papa sometimes gets, so he must have been injured at some point, probably when he was at uni. He has kids, there is a smudge of play doh on his suit pocket. And, he's catching a cold because his handkerchief has been used recently. So was that better?" Hamish searched his father's eyes for any sign of approval, he truly idolized his parents. Sherlock thought for a moment. Hamish had done quite well given his age and lack of experience in deductions. However he did not want to have the boy feel like he could know everything about everyone from just a glance. That was something that John had taught him. Despite having this gift, Sherlock would have to use it in moderation as it tended to scare people off and was known to rub people the wrong way. "Well Hamish," started Sherlock, choosing his words with care, "I think you did a brilliant job considering your age and lack of experience. Probably better than Papa to be perfectly honest. However you have the advantage of learning first hand from myself versus having to undo old habits. Now, would you care for tea at the flat before we go to that bookstore?"
"Alright." Hamish replied, "I am feeling a bit peckish." And with that, Sherlock and Hamish departed Regent's Park, leaving their banker acquaintance behind to stew in his thoughts.
As Sherlock and Hamish walked back to the flat, Sherlock's phone buzzed. He fished the phone out of his pocket to see that John had sent him a text, how's it going? Headed to the station with my parents. Sherlock replied back, it's going fine, Hamish and I are just headed back to the flat for a little tick then headed to that bookstore he likes. Sherlock looked at the time, it was almost 2. Brilliant, John replied, so I'll see you at Angelo's at 6, right? Correct, was Sherlock's short reply.
Throughout the walk back to the flat, Hamish appeared deep in thought. His dark eyes were studying his trainers in great detail. Sherlock looked over at Hamish in wonderment. It appeared the boy was already using his newly found powers of deduction to deduce facts about his trainers. Sherlock smiled as he remembered the Carl Powers case, and John's attempt at deducing information from the trainers at the lab at Bart's. His expression surfed as he recalled what became of that case and how Moriarty had disrupted the life he had built with John. He shook off his thoughts - sentiment - a chemical defect find in the losing side. Or at least that's what he formerly believed. Since he met John and consequently Hamish, he had definitely changed a lot, despite what he claims an being a high functioning sociopath, John and Hamish know better. As they approached the door to 221, the door was opened by none other than Mrs. Hudson.
"Oh Hamish! Look how grown up you look in your coat and scarf, so much like your father!" She gushed as she ruffled his hair. "Only been a two weeks since you've seen him last," Sherlock reminded her in his brusque tone. "Oh hush you. Now Hamish, I just made a pot of tea and some sandwiches. Would you and Sherlock like to join me for some lunch?" "Of course, Mrs. Hudson! I would love to!" Hamish replied eagerly, the woman was like a mother to him. "Dad, will you come?" Sherlock thought for a moment. He didn't really need to eat, and he wanted to give Hamish time with Mrs. Hudson. "Go on with Mrs. Hudson, Hamish. I'll come and get in a little while. I have to work on one of my experiments." "Sherlock, you really must eat," Mrs. Hudson pleaded, "at least some of those biscuits you love." "I apologize Mrs. Hudson, but I must get on with my experiment, a man's alibi depends on it. Sherlock replied, his tone growing a touch more urgent. "Okay dear, Hamish and I will be in my flat if you need anything." And with that, Hamish and Mrs. Hudson disappeared into her flat for lunch. How ordinary, Sherlock thought. He could not fathom the idea of eating more than once or twice a day. Everything was simply transport to him, all that mattered was his brain. As Sherlock dashed up the stairs he thought of the family's relationship with their dear landlady.
