A/N: Hello, people!
I don't own Sherlock.
I have no beta.
ENJOY!
"Hamish Sherrinford Holmes you will not be going anywhere until your room is clean."
John noticed the moment he was in for a 'tantrum' when Hamish straightened and the lips came out. Quivering slightly, eyes bugging.
"Why? Jim's parents don't make him clean until the weekend!"
"That's all well and good for them, but you aren't James and I'm not his parents."
Hamish, a typical twelve year old, threw his hands up and let loose a loud yell. "Cleaning has no benefit!"
"Uh, yes. It keeps your things in order so that you can find them later on. So that you grow up with good habits."
"Father says that 'good habits' are subjective to each person. I find my version of order to be a 'good habit'."
"Yes, but seeing as I'm the parent here, I have the say. Clean the room and you can go."
"I don't want to clean! It's boring!"
"That's not what James' mother told me. Apparently, you two clean random rooms in their house often. Why can't you clean in your own house?"
Hamish's light blue eyes narrowed, "But that's an actual mess, Papa. Father and I have organized chaos. We know where everything is and have no issues in finding what we need."
"You won't be going anywhere until it's clean. Leaving dirty pants on the floor and food shoved under the bed, is not clean, nice try."
"But Papa-"
"No."
"But-"
"No."
"B-"
"No."
"Papa!"
"Hamish!"
And they stood there for five minutes. Hamish had already mastered Sherlock's ability to stare people into oblivion. It was unnerving. He was like a mini version of Sherlock.
"Fine, you can go to James'."
Before the boy could jump up and down in excitement, John cut in with a well placed, "But you will be cleaning this weekend and you will be grounded from cases, crime scenes, experiments and the telly for a week, starting now. I will be informing James' mother that you are not allowed to play with anything that needs the telly in order to be played."
The horror that flashed in those eyes - he had yet to master the controlled emotions thing - almost worried him. Then he realized that Hamish was good at wearing masks like Sherlock and that he was overreacting.
The boy frowned at him, looking betrayed. He then turned and ran for the stairs, going for his room. Right before the door slammed, John heard him yell, "I hate you!"
John sighed, hating it when that happened.
It was always happening recently. In the last six months, Hamish hadn't smiled at him. Hadn't laughed when he was around. He'd repeated that last phrase a million times. When John tried to get him to eat, so that he could continue to grow healthily. When John told him to keep his room clean. When he was told to do his homework before watching the scientific channel on the telly. Before any experiments with Sherlock, his work had to be finished. Not a hard thing to accomplish.
But whether it was bedtime, sleeping, eating, choice of food, chores or anything else, John was the responsible one and Sherlock was the fun one. Hamish obviously liked the parent that gave him what he wanted.
The doctor sighed again. He hadn't done anything bad. Hamish hadn't had corporal punishment in five years. He hadn't needed it because such things didn't affect him. A smack on the bottom wasn't a big deal. An easy few seconds of pain and no lesson learned. Taking his microscope though, was a hard hit. Forbidding experiments was enough to bring him to tears.
John knew he wasn't a bad parent, but with how much Hamish seemed to hate him these days, he wasn't feeling so happy about it any longer.
He sighed again. Maybe things needed a change. He frowned as he thought about it and decided with a nod. It'd be done. It had to be.
When Sherlock Holmes stepped into 221B that evening, he noticed something was different. And he knew it wasn't good.
John was dressed in his thick, brown coat and met him at the door, "I have to go shopping. I'll be back. Hamish is upstairs."
Sherlock did not get a greeting, or a hug or kiss. John didn't even look him in the eye. He was sad for some reason, but wasn't going to say why.
Sherlock watched as he clunked down the stairs and left.
Sherlock removed his coat and muffler and called for their son, who came down from his room, looking depressed.
"What happened between you and John? I thought you were going over Jim's today."
Hamish crossed his arms while he huffed, "Papa wouldn't let me go until my room was 'clean', but we argued and he said I could go, but I'd have to clean this weekend and I'd be grounded from the telly, crime scenes, cases and experiments for a week if I went. I was going to clean my room quickly but then I found all of this junk that I don't recall bringing up there and it was too late by the time I finished."
Sherlock's advanced mind put it all together easily. John had certain stipulations that had to be met in order for Hamish to be allowed to go places. Because not everything was a 'privilege' and he had to learn to 'work for what he wants'.
John honestly didn't like punishing Hamish and Sherlock believed with all his heart that where John was concerned, the saying 'this hurts me more than it hurts you' was true. John hated punishing Hamish. It always made him feel terrible and he'd mope for days after a particularly bad punishment.
Hamish reacted badly, even though he clearly knew John's rules, and they had a row. John of course was victorious, but definitely didn't come out of it emotionally unscathed.
