All He Wants For Christmas

by CayCharming

It's almost Christmas but Holmes family hasn't seen much of Baker Street lately. When they realize the stress the absence is causing their son (and his Uncles) they are determined to make this Christmas fantastic. But can Sherlock and John balance the needs of their family while facing pressure from Lestrade to solve a case that may have ties to their son?

2. A Day Out

Summary: Sherlock and John try to give Hamish one of the best mornings he's had in awhile, but as always work comes to call and Sherlock realizes just what the case is that he's been avoiding. With the truth in the open there is no way for Sherlock to refuse and he must entrust his ill husband, his son, and the safety of their Christmas to his brother while following his brother's husband into danger.

Notes: We apologize for the delay in updating! I know Christmas is over but things just got wild for both of us. We've finished writing the story and are working on the edits to get this to you. I believe it was somewhere in this chapter that we switched control of Greg and Mycroft, as both of us have come to realize we prefer to play one versus the other! So from now on in all our writings Holly plays Mycroft and Cay plays Greg. -Holly

---

When John woke the next morning it was because he heard a very familiar knocking on the door. That very light insistent knocking that would only become louder. Finally came the yell, 'Daddies!' He jumped up quickly, the door wasn't locked and neither of them were clothed.

"Coming, Mish. Just give me and Papa one second." John called hurrying to pull on his pants and fishing around for his shirt. However Hamish was his father's son and if the door was unlocked that meant there was no harm in waltzing straight into his parents' bedroom. John sighed with relief that at least he had his pants on as his son shoved the door open and waltzed in. John was about to scold Hamish but was unable to go through with it when he saw Hamish's wide smile. It was all he could do to smile back at him. "Good morning, 'Mish!" He greeted him, wrapping the boy in a tight hug when he ran over to him.

"Papa is still in bed?!" Hamish asked in awe, giggling as John hugged him.

"What?" Sherlock grunted, opening his eyes. He sat straight up, confusion straight on his face. His face hurt from the imprint his finger had left and he was very groggy. Hamish giggled more, watching as Sherlock winced a bit. He fell back on the bed, groaning and wrapping himself in the blankets.

"Daddy you look happy again! Did Papa make you happy?" The boy was all smiles and grins, his voice a little too loud. Sherlock looked mildly confused as his brain sorted out the fog that descended on him when he fell asleep unintentionally.

"Papa made him very happy." John said with a giggle as he kissed Hamish's cheek. "I think Papa is still half asleep," John said, pretending to be shocked. "Papa, look who's up." John hummed as he grabbed Sherlock's foot and shook it gently. "Look who got out of his bed to come and see us this morning, Papa." He said again urging Sherlock to get up. He moved to shake his foot again but he could see Sherlock finally beginning to properly wake. Hamish giggled and poked at Sherlock's foot. Sherlock blinked very slowly. He grunted and went to stand when he realized exactly what was going on. Which was lucky as he was still completely nude.

"I must have fallen asleep..." Sherlock muttered, his brain still not completely functioning. John smirked.

"He's silly." Hamish giggled himself silly. "I'm hungry, can we eat soon?"

"Daddy," Sherlock said groggily, forcing his brain into action. "Go get Hamish dressed so we can take him on our adventure." He grunted, running a hand over his face as he tried to fully wake up.

"An adventure?!" Hamish almost squealed. Sherlock groaned.

"Yes! My little Hobbit you're going adventure!" John said happily as he lifted Hamish into the air and placed him on his shoulders. "I suggest you take a shower to wake yourself up, darling." John hummed as he walked over to give Sherlock a gentle kiss. Of course, Hamish finding the entire thing gross pulled on John's hair to make him stop. "Mish! Don't do that." John giggled as he left the room to walk upstairs to their son's bedroom.

"Why do you always kiss Papa?" Hamish asked, pouting.

"Because I love your Papa." John explained simply as they ducked into Hamish's soft blue bedroom.

Sherlock slowly pulled himself up as they left and struggled to find his balance. He was really out of it. It was worse than a hangover really and it was always like this when he slept without giving himself permission too. Damn John and his ability to lull Sherlock into a period of stasis. He rummaged about for clothes before moving in to the bathroom and flicking the shower on. He stood under the water for a good five minutes before he started to feel like he was functioning again. His brain was sluggish and slow, no doubt owing to the enjoyable amount of John he'd enjoyed the night before, but he found his thoughts drifting back to the case Greg had given him the night before. A case that Greg had been haunting him with for several years now. He wanted to solve it, to work it out so Greg could let it go but at the same time he found (not for the first time since marrying John) that the case was suddenly not as important. At least not nearly as important as ensuring that John and Hamish Watson-Holmes had one of the best mornings they'd had in a long time. Surely Scotland Yard could handle themselves for once? Couldn't they? He sighed conceding to himself that they could not, but the case wouldn't be too much trouble if it waited a day would it? After all Sherlock was human. He finished his shower, dressing and fixing his hair before moving into the bedroom and beginning to make the bed. Just as he finished his phone chimed.

Let me know if you make any progress on that case. GLH

It's Christmas, Greg. Can't you lot solve this one on your own? SH

Sherlock found his coat noting that it wasn't too badly damaged and rummaged in his closet until he found the longer coat John owned but didn't often wear. Sherlock was convinced John would accept it now as his previous jacket had been destroyed the night before. It was also far too cold to go out without it. He retreated to the living room, slipping his phone in his pocket before fishing Hamish's jacket out of the fort. Meanwhile upstairs John was playing twenty questions with his inquisitive son as he tried to force the curly haired boy into his clothes. It took almost the entire length of Sherlock's shower but he finally got the boy to consent to wearing a long sleeved blue button down shirt and a pair of crisp black trousers. Basically he looked like a tiny Sherlock. Sherlock had just finished finding all three sets of gloves and the accompanying scarves when he heard Hamish bound into the hallway upstairs.

"Come on 'Mish, your gloves and scarves are down stairs." John reminded him as he lifted the boy back in his arms and walked down stairs. Sherlock chuckled slightly as he heard Hamish rattle off questions demanding why John carried him everywhere and for what reason he always needed to wear gloves. Sherlock met them at the base of the stairs with a smile, offering John the boys' gloves. "He certainly will never be bored with all the curious questions he asked." John handed Hamish to Sherlock and smiled as he watched the detective hug him tightly and press gentle kisses over his cheeks.

"Daddy knows a lot!" Hamish grinned but he was especially overjoyed as Sherlock held him close. He relished these moments with Sherlock because they were few and far between.

"He certainly does. Now come on, get these gloves on so we can go out!" Sherlock grinned and he set the boy down helping him put them on. As Sherlock helped him fix his scarf Hamish rattled off more questions, his eyes roaming over the face of his parents. He stopped suddenly, his eyes fluttering over to John who had a sort of dreamy expression on his face.

"Why is Daddy blushing?" Hamish asked Sherlock who shrugged, raising his eyebrows.

"Maybe he's thinking about something that makes him happy?"

"Daddy is not blushing," John argued with a giggle but he could not hide the fact that he actually was from his observant boys. He'd been caught, his mind having wandered back to the night before. "Daddy is simply putting on his scarf." He lied, wrapping it around his neck and smirking. He walked over and leaned down to give Hamish a kiss on the cheek. "So my little one, we're going to go eat breakfast at your favorite restaurant." He said excitedly, watching as Hamish started to bounce with joy. "Then we're going to go get a tree."

"A tree?" Hamish asked in confusion as Sherlock scooped him up again.

"A Christmas tree." He smiled.

"YEA!" Hamish giggled and shouted.

"Shush! Nanny might still be sleeping." Sherlock chided.

"Oh... Oops." But Hamish was so happy he couldn't contain himself. He cuddled closer to Sherlock, fighting to keep himself from squealing.

"Come on Daddy, put your coat on so we can go." Sherlock grinned, teasing John. Hamish giggled and crossed his arms, pretending to pout.

