This is a continuation of Five time Hamish was sick and one time someone else was. Read that first to be clear on what's going on here!
The leg hadn't become a burden, as so many people believed it would have been. After all Hamish wast a fast legged little boy with constant tingling for adventures in his feet. Well, foot that is.
If he wasn't solving mysteries and murders with his father Sherlock he was quite possibly exploring the town or running up and down the stairs in his school, even though the principal had given him the code for the elevator. It'll make me seem handicapped, he'd said as they asked him and skipped out of the room as a silent mocking to their stupidity.
Yes, the ten-year-old boy wasn't letting the leg hold him down even though other people thought it would.
His uncle, kind as he could be when he tried, made sure that the boy always had the best and most expensive. Hamish's own doctor had looked upon his new prosthetic with eyes of wonder as he rather examined it than the boy. Hamish, sitting mutilated on the brits as his fifth examination took place, felt awkwardly forgotten as this happened.
"It's so light." doctor Fritz was gasping for the second time as he turned the leg over again and the boy looked up at John with an annoyed face; begging him to stop this idiocy. Why did every new leg have to go though this man's hands before ending up as Hamish's foot.
"And the art of it!?"
Another ten minutes of this and Hamish was on his way back to the school. His leg was indeed lighter, much more comfortable and somewhat it seemed a little bendier at the ankle. Very sturdy indeed and handled the stairs like a dream. And then the art was something worth comments. Sherlock would certainly be impressed.
Passing the play grounds he wished that he could feel the sand under his feet just like at the beach, sadly that wouldn't happen again. He hadn't even looked at water deeper than his bathtub and didn't dare to imagine if he still could swim. At least he wasn't going to try soon.
That's when he saw it. A boy, just a year younger than himself, was showed to the wall by two boys two tears older. Their smug faces gleamed with something Hamish had seen in his life too many times and a block of ice settled heavily in his stomach. The younger boy tried to make a run for it but the two in his way gave him another shove before starting to pull at his jacket.
"Are you crying?" one of the older boys questioned mockingly; his dark hair in terrible wax spikes that would make Sherlock cringe. "Are you serious?" he laughed. "You're about to cry!" The younger boy stared down at his feet, bit his lips hard as he forced back the heavy tears.
Hamish looked around for a teacher. Anyone that could help, but there was none to be found. He knew that he needed to do something.
"You're such a baby!" the other boy mocked and pressed a hard finger to the poor boy's chest. "What's wrong with you."
"Oh for gods sake, shut up!" Hamish belted, suddenly surprised about this sudden courage. The two older boys turned and that's when he noticed the emblems on their uniforms. They weren't even from this school. They's travelled at least five stops with the sub to get here. The one with spikes gave him a surprised stare before letting out a loud laugh.
"Move along, idiot. Or we'll come for you after this geek here." he threatened with an awful smile.
"I suggest you move along." Hamish fumed and took a step closer, making the other boy blow up his chest to make himself look bigger and more dangerous; his face turned to a disgusting shade of pink as he flexed his muscles. "Go back to your school and leave him alone. Or I will make you regret it." They laughed again. Louder this time and Hamish swallowed hard. He hadn't left those years behind as he was bullied himself; but he knew that if he didn't do this to save that boy, he might never forgive himself. Also, his father had taught him a thing or two.
"Whatya gonna do, pisshead? Tell on us? Read some fancy poetry? This school is for nerds and you know it!" Those words punched Hamish in the face as hard as a dust fan. He scoffed and gave the boys a questioning look.
"I'm sorry, but is that supposed to offend me?" he asked and took a step closer that made the two boys who both now burned with anger. "I said, let him go! Or I'll show you some real insults." The boys tossed each other a quick glance; clearly put on edge by Hamish's words. And Hamish waited. With a slight nod they both turned to him and attacked. The smaller boy tumbled backwards to the wall and dropped his back as he covered his face with his arms. Little did he know that Hamish was the one who was about to take the beating. And little did Hamish know how good he actually was at this.
He ducked from the first punch, elbowed the spike haired boy in the ribs so his left lung lost all its air; turned quickly and managed to kick the other one in the hollow of the knee and making him fall forward. He smacked him across the cheek with the back of his hand when he suddenly felt his prosthetic coming loose. With a light shake it slipped off his stump and he lifted his leg and grabbed it by the ankle and pulled it out how the leg of his trousers. The boy with spikes screamed loudly at the sight and the other one ran as fast as his short legs managed. Hamish attacked the one on the ground before he could make a move and pressed his knee to his spine before pressing the side of his face to the ground with his prosthetic.