"Hamish, you know that there is a difference between having cups, sweets and dirty laundry scattered about the small expanse of your room, than to have excessive amounts of paperwork for cases and experiments littering the limited space you call your own. Those things can grow mold and smell terrible if not taken care of, whereas paper, stays as it is. You know very well what John says about those things. He doesn't care for papers and you know it. He cares for your personal health and that is why he seems so pushy. You overreacted and you know that very well."
Hamish took the chastisement in stride, hanging his head, pouting.
"You will turn and go back to your bedroom. For the next two evenings, you will be staying there, but first you will remove the cables from the gaming systems and telly as well as the spares you have stashed under your bed, and give them to me. The sound of your voice shows that you raised your voice to John and seeing as you are the child and not the adult, you know that is not tolerated. Also, you said something hurtful as you did so."
By the terrified widening of the boy's eyes, he knew he was correct.
"You will spend this time alone to ruminate on what you have done and if you feel any remorse you will apologize. But only if you are truly apologetic."
Hamish nodded and mumbled, "Yes, father." He turned around and went to do as ordered.
Sherlock sighed. Rarely did he have to take charge like that, but this was important. Now for John.
John conveniently ran into Sarah at the grocer's and had a talk with her while they shopped. She agreed to his idea and he thanked her for her help. He then called Mycroft and asked for a favor. The scary part was that the man didn't ask for anything in return but he decided to help anyway.
John returned to the flat with several large bags hanging off his arms. He'd only been gone for half an hour.
Sherlock was playing a song he had composed for their wedding. John sent the man a grateful smile, which was returned.
John went about fixing up supper and set the table, which was cleared off for him! Sherlock was definitely trying to make him happy again.
Hamish came down for the meal, which was eaten in relative silence, until John broke the news.
"I ran into Sarah at the grocer's and I decided to go back to working at the clinic."
Sherlock and Hamish both snapped to him.
"Why?" Sherlock asked.
"I need to do something during the days and this is best. It helps people and brings in more money."
"You don't need a job, John. Ever since we started charging the Yard, we haven't needed for money in years," Sherlock pointed out.
John shrugged and stood, intending to wash his plate. "You don't always have cases and I can't bring myself to sit around all day, moping about boredom. At least I'll be busy."
"But what about cases?"
"Hamish can go with you then."
John picked up their empty dishes and finished cleaning up once the leftovers were put away. He then marched from the room and into he and Sherlock's bedroom, closing the door quietly as he went.
The next week was a hassle.
Sherlock took notice of John's lack of presence easily. He was not around when Hamish awoke and he got home every night an hour before Hamish's bedtime.
He no longer made tea. He no longer cooked any meals or packed Hamish's lunches. He didn't say a thing about the mess in their son's room or the experiments littering the kitchen table. Nothing about Hamish's hair being a mess or his clothing not being pressed, which was something John usually did for him. John mumbled small greetings and things to Sherlock but spoke not a word to their son.
Whatever it was that Hamish said, it affected John badly.
John didn't punish him. He left the room when Hamish entered. When Sherlock asked to bring the young boy on a level six case, John shrugged.
Dinner was always takeaway and Sherlock could already see that John was losing weight from not eating breakfast and most likely skipping lunch as well.
He was barely there as a person.
No blog posts. No typing or reading. No tea!
Hamish had only just begun to notice that something was wrong with John. They'd have to work on his observational skills a bit more.
It was a week and a half into this new routine, that Hamish finally fully noticed something and came to Sherlock in worry.
"Father, Papa is ignoring me."
Sherlock looked up from where he was attempting to split an atom(illegally), to his son, who was looking worried.
"What makes you say that?" he asked, silently nudging the boy into explaining what he had observed.
"He doesn't make us breakfast or me lunch anymore. Or tea. He's never around and the rare few times I do see him, he leaves before I can say anything. He hasn't told me to clean anything or made me eat. My clothes aren't being washed or pressed. I've come to realize that I'm not good at matching and he no longer sets out my outfits, so I've been a right mess this last week. He hasn't told me to do my assignments or stopped me from eating that cake in the fridge. I've already gained half a Stone from eating too many sweets because no one has stopped me and he hasn't helped me study for my exams."
Sherlock nodded, impressed that he had managed to assimilate all of that.
"You are correct, he is avoiding you. I have a theory as to why and rarely am I ever wrong. Can you think of why he won't allow himself to be in your presence?"
This would be the only way for Hamish to fully understand the error of his ways. He needed to comprehend it and soon.
Hamish sat across from him and laced his fingers together while placing his elbows on the papers scattered about the table. His own 'thinking pose', according to John.
"He's angry. I have offended him."
"Correct. What did you do, to offend him? Something that you haven't apologized for, perhaps?"
Icy blue eyes went wide, "Every time I try to apologize for what I've said, he leaves. I haven't gotten the chance!"