"I'm trying to, Papa." John teased back as he quickly slipped it over his shoulders and followed his boys down the stairs trying to be as quiet as possible. "I think I'm going to need a coffee to wake up properly," John said once they were outside. It was freezing cold. Hamish giggled and asked if he could have coffee as well, to which John promptly replied no. To counter the sad look on the boys face John offered him hot cocoa, which apparently excited him so much he could do nothing but clap happily. John giggled as he flagged down a cab and once they were inside the warm car and the instructions for their destination cleared up he settled back into the seat. It would take them about fifteen minutes to arrive at their destination. "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," John sang quietly so only Hamish could hear. Hamish giggled and once again asked questions rapidly. Sherlock grunted the little boys' energy levels sky high for so early in the morning.

"Hamish, did you know that you Daddy loves Christmas more than any other holiday?" Sherlock asked softly to distract him.

"No. He does?" Hamish asked Sherlock in awe, scooting into his lap. Sherlock put his arms around him and let him snuggle in close.

"Yes. He always has. Ever since we first met." Sherlock grinned as John blushed. "Papa didn't even celebrate Christmas until your Daddy came into his life."

"Wow..." Hamish giggled again.

"You talk about me like I'm not here," John pointed out but he had a bright smile on his face, enjoying Sherlock telling Hamish about the changes John had brought into his life. "I do though. It's very magical. With Father Christmas coming and eating all sorts of sweets." He said excitedly, giggling with Hamish. "Oh and all the snowball fights, snow angels, and snow men." John blushed, he sounded like a child but then again Christmas was for children. John felt like every holiday was for children and one of his greatest joys in having Hamish was that he could finally show off his love of Christmas. "We'll have to find you a Father Christmas cap while we're out today 'Mish, so you can wear it." John smiled as he took Hamish's small gloved hand in his own and held it gently. Hamish sighed happily, leaning back against Sherlock. "Then we'll all take a picture together and put it on Daddy's blog so all the nice people can see how handsome you are." Sherlock tensed and gave off a very Mycroft-like look, sighing softly.

"Uncle Mycroft won't like Daddy mentioning too much about our little prince on his blog!" Sherlock said in a teasing voice. "But we do need to get you a Father Christmas hat. Do you know what my favorite thing about Christmas is?"

"No, what?" Hamish asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

"The smell of Christmas trees and baking. Nanny Hudson does lots of Christmas baking!"

"Yea! Cookies!"

"I think she mentioned baking some cookies the other day," John said with a smile at Hamish. "But on Christmas Eve, you know what we're going to do? You, me and Papa are going to try to make cookies for Father Christmas all by ourselves. Just us, no help from Nanny Hudson."

"Oh no..." Sherlock said looking grave. Their last cooking experiment had been a bit... well rather not good.

"Oh! That'll be fun!" Hamish giggled and clapped.

"Are you sure he hasn't had coffee?" Sherlock teased, grumping a bit as his phone chimed. He pulled it out to check the message but John snatched his phone away.

I need you to finish that case Sherlock. We don't have anyone at the Yard like you. GLH

Piss off, Gregory. Sherlock is spending today with his family. Love, John Watson Holmes.

Hamish hummed happily playing with the ends of Sherlock's scarf as he watched his fathers interact. John handed the phone back over to Sherlock with a proud smirk on his face before it softened as he watched Hamish.

"Mish, do you think you would ever want a little brother or a little sister?" He asked curiously. Sherlock chuckled softly, he had to hand it to him - John was certainly persistent. Hamish's eyes went even wider with excitement.

"Is that why I can't have a puppy, because I'm getting a little brother or sister?!" He asked eagerly, his voice getting louder in his excitement.

"No Hamish," Sherlock said softly, running his fingers through his hair. "Your Dads have been talking about potentially adopting a brother or sister for you is all. If you're a good boy Father Christmas may still bring you a puppy."

"Oh," Hamish said softly, looking a little disappointed. "I would like a brother or sister. Someone to play with." John gave Sherlock a frown that said, "See? Now we have to have another one."

He kissed Hamish's cheek a few times.

"I promise until we have you a little sister or brother you can play with Papa and me." He whispered. "We can be just as much fun as a little brother or sister." Sherlock saw the disappointment and it made his heart twinge.

"Did you know your Uncles might adopt someone too? Then you'd have a cousin to play with. You should talk to Uncle Greg about it!" Sherlock chuckled.

"Really!? I will!" Hamish exclaimed clapping again. "Can we pick out a big tree? Can we get Nanny a prezzie too?" Sherlock simply smiled a John, his head resting gently on Hamish's as he asked questions.

"Well it can't be too big, we have to get it through the door, love." John said with a chuckle but at his son's frown he gave a sigh. "But I promise we will get one as big as possible." John promised giving both of his boys a kiss on the cheek. "And of course we're getting Nanny a prezzie- present." John corrected himself with a laugh; he would start talking like Hamish if he wasn't careful. And that would annoy Sherlock to no end. "What do you think she would like?"

"Hm..." Hamish said thoughtfully, back to playing with Sherlock's scarf. "We should get her something pretty!"

"You mean like a piece of jewelry?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Yea! We can get her a neckylace." Sherlock snorted with laughter and Hamish pouted.

"A necklace." He corrected.

"Neck-lace." Hamish sounded the word out slowly. The cab stopped and Sherlock hugged Hamish tightly to him as he opened the door and scooted out. He paid the cabbie and smiled as Hamish got excited again. "Pancakes!" He shouted.

"Pancakes!" John echoed making Hamish grin. "Oh, Hamish do you want me to show you how you can get snow on your pancakes?" John asked as he opened the door to the Breakfast Club, a very bright and vibrant breakfast restaurant.

They were lucky it wasn't crowded this morning. They got table and before they even sat down John managed to catch their waitress and order their usual breakfast, only this time he asked for some powdered sugar as well. Once they were all seated the waitress brought over John's coffee, Hamish's hot chocolate, and Sherlock's tea. John was lucky he saw Hamish about to put the cup to his lips, because Hamish had no patience. He snatched the cup from him because he knew it was steaming hot and would burn his son's mouth if he tried to drink it straight away.

"Let it cool first." He reminded his son who pouted and insisted it couldn't be that hot. "That's what you said last time and you burnt your tongue." Hamish gave no indication he was about to stop pouting so Sherlock distracted him.

"Hamish, did you know that if you burn your tongue you can't taste things properly?" Sherlock asked, leaning down to meet their son's eyes.

"No. Is that true?!" Hamish asked softly, in awe. He loved it when Sherlock told him scientific things. "Is... Is it because of your... Your taste buds?" He asked eagerly, trying to prove to Sherlock he'd learned something even being so young.

"Yes, because you damage them. That's why people blow on their soup or their coffee before they drink it. So they don't hurt their tongue."

"Wow..." He said in awe and he kicked his feet happily in his booster chair. "This is nice. I like this." He announced grandly.

"I'm glad." John said and ironically enough sipped his coffee without thinking and burned his tongue. It didn't help that he muttered, 'Shit,' loud enough for Hamish to hear. Hamish dissolved into giggles and Sherlock smirked.

"Burned my tongue, sorry. Hamish don't giggle. Daddy said a bad word it's not funny." He insisted but he couldn't stop the smile that came to his lips as he watched the little boy giggle and cover his mouth almost as if in shock. "That is the first time in at least six months I have sworn in front of him," he promised Sherlock who looked quite skeptical.

"Not true!" Hamish announced, still giggling. "You swear when you think I can't hear you." Sherlock chuckled, looking over the newspaper. John's face turned a bit red at Hamish's revelation.

"My, he is observant." Sherlock teased. "But that is exactly why Hamish Watson-Holmes, we wait for our drinks to cool before we drink them. Daddy should know better, he's a doctor."

"Papa, how come your phone keeps making noise and you aren't checking it?" Hamish was now playing with his silverware. Sherlock took it from him, setting the newspaper down.

"Because your Uncle Greg is trying to make your Papa go to work and he doesn't want to. He wants to help you eat pancakes and pick out a Christmas tree." He nuzzled his nose into Hamish's hair, humming with pleasure.

"He's still texting you?" John asked, obviously annoyed. Because he was across the table from Sherlock he couldn't hear the noise like angry bees coming from Sherlock's pocket as Greg was texting him repeatedly. "I told him to Pi-Please leave you alone." He said, relieved he had stopped himself from swearing again. "He should leave you be, Sherlock. I would say threaten to tell Mycroft but I think he'd just encourage you to do it as well. Gits, the lot of them."

