John turned around, and couldn't help but smile. In the kitchen of 221B, Sherlock and Hamish were baking a cake for Mrs. Hudson's birthday. Calling it "baking" would be an overstatement. In reality, it was Sherlock trying to bake, and Hamish throwing tiny fistfuls of flour into the air and onto Sherlock, laughing with joy that couldn't be matched, except perhaps by Sherlock's giggling even though he was trying to maintain paternal composure.
Hamish laughed and asked, "Dad! Dad, do you fink Gram'll like it? Tell her I made it! Tell her I made it all by myself!" He then threw two fistfuls of flour into the air and collapsed in a fit of giggles, and then proceeded to make "flour angels", as if it all were snow. At that, John scooped him up.
"Whoa there buddy, you'll get flour everywhere!" John set him back down, and he ran towards the flour bag.
"And remember," Sherlock added, "it is not 'fink', Hamish. It is a tee-aech sound. Like… like 'the'. Say 'the' for me, Hamish"
"The."
"Very good. Now say 'think'."
"Fink! Fink… fink!" his face scrunched up, disappointed. "Daddy, I can't say it."
Sherlock smiled. "All's well, Hamish. You'll get it eventually." Sherlock then got a wry grin on his face, plunged his hand into the flour bag, and threw a fistful of flour at John, who quickly ran over to the flour bag to retaliate. Hamish threw flour at both Sherlock and John, who laughed and threw flour back at him.
John started to really laugh when Hamish snuck up onto the counter and put a handful of flour in Sherlock's dark hair. Sherlock nearly lost it when John picked up Hamish and put him on his shoulders in an attempt to team up against Sherlock, and yet their combined height still did not exceed his.
They were all in a full-on flour-snow war when Mrs. Hudson stopped by.
"Gram!" Hamish laughed, and ran at full speed towards her, hugged her legs, and got flour on all of her clothes.
Mrs. Hudson laughed, then looked up at the mess, and then to John and Sherlock. "Remember boys," she said, "I'm not your housekeeper."
