Summary: Hamish decides he wants to follow in a certain someone's footsteps.
Age 9
"I've decided what I want to be when I grow up," Hamish says, yawning into his cereal.
"And what's that? Nothing too dull I hope," Sherlock mumbles sleepily from the sofa.
John shoots him a dark glare.
"Nope," Hamish smiles, unoffended, "I want to be a doctor. Like you, John."
A fond smile spreads across John's face, "a medical doctor? What would you like to specialise in?"
Hamish shrugs, "haven't decided yet. I've got plenty of time to try stuff out and choose though."
"Are you sure?" John sits opposite Hamish, "it takes a long time to become a doctor, a lot of hard work. I can give you a hand with it if you like; find some good books and journals? And I'm sure when you're a bit older Sherlock will help you with some dissections, or ask Molly nicely if she'll show you around the morgue properly, without your dad whinging about how everything is wrong."
Hamish nods enthusiastically, "thank you, I have lots of time though. I want to be a doctor because I want to help people like you do."
"Would you rather not become the world's second consulting detective?" Sherlock asks, "you're getting better with your deductions."
Hamish sticks his tongue out, "maybe I could be both. 'Hamish Sherrinford Holmes-Watson, consulting detective doctor extraordinaire'," he grins, holding his hands up as if seeing his name on a billboard.
John blushes at his use of his own surname, marriage was something they had never considered, having been together a very short time, and until that topic came up the idea of changing Hamish's name was out of the question. He glances at Sherlock, checking if he too heard the slip up. He did, John thinks, seeing Sherlock looking between them. When he catches John's eye, his expression softens and something sparks in his eye.
"Holmes-Watson, you say? I much prefer the sound of Watson-Holmes." He smirks.
Hamish's eyes widen, and it's his turn to blush.
John decides to play along, folding his arms and leaning forward on the table, "hm, yes, I agree. Watson-Holmes does have a nice ring to it."
Hamish looks between the two men before leaping to his feet, "would you look at the time? I'm going to be late for school."
He scoops up his backpack and almost runs from the room, very closely tripping over his shoelace and bag.
"Get back here, Hamish," Sherlock says in his best 'concerned father' voice, trying to keep the smile from his face.
"No!" He shouts from the front door.
It slams shut as Sherlock and John dissolve into giggles.