"He wants the best." Sherlock shrugged. "I'm ignoring him, you both should too." Sherlock pulled his phone out, cleared all the message alerts, and turned the phone to silent. Hamish was humming softly as he colored on the piece of paper that Sherlock had given him. Sherlock always kept a few blank pages and a small box of crayons in his jacket for Hamish when they went out. The boy seemed completely in his own little world as he colored and Sherlock simply smiled as he watched him. "It's alright John, I'm not going to work on it today. If I work on it at all I can go out for a few hours tomorrow afternoon. Right now it's not important." John gave a sigh, choosing to do exactly as his husband said and ignore it. It didn't matter. This breakfast, their family together was what was important.

"What are you coloring, Mish?" He asked his son, running a hand through the back of his hair as he colored away. Hamish didn't answer, instead focused on his work. It was easy for the boy to slip into his own little bubble, much the way John imagined Sherlock had as a child. John knew for a fact Sherlock was already training Hamish to build a mind palace of his own. He tried to pick up a crayon and color with him but the waitress arrived with their food. John took the paper and crayons away so the waitress could set their food down on the table. "Thank you," he told her with a smile, not even noticing the flirtatiousness of her body language or the chipperness in her voice when she replied.

"No problem, love. Let me know if you need anything else." He just nodded and handed the paper and crayon box to Sherlock who took it, looking a bit puzzled and rather angry. John didn't understand why. He hadn't even registered that the waitress was trying to flirt with him as she pushed things around on the table. He honestly didn't pay attention to anyone who flirted with him anymore, not now that he had Sherlock. "Hamish don't start yet, I'm going to make it snow on your pancakes remember?" He promised as he poured some syrup on them and then grabbed the tiny cup of powdered sugar. "Close your eyes, I'm going to do some winter magic." He said softly, watching as Hamish grinned.

Hamish closed his eyes but was peeking; so Sherlock chuckled softly and put one hand over the boys eyes. Partially so John could do what he was going to and partially because the look he gave John was purely indecent. John met Sherlock's eyes and could easily read the message.

You're mine...

The heat pooled in Sherlock's eyes as he held John's for a long moment before Hamish started to squirm. A small smirk playing on Sherlock's lips. John felt his breath slowly starting to return to normal as Sherlock spoke.

"Do your magic, Daddy." He commanded, licking his bottom lip as his eyes burned into John.

"Hurry! I want to see snow!" Hamish giggled, fighting against Sherlock's hand.

John gazed into Sherlock's eyes, his face turning a terrible shade of red. Sherlock only got that look on his face when he was jealous and at first the doctor couldn't figure out what had inspired it. He looked up and around, finally breaking their eye contact and saw the waitress eyeing him from behind the counter. She winked at him before going back to her work and he swallowed hard before looking back to Sherlock with a nod. He was at a loss for words and his mind was clouded with the incident thoughts Sherlock's look inspired. He coughed, trying to remind himself that he needed to behave. Reminding himself that they were in a public place with their young son. He looked down at Hamish and smiled.

"First," He forced out, "You must say the magic words. Which are... Jack Frost." He decided with a laugh, picking the first thing that came to mind. He sprinkled powdered sugar on Hamish's pancakes. "Go on, say it or Jack Frost won't help Daddy make snow."

"Jack Frost!" Hamish said in an excited whisper, giggling. Sherlock removed his hand dramatically. Sherlock leaned back slightly and easily slipped off his shoe, slipping his socked foot under John's trouser leg and playing with the edge of John's sock. Sliding it up and down against his leg. His face was normal, relaxed, and blank except for his eyes which betrayed his amusement as he tormented his husband. "Wow!" Hamish giggled and clapped. "Daddy that's cool!"

"Hamish, speak softly. We don't want to disturb others." Sherlock said softly, helping the boy pick up his fork. His toes crept up towards John's knee; seemingly unaware he was doing anything at all Sherlock ate a bit of his breakfast.

"Don't thank me, thank Jack Frost who supposedly never gets enough credit judging by that Rise of The Guardians movie you love so much." John ran his hand through Hamish's hair, trying his best to ignore what Sherlock was doing to him underneath the table. John knew damn well what he was trying to do but he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of responding to it in public. He was determined not to react so he focused on Hamish. "Chew your food; don't just swallow it whole because it tastes so good." He told him before he started to eat his own eggs and toast, still trying to ignore those nibble toes getting higher and higher on his leg.

Hamish got a swipe of syrup on his chin and Sherlock dipped his napkin in his water and leaned forward to wipe it off, his toes now finding the crease behind John's knee. He licked his bottom lip again, nuzzling Hamish again as Hamish giggled. Hamish looked up at him watching as Sherlock settled back into his chair, his face still sufficiently devoid of any response to the small tremors going through his lovers body.

"It snowed on my pancakes!" Hamish said again, humming happily.

"Are they good pancakes, love?" Sherlock asked softly, his eyes still the only thing betraying his enjoyment of John's resistance.

"Yummy, but not as good as Nanny's." He said softly, humming the way Sherlock did when he thought. He looked like he was thinking of something important but it faded as he went back to humming a song and eating his pancakes.

"Well that's true. They're very good though." Sherlock scooped a bit of syrup with his index finger and gently dipped the finger in his mouth, sucking the syrup off with a hum and a wet popping sound. His eyes flicking up to John's as he did it, a smirk toying at the corners of his mouth.

'I am going to kill him,' John thought as he forced himself to look away from Sherlock and to his son. 'Focus on Hamish, Watson. Focus on your adorable son, not your bastard husband who is trying arouse you in a public place.' He pushed his own food aside, unable to eat because he feared Sherlock would touch him somewhere far more inappropriate while he had a mouth full of food.

"Let me help you cut them, darling." John said as he took the knife from Hamish and cut his pancakes in small pieces. "There you go now they're small enough to eat and you still have all that snow on your pancakes." He kissed his cheek and pulled away, keeping his eyes on Hamish because if he looked at Sherlock... He wouldn't be able to stay in control of his reactions. Sherlock seemed to notice some small shift in John, as John shifted in his seat. He grinned as he slowly extracted his foot, his mission achieved. His smile growing as he slipped his shoe back on and sipped his tea, glancing over to watch John with a victorious smirk and a simple raise of an eyebrow.

"Thank you Daddy." Hamish said quietly, eating slowly. Sherlock ate a bit more, because he knew he would get scolded if he didn't and then focused on watching John and Hamish interact. John looked up at him and easily read the new look in his eyes.

We're just beginning...

Sherlock would be purring if he was a cat, knowing that today was going to be a very long tormenting day for his husband, but only in the very best ways. John let out a very noticeable breath once Sherlock's foot was gone. He was relieved it was over, giving him a chance to allow his body to recover and the blood to return to his brain. Under normal circumstances Sherlock's teasing would not have bothered him, but he always worried about doing things like this around Hamish. He did not want to accidentally scar their child for life. He pulled his food back over eating a bit more, now that he believed it safe to do so. He finished his coffee and helped Hamish finish his pancakes. Stealing a bite before he remembered Hamish's cocoa.

"They're really good." He told their son with a soft smile. "Do you still want your hot cocoa? I think it's cool enough for you to drink now." He promised as he handed the small cup with a tiny Santa drawn on it over to him.

"Yummy!" Hamish giggled and sipped the cocoa. He watched his fathers with wide eyes over the rim of the cup, holding it firmly in his hands. Sherlock had eaten maybe a third of his food and finished his tea. He sighed softly and rolled his neck.

"Are you alright John?" He asked softly, his voice low.

"I'm fine," John answered with a simple shrug, he even dared to give his husband a bit of smirk. He wasn't going to let Sherlock tease him. Not right now at least. "I am perfectly fine despite what you're doing," he whispered before turning his gaze back to Hamish. "Slow down," He chuckled as he took the cup away. "You'll get sick if you drink it that fast."

"Why is it always no?" Hamish pouted, crossing his arms. Sherlock chuckled again. John had half a mind to take a picture of Hamish crossing his arms like that, he looked adorable. He could see that he was angry but it was honestly more precious than anything else.