Sherlock gave the boy the mastered doubtful look he normally gave to Lestrade when he was about to disprove the man's assumption of there being no information visible about a case at a crime scene. A sort of frown/smile hybrid expression.
"You could have, if you got over your egotism. What makes apologizing so difficult, is admitting that you made a mistake. And while you'd like to apologize, your ego is in the way. I have come across this many times and will admit to making mistakes where certain people are concerned. But whenever I was truly sorry, I got over my embarrassment and apologized and sometimes groveled for forgiveness.
You've had many chances, but you've made no effort.
As for what you said, have you ever said it before? And if so, did you apologize for those times as well? Or even feel like apologizing?"
And that snapped the boy out of it. Realization lit up his feature immediately and Sherlock knew he finally understood what he did and what John was doing in return.
John was teaching him a lesson. A tough one, but a lesson nonetheless.
"I've said it… a lot," Hamish mumbled, looking guiltily at the table.
Sherlock paused in his working to look up as his son, who was as white as his favorite sheet.
Hamish looked terrible and if he was feeling bad for it, then it must have been something horrible. Since John was emotional, he could take even the simplest of things to heart.
"Hamish, what have you been repeating to him? How long?"
"The last year, almost every day. But I would say it when I was angry, I didn't really mean it!"
Sherlock took off his protective eyewear and set them on the table.
"Hamish, you and I both know that John is rubbish at reigning in his emotions. Even if you didn't mean it, he's been offended. What did you say?"
The boy winced and mumbled his answer.
"Hamish," Sherlock drawled, becoming very serious.
"I said that I hated him."
Sherlock breath caught. That was something you never say to John Watson-Holmes.
"I know most teenagers are prone of overreaction, but you are not most teenagers', Hamish."
And then the door to the kitchen opened and in walked John, who froze when he saw both of them standing at the table. He didn't even look at Hamish and gave a nod in Sherlock's direction.
"I'm knackered and going to bed."
Sherlock held out and arm, catching John around the waist before he could pass.
"John, we need to talk. Hamish has something he needs to say."
"Oh really? I wonder what that could be," John said blandly.
Sherlock gave him a knowing look. Hamish wasn't as good as he was, so he wouldn't notice that John was putting on an act when internally, he was crying.
Hamish was uncomfortable, but apologizing for misdeeds wasn't supposed to feel good. It was a lesson.
"Papa, I didn't mean to say that I hated you. I never mean it. It's just, can't control myself very well yet and I let my mouth run before thinking. I knew while I was cleaning that I had gone overboard, but I never thought that the words would mean so much. I had said them so many times and you never reacted before, so I assumed that you weren't hurt."
Sherlock cocked an expectant brow, as if telling him that-that wasn't all he was apologizing for. It wasn't.
"I'm sorry I argued with you and then raised my voice as well. I'm not a baby and I shouldn't be acting like one. I do know the rules. I want you to look at me again. To say something at least, even if it's to nag me about eating properly, or about cleaning my room. I was so used to everything you did for me, that when you stopped suddenly, I realized how much I needed your help and how much the attention you always gave me, was important to me instead of irritating like I always said."
Sherlock looked to John, who was staring at him, as if to ask, Did you tell him all this?
Sherlock shook his head and John's eyes widened. He then turned to their son and finally spoke to him for the first time in the last two hundred and sixty-seven hours.
"Have you realized why I do all of these things for you?" he asked softly.
"...Because you love me."
"Yes," John affirmed, stepping forward to wrap Hamish in a tight hug. "I do love you, very much. It hurts to punish you, Hamish. It hurts me so much. I hate being the one who has to enforce the rules, because then I get the betrayed look. I get the hateful look. I get the cold shoulder."
"I'm sorry," Hamish mumbled into John's shoulder. They were nearly the same height.
"I know. These past few days were tough. But you needed to learn about tough love. Sometimes the lesson isn't fun."
Sherlock clapped his hands, "Well this is all truly spectacular, but I have to insist that since your strike is over, John, you should stop working at the clinic. Cases aren't the same without you."
The doctor winced and leaned forward, kissing his husband. "I'm sorry you had to suffer through my lesson, Sher. And to be honest, I'm not working at the clinic."
Two pairs of blue eyes widened.
"But your texts and Sarah's all pointed that you were. Even Mycroft and the paperwork said that you were."
John smiled, "He was in on it. Sarah agreed to my plan and Mycroft lent me some assistance. I did office work for him in exchange for him drawing up believable documents for me, in case you went snooping. I feel bad for Anthea, he is impossible to work for."
Sherlock was gaping slightly, "You managed to have me on. Impressive, John!"
"I'm glad that I have your approval. Now, what do you want for dinner? I think I've deprived you both long enough."
Sherlock leaned in a gave him another kiss, even as Hamish wrapped his arms around them both.
Everything was better now. Everything was okay.
A/N: Done!
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