"Wanna hear some poetic insults!?" he shouted in his ear as the boy squirmed and whined. "Your brain is as dry as the remainder biscuit after voyage. Thou art as loathsome as a toad. That's Shakespeare, you pigeon liver!" The boy cried out and tried to move his face away from the plastic leg. "And remember this day as the day when you were brought to the dirty ground by a one legged eleven-year-old!" He moved away and the boy was on his feet quicker than a scared cat and ran even faster.
Hamish sat on the ground; held his leg hard as he caught his breath when a small voice was heard behind him.
"Thank you." He turned to the little boy who fell to his knees beside him. Tears stained his flushed cheeks and Hamish gave him a reassuring smile before reaching out his hand.
"You're welcome." the boy shook and wiped his tears that was still falling. "I'm Hamish."
"I know." the boy sniffled and looked down at the leg. "I've seen you in school before. I'm Mitch." Suddenly Hamish recognised him and he gasped loudly.
"You're the one who paints!" he said and Mitch swallowed thickly before nodding. Hamish grinned. He'd seen this boy's paintings art the schools art crawl. He'd even won a scholarship for his work. "My gran bought one of your paintings. The one with the woman dancing in the bedroom." Mitch blushed beneath the tears and let out a small giggle.
"Tell her I'm thankful." he said and sat down on the ground. "So, do you, um, need help with that." He gave the leg a light nod and Hamish smiled kindly.
"No." he said and pulled his trousers up and attached the limb like he'd done so many times before.
"It's cool by the way." Mitch said and watched carefully as his new friend installed the odd leg to his stump. "I've never met someone with a prosthetic before."
"Not that you know of." Hamish grinned and the boy started to giggle.
The rest of the school day went on like it used to do. The same classes, the same teachers and a fun conversation with Catherine about the latest episode of Doctor Who. He'd already forgotten about the fight, those boys weren't important anyway. Mitch, on the other hand, was not. He'd passed him a friendly hello as they'd passed in the corridors and Hamish felt the beginning of a new friendship grow between them.
It wasn't until he came home when things were reminded about the fight. John stood at the top of the stairs, eyeing him with a burning stare that made Hamish shrink in size and mind. Not until now he figured that he might have done something bad.
"You beat up two boys?" John fumed as Hamish unbuttoned his coat and pulled his hat off his head where the hair still was a bit short for his liking. "What were you thinking!?" Hamish sighed loudly and stepped into the sitting room to grab an apple from the bowl. He knew that he might have done a bad thing, but he felt no regret what so ever.
"They were mean to Mitch!" he told his father and tossed the apple back and forth in his hands. "I couldn't let that happen."
"You should have gotten a teacher!" John shouter, his face red by the anger bubbling in him. "It's not your responsibility to stop fights." Hamish blinked, it was not a surprise to him that John was overprotective of him since the cancer, but he was getting tired of it.
"I was there, and I couldn't walk away! I've been in his shoes and I know how that feels! I didn't want that to happen to him!" John threw his hands in the air and sighed loudly.
"And what if they'd punched you!? Mycroft ever told me that you used your leg to defend yourself! That's not what it's for, Hamish!"
"It was coming off and I improvised!" Hamish shouted and stomped the floor.
"And what if they'd taken it!?" John questioned. "What would you have done then?"
"I would have jumped on one foot all the way home!"
"Oh don't be silly!" John growled and shook his head. "You might have won plenty of races jumping on one leg, but Baker Street is way too far!"
"Subway!" Hamish shouted and curled his hands into fists. His father growled angrily and pinched the bridge of his nose when quick footsteps was heard from the stairs. Suddenly Sherlock turned up with his curls messy and phone in his hand. He furrowed his brow as he read the same text message as John had read ten minutes earlier. But there was a major difference between their reactions.
"You used your leg in a fight?" Sherlock questioned with a ridiculous smile on his face. John flung his arms into the air and left the room with a loud sigh.
"Yes." Hamish answer tensely and uncurled his hand. Sherlock scoffed and flung his coat over the sofa while he made his way over to his chair; ruffled Hamish hair passing by.
"Well done." he said and plopped down before reaching for his laptop. "What did they say?"
"They were terrified." Hamish grinned and sat down his John's chair to join the father who didn't treat him like precious glass. "It wasn't my plan though. It was coming off and I just went with it." Sherlock laughed and Hamish felt all warm. It wasn't often he had the pleasure of making his father laugh like that.