"Because your Daddy is taking care of us, just like he always does 'Mish. Are you done eating?"

"Mmhmm. Can we go get a tree?" He giggled, bouncing in his seat.

"My, you are energetic today! Perhaps we need to take you to the park and let you run around first." Sherlock suggested quickly, looking to John.

"I think we should since he just drank and ate loads of sugar. If he doesn't run around a bit he'll start bouncing and running around at the tree farm." He lifted Hamish out of his booster seat and sat him on his lap. "Ready to go, Papa?" John asked.

Sherlock stood quickly and collected the check for the breakfast. He walked over and paid at the counter while Hamish hummed happily and played with John's hair, as they stood near the door. Sherlock strode back towards them and without hesitation he closed the gap between himself and John, claiming John's mouth in a deep but short kiss before walking over and holding the door open for him.

"Ew, stop..." Hamish whined. The waitress was watching wide eyed from behind the counter, her face very red.

"Oh I'm ready, Daddy. Let's go to the park." His smirk was a mile wide and his voice betrayed his arousal. John's cheeks were slightly red as he walked out the door, avoiding his husband's gaze.

"Yes, do stop, Sherlock. You're making our son cringe." John said with a smile as he held Hamish close. "We'll walk to the park; it will give us a chance to get used to the cold." He explained to Hamish and he started to wonder why Sherlock was walking behind him. "Are you coming Sh- Ah!" John couldn't help but yelp once he felt Sherlock pinch his bum. "What has gotten into you?" He said, his face bright red as he giggled, praying Hamish hadn't seen that. Hamish wriggled and squirmed until John put him down, taking one of each of their hands. Sherlock easily held his son's hand and looked at John quizzically.

"Nothing has gotten into me, what's gotten into you?" Sherlock asked, inflecting his voice just so in order to remind John of the night before. Hamish was happily giggling, not paying any attention to his fathers.

"Park, park, park!" He sang, making up a song as they walked. John was glad it was snowing because he could blame his flushed face on the cold instead of admitting that his eager husband was pushing the edges of his control.

"Recently? A certain consulting detective who has a cocky smile." John mumbled and he rolled his eyes when Sherlock gave a dark chuckle. "Are you going to do this all day?" When Sherlock feigned innocence he added: "Tease me?" His voice was a whisper and when Sherlock nodded he gave a sigh. It was going to be an awfully long yet glorious day. "You're just begging me to put the uniform on," He scolded in a firm tone.

"Oh God, yes." Sherlock whispered in his ear, leaning over so John could clearly hear and feel the desire in his tone.

"I love you!" Hamish said suddenly to both of them, giggling. His voice cutting through their moment because he was desperate for their attention.

"We love you too, 'Mish." Sherlock was more than content as they made their way to the small park. The two men watching as Hamish ran off immediately and climbed all over the playground. He put an arm around John's waist, pulling him close for a moment. "You wanted to be reminded, so I'm reminding you." He whispered in John's ear, his voice soft. "I am always thinking about the ways to make you beg for mercy, John Watson-Holmes." His attention focused seemingly on Hamish as the boy scampered about. John swallowed thickly and he couldn't stop himself from leaning into his husband.

"I think I asked you to remind me last night, not right now when there is nothing I can do about it." John pointed out with a smile. He looked around for Hamish, who was currently playing with a group of younger children the whole of whom couldn't be more than two years old. He was trying to teach them how to go down the slide properly. John smiled fondly. "He's so sweet."

"He's just like you." Sherlock smiled. "You asked me to remind you, you didn't say when." He teased, his hand slipping up and into John's hair. "So kind and caring. So very wonderful." Hamish was giggling as he played with the children and climbed all over the playground. He saw his Dads watching him and he was pleased to see they were so close together and touching. He liked it when they were touching, it meant things were okay. It felt like the best day of his life. He waved at them grandly and giggled when they waved back.

"Well, I'll be sure to say when next time." John warned him with a teasing smile but he leaned further into his touch. He couldn't stop himself. It was an instant reaction. It was not often that Sherlock Holmes touched his husband so affectionately in public. He gently nodded to the bench behind him and the two easily sank down on it together. "He's a lot more like you than me. He's already so smart. It's amazing. It's almost like he really is your child. He picks up on things so quickly. He can read people's faces. He studies everything." John smiled brightly at Hamish when he started to climb across the tiny monkey bars all by himself. "We're you like that as a child?" He asked curiously. Sherlock blushed, not overly so but enough to tinge those damn cheekbones.

"Yes, studying others was the first thing I learned. It is something I have done as long as I can remember. It was one of the few ways I could actually get information. We didn't talk about a lot in our family. Just look at the relationship I have with my brother." They watched Hamish crawl over the playground, play tag with a few other children, and just run all over for awhile while they relished the easy moment. Eventually Hamish came running over to them, giggling like mad and asked Sherlock to pick him up. Which he did, nuzzling their noses together.

"Can we get our tree now? They already have theirs." He pointed to the other children.

"Sure! Let's go." John stood and waited for Sherlock to stand as well; when he did John met him with a quick but meaningful kiss. "Sorry, Mish. I had to." He explained after he pulled away. "The Christmas tree farm is about a half hour away by taxi." John waved down a cab and opened the door for his boys.

"Hamish, can you think of anything you want for Christmas right off the top of your head?" John asked curiously as they all climbed into the cab and John gave the cabbie the address.

"A puppy!" Hamish giggled, clamoring into the cab and into John's lap.

"We have to ask Nanny about the puppy but maybe if you are extra good you will get one," Sherlock promised him.

"I'll be the best boy ever!" He promised grandly.

"You always are." John whispered and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "But I meant besides the puppy. Like toys or books. I have a feeling that Father Christmas is feeling very gracious this year so you may get everything you want." He said with a bright smile. "But I think he'll only bring you everything as long as you promise to stay in bed until Christmas morning this year. Last year you kept trying to get up to see him and I think he took some of your gifts back with him because you almost caught him." John wasn't exactly lying. The previous year Hamish had almost caught him putting out presents and he grabbed the presents and ducked back into the bedroom falling over Sherlock who had finally gotten up to help him.

"Papa, may I please have the chemistry set?" Hamish pleaded. "And some more science stuff?" Then he blushed.

"What is it?" Sherlock said to encourage him, watching him with interest.

"I want to learn to play the violin like you..." He whispered. Sherlock blushed and chuckled.

"Well, it might be a bit big for you now, but let Papa look into it."

"If he wants to learn starting him off young is a huge benefit." John said with an eager smile. It would be absolutely adorable to see Hamish with a little violin trying to learn how to play like Sherlock. "If he starts now, I bet he will be able to play almost as well as you by the age of ten." He added, hoping the challenge of it all would make Sherlock more keen to the idea.

"I started when I was five." Sherlock said firmly, bristling slightly. "My only resistance is finding the right sized violin for him. If I can, I will inform Santa to bring one for him. What about some biology experiment equipment?" Sherlock asked Hamish who nodded eagerly.

"And a doctor outfit!" He giggled.

"Wow, you're covering all the bases. You'll be the best Consulting Detective/Doctor/Violinist in the world." John chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "Daddy will tell Santa. How about your own medical kit? It will have a stethoscope and everything." At Hamish puzzled looked he smiled and placed his hand over his heart. "It's that thing can hear that strong heartbeat of yours."

"Oh, like you use when I get sick!" Hamish nodded. "I want to be just like my Daddies." He announced proudly. Sherlock was still a bit red, it always caught him off guard when either of his loves did something so sentimental. He rubbed Hamish's arm as the boy snuggled in closer to John.

"You'll be brilliant my little detective." He hummed with appreciation.

"Or doctor," John added as he wrapped his arms around Hamish nuzzled him playfully. "Or scientist, or musician, anything. You'll be spectacular with whatever you want to do." He kissed his cheek and smiled proudly up at Sherlock. They had the best son in the world. "We love you, Mish." He whispered to him as he giggled.

"I love you too Daddy." Hamish smiled. "I am going to be a detective doctor!" He announced proudly. Sherlock smiled, looking out the window and letting his mind wander. The hadn't yet discussed what to do about his schooling. John likely wouldn't want him to go to boarding school and be so far away, but it was likely the only place he would get a good education... So many things to consider. And John wanted at least one more... His sentimental doctor...