While Mrs. Hudson insisted that she was "not their housekeeper," Sherlock could deduce otherwise. Ever since he moved into 221B, he found himself being subtly looked after. She would sometimes leave a plate of food in front of the door when it got too quiet in the flat, she knew of Sherlock's habit of sitting on the couch entrenched in thought, wandering around his mind palace for days on end - neglecting to eat during that period. Since John moved in she found herself not needing to do constantly worry about Sherlock's eating habits. Other times when one of the Watson-Holmes' was sick, she would make a pot of chicken soup and bring it up to her boys. Especially if Hamish or John were sick, since Sherlock is inept when it comes to caring for the ill. Not because he does not know how to, he does in theory, but because he finds common diseases such as the sniffles or a stomach bug as dull. But since Hamish has come along, he has been under John's tutelage in caring for the ill, since then he has improved leaps and bounds. Going so far as to make someone tea or get takeaway from their favorite restaurant. To the boys, Mrs. Hudson is so much more than a landlady, she is a mother to them. In a flat of 3 boys, it can be difficult to add a maternal influence on Hamish, John comes close but it just isn't the same. When there is something Hamish will not tell John or Sherlock, Hamish will typically confide in Mrs. Hudson. While Sherlock can deduce anything, if Hamish is not willing to say something they decided long ago no to push any issue unless it was serious. Not every child has consulting detective for a father who knows everything going on in his sons's life, whether the boy likes it or not. Sherlock and John wanted to give him the most normal childhood they can muster.
As Sherlock strode into the flat, he made a beeline for his armchair. Smoothly fishing his phone out of his pocket, the detective flopped down into his chair with the nonchalance of a teenager; his long legs stretched out in front of him. He turned on his mobile to find a waiting text from Lestrade. Double homicide. No obvious causes of death, bloodless, South Kensington. No leads. Will you come? Sherlock sighed. As always, Scotland Yard helpless without him. As much as he relished the opportunity to engage in a case, especially one such as this where he could walk in and give the entire story to a dumbfounded police force, he promised to John when Hamish was born that he would not take cases when John was away and Hamish was in his care. However...Sherlock steepled his fingers and thought deeply to himself. If he brought Hamish along, then he could truly practice the science of deduction at an actual crime scene. South Kensington is not too far away, just on the other side of Hyde Park. The scene was bloodless, a welcome change from the gory scenes that were just too obvious and dull. Better yet, the scene would not prove as scarring to Hamish and it would allow him to fine tune his deduction skills without the aid of telling clues such as blood. It just worked. Brilliant. Sherlock jumped up from his chair, grabbed his coat and scarf, and headed out of the flat.
"And then, he explained to me how he knew all about that banker. It was just ace!" Hamish enthusiastically explained to a beaming Mrs. Hudson. The landlady knew all about Sherlock's deduction skills, but to hear it from his and John's son was just wonderful. "That sounds marvelous, my dear! Care for another chocolate biscuit?" Hamish had already eaten 3 of the hobnobs, and was looking wistfully at the container. "Uh yes please, Mrs. Hudson." "Not to worry dear," she said getting up to fetch the container, "I know they are your favorite, Sherlock's too." "Really?" Hamish asked while accepting another biscuit. "Most certainly, always takes one with his cuppa when I used to bring him tea before your father came along. But since they are together now I don't have to." *knock knock* "Well I wonder who that is," Mrs. Hudson wondered as she rose from the tale to answer the door. "It's probably my dad," Hamish replied, "he always knocks twice."
"Afternoon, Mrs. Hudson. Would you mind terribly if I stole Hamish away?" Sherlock asked in his nicest voice, knowing how much Mrs. Hudson hated to part with Hamish at times. "Of course, dearie, not a problem. We were just finishing up our tea." With that she bustled back into the flat, cleaning up the cups and saucers. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Hudson." Hamish said as he hugged her goodbye. "It's nothing really, darling, don't forget your scarf!" Mrs. Hudson reminded him, with the maternal tone of a grandmother. "Oh right! Thanks so much." Hamish dashed back into the flat to grab his scarf before departing 221A and into the lobby. "Where are we going, Dad?" He asked as he shrugged on his coat and put on his scarf. "Hamish, I have a surprise for you. Let's hail a cab. And I'll tell you along the way." With that, Sherlock and Hamish stepped out onto Baker Street and hailed a cab to South Kensington.