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Sherlock Holmes stood at the gate and looked across the field.
Snow had fallen heavily the night before and it lay pristine several inches thick before him. Surveying the landscape, his eyes are drawn to the figure standing several feet away.
John Watson stood laughing with his arms crossed over his chest, a child playing at his feet. Warmth flooded his chest and the consulting detective knew exactly what his partner would call it. Sentiment.
Leaping the fence and throwing his deerstalker off to the side, Sherlock quickly covered ground. He knew the moment John saw him from the way his eyes sparkled and he smiled that smile that was reserved just for him. There was that bloody sentiment again. Drawing closer to his husband, he slid an arm around his back and leant down to press a kiss to welcoming lips.
Parting, he gleefully flopped down on the snow beside them and proceeded to make a snow angel, much his son's delight. Struggling upright, young Hamish Watson-Holmes toddled unsteadily over the short distance. Falling into the soft snow, he crawled the rest of the way and gleefully flopped onto his father's body. Sherlock grasped the small form in his arms and paused his motions long enough to throw his son up into the air. "Daddy!"
Laughing as he was brought back down to earth, Hamish called out for his other parent. "Come on Papa!"
John laughed too as he adopted an exaggerated monster walk and stomped over. Hamish screams with delight burrowing himself into Sherlock's chest as John pretends to crush them. Pressing a kiss to his young son's head, he can see the question in Sherlock's raised eyebrow. Where's mine?
Grinning, and not without a roll of his eyes, he reached up and pressed a lengthy kiss to his husband's lips. They part when small hands pat impatiently at their chests and Hamish demands attention.
Sprawled in the snow, life couldn't be any more perfect for the Watson-Holmes trio.
Finito.