John played with Hamish for the entire car ride, which manly consisted of Hamish asking ten thousand questions and John struggling to find the appropriate answer. After awhile John grew tired of answering his many questions so he convinced him to switch games. They started to play I spy. Sherlock was just at the edge of his tolerance for their games when the cab finally pulled to a stop. John helped Sherlock get Hamish out of the cab and Sherlock paid the fare.

"Wait for us, Hamish." John giggled once he saw their son running toward the trees at full speed. "Oh Lord," He said with a smile as he chased after him. He, thankfully, caught him and scooped him up in his arms before he could cause too much trouble. "Don't run off without Daddy or Papa, okay?" He asked, his tone gentle but firm enough to let Hamish know he was serious. Hamish pouted but he didn't pout long. He didn't like Sherlock to see him pouting. Sherlock was right behind them, a smile on his face.

"'Mish you have to stay with us. If you run off someone might try to take you away." He said grandly, mimicking the actions of snatching him from John's arms.

"No. I won't let them!" He said loudly.

"We won't either that's why you have to stay close." He nuzzled Hamish's nose. "Maybe Daddy will let you sit on his shoulders again."

"Oh! Please Daddy?!"

"You can always sit on my shoulders, Mish." John said happily helping his little monkey climb up on top of his shoulders where he held him carefully. He looked over at Sherlock with a smile. "Do you remember how tall our last one was? I ask because last year it was bit small and I think we can go another foot or two." John said, simply thinking out loud as they began to walk around the many rows of Christmas trees. "Hamish, do you want to put the star on top like last year?" John asked with a bright smile, looking up at his son.

"Be careful of your arm." Sherlock reminded John. "Last year's was a bit too short. I will be able to tell better by standing near it. You could barely reach the top last year." Sherlock chuckled because he remembered John being stubborn and saying he would put the star on the tree.

"Yea! I want to do it!" Hamish giggled, looking this way and that. He was eager and fidgeting a lot.

"I am, it's fine." John assured Sherlock. The pain in his arm really wasn't that bad. There was a dull ache though and he chose to ignore it as they browsed the farm. As John wasn't looking, he didn't notice the group of girls in their twenties gushing over the sight of him and Hamish. Sherlock having drifted off slightly from the two of them as they surveyed the trees. "Look, Mish. Isn't this one pretty?" He asked, touching one of the trees. Enjoying the rush of fragrance as he touched the branches. One of the girls, most likely the eldest, walked over and flashed him a bright smile. John finally noticed her and smiled politely. He blushed slightly as the young blonde said he had a beautiful son. He smiled and said thank you. But then looked up at Hamish. "Say thank you, Hamish," He told his son who blushed a shade of red and hid his face in John's hair. "He can be a bit shy," John explained before they walked away from the girls. The girls reconvening and seemingly giggling themselves silly over something. He looked over at Sherlock who was standing with two fingers on the branch of a tree and was giving him that same look he'd worn earlier in the restaurant. "Oh Good Lord," John whispered, his face turning a bit red. Sherlock turned and closed the ground between them, a look of determination on his face.

"Oh you are treading dangerous ground, Captain." Sherlock whispered in his ear, nipping it before walking a short distance away.

"It's too short." Hamish pouted about the tree John was looking at. Sherlock meanwhile shamelessly began chatting with one of the girls who worked there, clearly being his most charming until she was red in the face and wandered off muttering. He walked back.

"They have the perfect height tree just in the back. She is going to get it and show it to us." Hamish giggled. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, giving off his best surprised face,

"What on earth did you say to her make her want to do that?" John asked curiously but it was obvious that he was jealous. "Oh you're not going to answer me? You're just going to smirk and walk away?" He asked with a laugh as Sherlock just turned away. "You cheeky... Monkey." John said, wishing he could say bastard but he wouldn't dare in front of Hamish. He followed after Sherlock and then there stood the tree in front of him. The girl smiled and showed Sherlock something specific on the bark and he nodded. "Oh it's beautiful!" John said and it looked like Hamish agreed since he was hitting the top of his head like it was drum and screaming.

"THAT ONE! I WANT THAT ONE!" Hamish exclaimed. John laughed but that wasn't really helping the dull throb he was already feeling in his head.

"Hamish, do not shout!" Sherlock said softly but sternly, grabbing his hands to still them. Hamish looked down.

"I'm sorry..." He blushed.

"Apologize to Daddy for hitting him in the head." He grinned and the woman took the money from him. "And you can have it delivered today?"

"Yes sir. We will have there in about three hours." The woman said, still blushing. Sherlock winked and nodded. "Perfect! Thank you so much, Erica. Do tell your father I am glad to hear he is well." Sherlock pulled Hamish down gently and cuddled him. "We should go home and get the decorations ready. Isn't it beautiful?"

"It's perfect!" Hamish giggled.

"Come on Daddy, don't just stand there staring all day." Sherlock teased lowly in his ear. "The sooner Hamish goes down for a nap the sooner I can tell you just what I said."

"I'm not exactly sure if I want to know," John said with a blush but he finally remembered how to move and he followed right behind Sherlock. "You know her. At least her father anyway. I bet you didn't say anything to her." He accused, rolling his eyes. "You just started to talk about how you knew her father... If you even know her father. Knowing you, you simply just pretended to." John was spitting off his own deduction as he waved down a cab for them. "Am I wrong?" He asked curiously once they were inside and Sherlock had told the cabbie to take them back to the flat. Sherlock laughed, quite proud of himself. John was jealous and flustered.

"We," He said, emphasizing the word. "Did a case for them shortly after you moved in with me. It was a small one. Stolen family heirloom. Took all of an hour to figure out the maid had taken it. They couldn't pay us and I told them it was fine. I remember the surprised look on your face because you hadn't expected me to do it at all. That Christmas they sent us that little four foot tree you loved." He sat back, Hamish playing with Sherlock's scarf tails. "I simply remembered."

"O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree..." Hamish hummed softly, but his voice was dragging. He was getting tired.

"She was ever so pleased that the great Sherlock Holmes remembered such a small personal case." He winked at John. "I also told her that her new hair style looked good on her and that she looked younger than I remembered." John rolled his eyes and took their son into his arms. He was steaming with jealousy and the only thing that would calm him that wouldn't result in him going to prison would be holding Hamish. That and he hoped it would also help him hopefully forget the aching of his head.

"Of course. Any young girl is just so flustered at just a simple glance from you and what do you? Encourage them by saying rubbish like that." John kissed the top of Hamish head and he giggled softly. "How about you close your eyes for little bit? Just until we get home. You look sleepy." He told his son with a voice of concern. "And don't say you're not tired, mister. I know your sleepy face." He rubbed his nose with Hamish's.

"It's not them I'm encouraging." Sherlock said smugly, his eyes again filling with heat.

"Not sleepy!" Hamish pouted. He started playing with John's scarf but he slowly sank to sleep no matter how hard he fought it. Sherlock watched them, smiling as he did.

"You are too encouraging them." John said with a pout of his own. He finally gazed up into Sherlock's eyes, choosing to ignore what that damn look did to him. "When you compliment people like that they think your flirting with them. Which then makes them think they can flirt back. Which they shouldn't be allowed to do because you're-" He was about to say 'mine,' but he stopped himself from giving Sherlock the satisfaction of such a possessive comment. "You're married." He forced out, his voice sounding flustered and breathless.

"I complimented her. Which is something people do to each other. I did it simply because you would notice. She saw my wedding ring. She knows I am, completely yours." He almost purred the word. "Everyone knows. Yet it seems like no one sees that you're mine." He scooted closer to John, his eyes flashing slightly. "Which isn't fair." John's head gave another painful throb and he shook his head.

"Don't- Don't do that when I'm holding Hamish." John said with a giggle as he scooted away from Sherlock. His husband knew damn well what whispering in his ear did to him. "No. Just no, Sherlock. Just because people flirt with me doesn't mean you get to tease me like this." He said firmly. "And for the record, I never flirt back." He said with a smug smile.