"What did they have to say about it? Were they angry." Hamish let out a small sigh as he grinned and nodded happily. "I wish I could have seen it." A small laugh left the boy as he saw how serious father was as he spoke those words. The detective parted his hands and placed them on his knees. "Now! I want to take a look at that new leg of yours." That's what Hamish wanted to. It was a marvellous craftsmanship he was wearing and the art of it would be a topic many would talk about from now on.
"Okay." he smiled and jumped up from the chair to unbutton his jeans. "But you have to be completely honest!" Sherlock nodded quickly and leaned forward in his chair as Hamish dropped his jeans to his feet.
Sherlock gasped. The sight of that leg made him want to lose his own. The plastic was painted like a skinned leg. Muscles, veins and joints were realistically painted and here and there squiggly letters told the latin names of the different components.
"Oh my." the detective breathed. "Look at that. That is something else." He pointed at the peroneus longus and gave Hamish a silly smile. "I was stabbed there once."
"I know." Hamish nodded with a smirk. "You've shown me your scar."
And so the topic about how Hamish had tackled two elder boys was forgotten. Days went on and so did he on his knew leg. Well, at least he thought the topic was forgotten because he was the one who'd forgotten. Less than two days managed to slip before John laced his fingers together over the breakfast table.
"About this Thursday..." he started.
"Oh for god's sake." Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. Hamish followed his example.
"No!" John said and shook his head, speaking up now as he finally had them in the same room. "No. I want to hear this. I am not saying it wasn't noble of you, helping out the other student. But..."
"I could sense a but." Hamish groaned and stretched his arms over his head, noticing that his pyjamas had gone too short for his arms.
"Did you?" Sherlock smirked and dropped a lump in his tea.
"Stop it, both of you." John growled. "Hamish, you've been in enough trouble lately. I don't want to see you get hurt!" The boy threw his hands in the air, he'd got tired of this conversation before it even started.
"Papa, it was just a simple fight. They couldn't have bruised me more than falling down a couple of steps. You don't have to get so worked up about it?"
"Of course I'm worked up about it!" Both Sherlock and Hamish jumped on their chairs as John raised his voice. Even john himself seemed shocked about what had just happened, he cleared his throat and loosened his tense shoulders. "I do not want to see you get hurt. You've been through enough."
As Hamish thought back about what he'd actually been through, he found this year to have been pretty boring. He hadn't done anything to anger his parents, he hadn't been in trouble, he hadn't even been with his dad on a case where he could have ruined stuff.
"What?" he finally got out and he frowned deeply as he looked upon his papa. "What have I done exactly?"
The silence fell like the mist over a meadow. Sherlock was giving John something Hamish would name the stare of understanding and the boy felt a bad feeling land at the bottom of his stomach. John on the other hand closed his eyes, lowered his head and let out a huge sigh.
"Your father is referring to the cancer." Hamish turned to Sherlock who reached out to place a gentle hand on John's shoulder.
But Hamish didn't understand.
"So I'm forbidden to do stupid things because I was sick?" he questioned and frowned.
"No, that's no..." John started but swallowed the rest of that sentence when he saw Hamish fuming before him.
"I can't help that I got sick!" he yelled and got up from the chair. "And you can be as angry as you want with me but I don't feel bad for helping Mitch! I'm not handicapped, papa! I lost a leg! Not my senses!" John looked stricken by those words and he looked up at his son who stood his ground by the breakfast table. "I want to help people just like you do! And I shouldn't get into trouble because of that." Suddenly a look of pride spread across John's face. Hamish was not expecting that.
"I'm sorry, handsome." he sighed and got up from his chair, rounded the table and wrapped his strong arms around his precious boy. "I'm so sorry." A little shocked, but yet proud of his winnings, he leaned into his papa's chest and hugged his right back. "I know it's not an excuse, but I was close to lose you once and I never want to be in that situation again."
"I know papa." Hamish sighed and took a deep breath of the smell that would always feel like home. "But I can handle myself now. I'm almost eleven." John laughed and pulled back to look at his son that somehow had gotten a little older in their presence.
"Just stay out of unnecessary trouble, alright." he said and carded a hand through his waves.
"I can't promise that." Hamish smiled. "But I can promise I won't start them."
That sounded better than anything.
So this was supposed to be humorous, but my side of angst snuck up on me. Sorry...
Please, leave a review and make my day better :D