"I wasn't flirting. I was being polite. After all you get upset if I am mean. Besides we got the perfect tree for our perfect Christmas." He said it softly but he was basically pouting. He scooted back and looked out the window tending slightly. "I don't flirt. I don't know how."

"Oh you liar, you do it all the time. You know how to charm people, Sherlock. That's basically flirting." John was laughing but when he looked up to see the pout on his husband's face he sighed. "Don't. Please, don't pout just because I am trying to keep you from teasing me. I have to defend myself somehow, Sherlock." He explained and with a heavy sigh he scooted a bit closer. "I just don't want you whispering dirty things in my ear while I'm holding our son."

"I was being perfectly polite." Sherlock said and leaned back against John. "Once the tree arrives I will go do the shopping." In the silence that fell John's head began to pound even more but he shut his eyes tight.

"You're angry with me now." John said with a sigh, feeling awful for not just letting Sherlock have his way with him. "I'm sorry." He whispered a frown on his lips as he rested his head on his husband's shoulder. "You don't have to do that, dear. I can go. It's the least I can since you're upset with me." He nuzzled his nose into his neck, giving a heavy sigh. "You've been teasing me all day and I was just determined to not let it drive me mad."

"I'm not upset with you." Sherlock furrowed his brow and looked at John. "You have been very sensitive lately..." He put his hand on John's cheek, under the pretense of looking in his eyes. "I'm not happy I didn't get my way, sure. But I'm not upset with you. Scaring Hamish for life is not an acceptable hobby. I wasn't trying to flirt with that girl. I knew they keep the best trees off the main area, and I wanted you to have your perfect Christmas."

"I'm sorry..." John said after a long pause because his head was killing him. He looked away from Sherlock, his face flushing red out of embarrassment. What had gotten into him? Why had he just jumped to conclusions like that? "It was wrong of me to assume you were flirting with her just to tease me... I guess... I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe I didn't get enough sleep or I'm just ill."

"Don't." Sherlock scolded softly, his hand turning John's chin to look at him. "It's perfectly natural for you to be jealous. I was. Maybe because of that it seemed like I was trying to flirt. Maybe I was. I do stupid things when someone else fancies my husband." He spoke quietly so as not to disturb Hamish. "But there is nothing wrong with how you feel. Are you ill? Have you been pretending to be healthy again?" His fingers deftly moved to check his pulse at his neck, his eyes narrowing. "Is something still wrong?"

"No, Nothing's wrong. Honestly. I'm happy." John assured him, giving him a soft kiss. He pulled away a bit of a frown on his face knowing he need to confess. To tell Sherlock that something really was wrong. "I have a bit of a headache. And no, I wasn't pretending to be healthy. I just thought I would be okay after a while but it's getting worse. I think yesterday's brawl is finally starting to catch up with me." John closed his eyes for a moment, "I'll be okay though." Sherlock's fingers fluttered here and there checking over every inch of John that he could reach. He checked his skull for swelling, his eyes, his pulse again, his temperature, everywhere he could. Concern clearly written on his face.

"You could have had a concussion or head trauma. I should have made you go to A&E..." He said quietly.

"A&E? Christ, no. I'm fine. I'll be fine." John promised as scooted closer to his husband. "It's just a headache." He pulled Hamish closer to his chest and he rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Honestly, dear. Stop fussing over me. I'll be okay after I get some rest." At least that's what John hoped. It would be awful if it was something more serious. Sherlock forced himself to stop and he immediately moved into the position he occupied when he spun his ring. He wanted to, he needed the comfort... But he didn't want to worry or stress John out more. Fear was gnawing away at his chest. He should have forced John to go to the doctor.

"If your headache does not get better soon I am going to call Mycroft's doctor to come to the house." He was very serious, that same dark fear from the night before returning full sweep.

"We... Home?" Hamish mumbled sleepily.

"Not just yet 'Mish. Soon." John heard how serious Sherlock was and he nodded. He wasn't going to argue with that tone. He nuzzled his face into Sherlock's shoulder. Wishing he had a blanket to black out the light.

"Are you tired?" Sherlock asked him softly, concern clear in his voice.

"If I have a concussion I shouldn't sleep." He said with a frown. He wanted to sleep. He felt like that would help. He hugged Hamish close, running his fingers through the boys' hair in an effort to ease him back into sleep.

"You already slept." Sherlock said a little dully. "Maybe I should call the doctor just in case. Then you and Hamish can nap while I do the shopping." He didn't feel the moment his control slipped but he suddenly was spinning his ring, his eyes narrowed as his mind raced through lists of symptoms, medical possibilities, Hamish's Christmas list, and how to be six places at once.

"Daddy... Are... You okay?" Hamish asked softly, opening his tired eyes. "You look... White..." He sort of reached up towards John, his eyes a bit unfocused.

"Hm?" John asked, opening his eyes to look down at his own skin. His hand did look a tad pale. He wasn't able to stop the bit of fear that flashed through his eyes, though he tried to keep himself focused. What if this was something serious? He composed himself. "I'm okay, Darling. Just cold." He lied and he closed his eyes again, he felt Hamish snuggled back in against him trying to warm John with his little body. "You may need to. Just to be safe." He whispered to Sherlock. Sherlock however had already dialed the number. He put the phone to his ear, still spinning his ring.

"Dr. Evans please," He said softly. "Sherlock." There was a pause. "I need you to make a house call for my husband please. It may not be serious but he has worrying signs and he is the doctor not me." Another pause. "Thank you." Sherlock was pale and spun his ring faster. "He will be there soon." He sighed, bouncing his leg slightly.

"Home!" Hamish yelled happily as the cab stopped. Sherlock swept him out of John's arms and helped both of them out. He paid the cabbie and hovered around John as he got his boys inside. Sherlock's face betrayed his worry and Hamish nodded quickly before hurrying up into the flat.

"Hamish what are you doing?" John asked with a laugh as he watched their son crawl up the stairs and go running towards the kitchen.

"Papa take Daddy to bed!" Hamish ordered sternly. John was surprised

"What?" John asked with confusion and he heard Hamish mumble something about 'taking care of Daddy because he was sick' before Sherlock easily lifted him into his arms and carried him into the bedroom. "What on earth? We can't just leave him in there alone." But John quickly realized he didn't have anything to worry about. There was a slight noise of a chair being drug over and Sherlock easily pictured what he son was doing in the kitchen, a small smile on his face.

"Don't worry Daddy." Hamish said loudly. He pushed a chair by the fridge and got up on it opening it and carefully pulling out his juice container. He crawled over the counter to find his sippy cup and he put all his effort into carefully pouring juice without making a mess. He closed the cup and put the juice away, climbing down. "Coming!" Hamish yelled. He brought the cup to John, offering it with a sad face. Both of them gave small, sad smiles as they looked at their son. Sherlock scooped him, giving him a kiss on his forehead before putting him in the bed with his dad.

"You two rest." Sherlock ordered. John took a sip out of the cup mollifying Hamish that he was grateful for the work his son had done, but the flavor made him want to retch.

"Thank you, 'Mish." He whispered before he wrapped his arms around his son and pulled him close as possible. Maybe it was just migraine, the signs seemed pretty clear that it might be. That wasn't too serious, a migraine. He could take pills for that. Pills and rest. That would not ruin Christmas. "Can you turn the lights off, Sherlock?" John asked in a soft voice, finding that if he spoke quietly his head didn't throb as much. "Light is hurting my eyes." Sherlock quickly swept through the room and closed all the curtains. He dimmed the lights by wrapping a towel around the lamp. He then hovered by the bed on pins and needles waiting for the doctors' knock. Hamish simply cuddled up to John and went to sleep, enjoying the feeling of napping with his Dad. As soon as Sherlock was sure that Hamish had completely dropped off he started spinning his ring again, hovering between the door and the bed. John could almost feel the panic coming off of him, but he was so tired.

"What do I do John?" Sherlock asked quietly, his voice wavering.

"Hm?" John hummed. He had almost fallen asleep but at the sound of his husband's voice he woke again. He looked at him with worried eyes. Christ he was spinning his ring again. It made his heart flutter slightly, knowing that his health was the only thing that so easily destabilized his normally unaffected husband. "Nothing, love. I'm okay. Really don't worry, please."

"Okay..." Sherlock said softly and he stopped talking. He refused to speak or even to fully breathe so he could let John go back to sleep. However inside he was panicked, what if John was seriously injured? He clenched his hands into fists and then swept out into the living room; he found John's medical kit and brought it into the bedroom. He flitted back and forth until a soft knock echoed.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson called softly. "There's a doctor here for you."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson. Dr. Evans," Sherlock strode forward and shook the man's hand. "He's in the bedroom. We got into a bad scuffle yesterday. He had to have some stitches in his arm. He refused A&E and had me stitch the wound. He seemed fine last night... But now he says he has a migraine, is cool to the touch, and pale. He's also photo sensitive." Sherlock said all the words very quickly before leading the man into the bedroom. "Our son is with him, just so you aren't surprised." He knelt over the bed and gently nudged Hamish until the boy slipped away from John. "John, love, the doctor is here..." Sherlock didn't know what to do so he just stepped back out of the way and waited for John to wake up and talk to the doctor, spinning his ring the whole time.

"Huh?' John asked, reaching for Hamish out of instinct but finding that he had been moved to the other side of the bed, curled up in a ball exactly the same way Sherlock usually slept. He frowned a bit once Sherlock's words caught up with him and he sat up very slowly.

"Hello, Doctor Watson." Dr. Evans had said in a quite tone and John appreciated the gentleness of it.

"Hello," He replied back weakly.

"Do you think you can tell me where the main source of the pain is?" John took a deep breath and actually tried to look up at the doctor properly but found his vision was somewhat blurred.

"Well, my vision is a fuzzy; I have this awful throbbing pain near my right temple." Dr. Evans nodded and sat on the edge of the bed to study John's eyes. He gently flashed a light in each of John's eyes, palpated his skull to look for injures, and applied light pressure to the sides of his neck checking his lymph nodes. He checked John's pulse, listened to his breathing, and took his time performing a fairly thorough but cursory examination. Sherlock stood leaning against the wall as he watched, but he was wound very tightly. The doctor continued on for a few minutes.

"Well the good news is you are suffering from a fairly standard migraine. The bad news is that we do not know if your injury to your head recently has created a migraine disorder or if this is a simple one time occurrence. You have the typical symptoms: light sensitivity, blurred vision, the pounding in your temples." The doctor was going to continue but John cut him off.

"What about the pale skin? I'm starting to feel a bit nauseated as well." John argued and Dr. Evans gave him what looked like a reassuring smile but it could also be frown if John stared for long enough.

"All very common with migraines. You know this John." Dr. Evans smiled again and John relaxed slightly. Sherlock however was now more concerned rather than relieved.

"He's never had a migraine before." Sherlock forced out, his words were quiet and full of the panic that was nagging at his heart. Dr. Evans bore Sherlock's panic easily, as he had seen it many times over the course of the young man's life. He waited until Sherlock stopped spinning his ring but Sherlock only did it to stop the look on John's face. He moved over and ran his hand through Hamish's hair instead, giving himself something to focus on aside from the guilt and panic threatening him. "Should we be concerned that there was nerve damage?" Sherlock's voice carried gently to the doctor.

"Sherlock, I know that you want to be sure all the bases are covered. I applaud you for your increase in medical knowledge since I saw you last, however this is nothing to worry about. This sort of reaction is usually common with the type of blunt force head trauma you said he went through. Considering the other possible causes this is rather a blessing." He fished through his kit until he found a migraine specific medicine in a small packet. "This is a sample of one of the newer over the counter migraine pain relievers, John. Take two of these every six hours as needed for the next week. If things do not seem to lessen within the next few days call me again and I will come back." He handed the package to Sherlock who took it quickly and walked over to the window, reading the label in the thin sunlight filtering into the room. "You will be fine. Migraines are painful but we both know you'll get through this just fine. Especially if you rest and Sherlock takes good care of you." The doctor began closing up his kit, putting his things away. "You will likely feel sick for just a few days, no more than a week."

"A few days? It's Christmas." He complained. "I need to be out shopping and decorating the tree with my son." John argued raising his voice too much and making his head give a painful throb. He winced and the doctor smirked.

"Careful, John. You're going to be sensitive to sounds, lights, and even moving for a while. I am sure that your son would prefer you healthy to worrying about the trappings of Christmas."

"Don't worry John, it'll be fine." Sherlock said firmly, trying to convince him. Sherlock swept back towards the bed, setting the medicine down on the table. He was going to need help caring for John and accomplishing the necessary tasks, that much was obvious. If he could simply convince John to sleep he would talk to Mrs. Hudson... "You can rest while I get the tree setup and if you feel better after some sleep and your pills you and Hamish can decorate." Sherlock swallowed hard, trying to keep his internal emotional tug of war from showing in his actions or on his face. "Thank you Dr. Evans. I'll be sure he takes them as required." The doctor nodded and excused himself, letting himself out. Hamish wriggled in the bed till he was once again snuggled against John, grumbling when Sherlock tried to stop him.

"No, Sherlock." John said with a pout. "I want him here." He whispered, hating how childish it sounded. He gently pulled Hamish close to him and closed his eyes again. He had to. Keeping them open hurt. Everything hurt. The constant thump-thump-thump in his head made him want to scream but he forced himself to stay calm and try to go back to blissful sleep where that throbbing wasn't here anymore. He wanted to curl up against Sherlock but he wasn't going to fool himself that Sherlock was calm enough to lay still in the bed and John was not looking forward to the motion sickness that would come from trying to get him to. "I want to take the medicine now." He mumbled, but he cringed when he heard the front door being shut. Too loud.

Without a sound in the room Sherlock swept out of it, found a bottle of water and opened it, and returned gently nudging the bottle against John's hand and handing him the pill. He slipped an ice pack over John's forehead. Which flooded John with relief. He adjusted the pillows and blankets, readjusted the towel over the lap, and made sure again the curtains were secure. He was a bundle of nerves and panic but it didn't show on his face or in his movements. Only his eyes, flicking back and forth quickly as they did when 'scrolling through information,' betrayed him but they were hard to see in the darkened room. Hamish snuggled closer to John, clutching his shirt in his tiny hand.

"Rest," Sherlock said in a whisper. "I'll just be out in the living room so I don't keep you two awake." He promised, he needed to pace and he couldn't do it in here.

"Alright, but please try not to worry yourself sick. I'll be okay eventually." John promised and he couldn't even see Sherlock's face to read him properly. his vision was blurred again. He closed his eyes and tried his best to ignore the pain. Sherlock's phone vibrated in his pocket.

Dr. Evans has informed he made a house call. What's wrong with John? MH

"I'll try not to. Do you want me to go do the shopping or do you want me to wait?" Sherlock asked in a tiny whisper. He was standing near the door so the light from his phone wouldn't bother John.

You're on holiday Mycroft, don't start meddling now. Your husband won't like it. But since I am sure you've already mentioned it to him or else he's overheard and now he's ALSO worried about John - he has a bad migraine. Since he suffered mild head trauma from our little scuffle yesterday I wanted to be absolutely sure he was okay. He refused to go to A&E yesterday so I called Dr. Evans today. Happy? SH

John thought for a moment, Christ even thinking hurt.

"Just do whatever will keep you from worrying. If you go shopping, have Mrs. Hudson come up in case Hamish wakes up and I can't take care of him."

Greg asked me to text you. Why on earth would I be happy about such a thing? That's terrible. But you should be glad it's nothing severe. Could have been something much worse. I hope you do not start brooding over this. It wasn't your fault, brother mine. MH

Sherlock made a strangled noise as he read Mycroft's text - somewhere between a snort of laughter, a sigh of annoyance, and a sound of surprise. The noise made John groan and Sherlock felt a pang of guilt.

"I will John. I won't leave this flat if you're alone." He promised. He walked over and kissed John softly, just a flutter of lips. "Go to sleep."

He stepped out of the room, leaving the door open only a crack and sweeping over to the couch. His ring spinning at high velocity on his left hand as he typed with his right and flung himself on the couch. He was cursing under his breath. He couldn't play the violin, or turn the telly on, he needed something to distracting himself. His eyes falling on the case file on the table.

This is an interesting turn... I'm not surprised Greg asked you to do that. I am glad it's nothing severe and I'm not brooding. However it is my fault. I am the one who didn't calculate for the extra circumstances. You two enjoy your holiday, if you do get back before Christmas I could use someone here on Christmas Eve to be with John and Hamish so I can look at this bloody case your husband is so excited about. SH

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he read the text. He was currently sitting in a parked car, alone, while he waited for Greg who was inside a now empty home. There were four dead bodies inside. Four more deaths to this incredibly annoying case. They hadn't gone on holiday. Greg was so obsessed with the case that they couldn't leave. Mycroft had done everything persuade him but he insisted the case was more important because people were dying. To which Mycroft replied.

"People always die!" Then Greg explained it was children who were being killed, Mycroft quickly shut his mouth and here they were.

We're not on a bloody holiday, thanks in no small part to you. You wouldn't look into the case; you wouldn't answer his messages, now he and I are trying to handle the case. Which means he is handling the case while I wait in the car because he doesn't think it's appropriate for his husband to be at a crime scene. MH

Shit...

Mycroft... I didn't come because John is upset. SH

Was he really going to tell his brother this? Was he... He sighed and realized he didn't have a choice. His brother was the only person in the world who understood how Sherlock worked aside from John.

John has been very upset with me for being gone so often. Greg is constantly sending me cases and I have neglected my family because of it. Tell him to bring every piece of data he has and the two of you come here. You can babysit John and Hamish, I will solve the case, and somehow go do all of the Christmas shopping I need to do. I can't be in two places at once Mycroft. What do you want me to do? SH

...If he'll agree to it. At this point he is incredibly invested, Sherlock. He seems to be more attached to this case because young children seem to be getting killed more than the adults. He doesn't want another child to die. Of course, neither do I but I refuse to become emotionally invested. I will come regardless but I assume Greg will want to tag along with you. As for you Christmas shopping, I can have someone handle that for you if you would like. MH

I... Oh for God's sake Mycroft, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. My husband is injured and sad, my son is depressed, and I've managed to ruin even your holiday by trying to fix everything. Fine, tell Greg to come here and he and I can solve this case. But someone HAS to be here with John and Hamish to protect and care for them. I won't leave them alone and if you stay here I will be trusting you to STAY and not to leave. SH

Sherlock jumped up and started pacing the entire length of the living room, spinning his room the entire time. His hands shaking as he tapped his phone against his leg. His mind was racing ten thousand miles a minute. He walked over and wrenched open the case file immediately focusing his mind on it. His attention narrowing quickly, his let out a huff of breath. Why? Why hadn't Greg told him it was this case? For a year now he'd been dogging him, why hadn't he mentioned it? Sherlock's panic grew stronger, clawing at his chest.

I'll stay. It's not like I have anywhere else to be. I can take care of them both. Though I do wish you'd stop being so dramatic. Your husband may be sad but your son is not depressed. Lonely maybe, but not depressed. We're on our way now and we'll be there soon judging by how fast Gregory is driving. He's being very rash with this case, Sherlock. Don't do anything to upset him. MH

"You're going to kill us if you drive any faster, Gregory." Mycroft said as he gripped the door with one hand and his other hand holding his phone tightly. "Slow down. Having us get into a car crash will not save anyone's life."

"They're children, Mycroft. Children." Greg said earnestly but slowed down slightly. "Do you not understand how important that is? Surely even the Holmes brothers can understand that." He was upset, very, very upset. If Sherlock had just stepped back in on this case ages ago no one else would have died. He'd tried everything to get Sherlock to pick up the case but the man simply refused, not even bothering to look at what the case was.

Do not chide me Mycroft. This is not the realm of normal for me. Hamish spends more time worrying than John does and we both know how large of a statement that is. I upset everyone, Mycroft. It's all I have ever been good at. Especially if you are the one to judge. SH

Sherlock was poring over the file trying to devour each and every detail as quickly as possible, but his mind was not his own. It was torn between new and old, between man and machine. He let out a soft growl in frustration. At this rate everything would be ruined. Meanwhile Mycroft was almost exploding with annoyance between his brooding and irrational brother and his rather increasingly unstable husband.

"I understand that it is important. However if you want a case to get solved I have told you getting emotional about it is only going to pose a problem. You're too attached." He hissed. Mycroft couldn't help it. How come people got so attached to things? Couldn't they see being attached only made things worse?

Oh for heaven's sake, Sherlock. Calm down. You're brooding. Take a breath. Just because things are not picture perfect it doesn't mean that it is all your fault. Your son worries because he doesn't see you and John enough as he should. But that's not your fault. It's honestly no one's fault. You have to work. He'll grow to understand. But after this case is solved, I promise to talk to Gregory about finding someone else to call if you do not want to work a case. MH

"You've got that look on your face again." Greg said softly with a wry smirk as they pulled up to Baker Street. Mycroft had his focused but concerned look on his face. The one that he always got when he was worrying about his brother. He smirked at the confused expression on Mycroft's face. "The one that reminds me you really are related to Sherlock Holmes."

Do not treat me like a child, Mycroft. This is serious. SH

Thank you. SH

Mycroft stared at his husband for a moment, trying to ignore how sentimental that all sounded. He was worried about Sherlock but he was not about to admit it. If he started to acknowledge his feelings now, he would not be able to stop himself from doing it for the rest of the day. Christmas was a tricky holiday and the last thing he needed was his calm destroyed.

"I suppose I have to make some sort expression similar to his, he is my brother. We share some of the same features." Mycroft got out of the car before Greg could point out that wasn't what he meant. He hurried into the house and up the stairs ignoring how Mrs. Hudson ordered him to slow down because his noise would wake John. He rolled his eyes and mumbled:

"Apologies," as Greg finally caught up with him on the stairs, still wearing that smirk.

Sherlock was so focused on the case file he didn't notice Hamish until he almost tripped over him in his pacing track. Hamish rubbed his sleepy eyes and Sherlock was forced to smile because he'd somehow found one of John's button downs and slipped it on. It dragged slightly on the ground and the sleeves were far too long. He held his arms out asking Sherlock to hold him. Sherlock hesitated a moment as he normally did not try to hold Hamish when he was in case mode but the little boy looked so desperate for the affection he could not deny him. He swept him up in his arms and looked down at his face.

"Is Daddy okay?" He whispered.

"Yes love. He's just a bit ill. The doctor came and said he would be fine if we let him rest." He sighed. "'Mish, Papa needs your help." Hamish's face tightened and Sherlock knew the boy already understood what Sherlock was going to say. The guilt deepened. "Papa has to go to work." He sat down on the couch and the boy turned to look at him, tears beginning. "Listen, please don't cry okay? Papa has to because there are bad people hurting children and your Uncle Greg wants to stop them right away. We don't want any other children to be hurt. Papa is the only one who can stop them... " He whispered his voice tight. Hamish looked confused.

"Are you sad Papa?" He wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling himself up to standing in Sherlock's lap and pressing himself to Sherlock's chest.

"I am. I don't want to leave you and Daddy, but I can't let any more children get hurt. Please forgive me..." He whispered and Hamish smiled a little.

"Okay Papa. You go save them; I'll take care of Daddy."

"Your Uncle Mycroft will be here to help." Sherlock promised. "I'm very sorry I have to go..."

"It's alright Papa. Daddy always says you stop the bad people. He says you're the only one who can if Uncle Greg can't." Sherlock and Hamish looked up as Greg and Mycroft appeared on the stairs. Sherlock's brow suddenly furrowed, a realization sweeping over him. Hamish moved to the side just as Sherlock leapt up off the couch, leaving the poor boy affronted.

"It's connected..." Sherlock said suddenly and jumped up. "Oh... Oh!" He ran over to the file and threw page after page in the air until he found a specific one. "IDIOT!" He said in a loud whisper.

"Hello to you too..." Greg smirked.

"Hello Uncles..." Hamish said quietly, he looked down, shuffling his feet slightly. He got down off the couch and walked over to them, sadly flicking one of the sleeves of his shirt. "Uncle My... I'm sorry for yesterday..."

"Hamish it's fine." Mycroft said, giving him a soft smile but it was clear he was focused on Sherlock. "What on earth are you talking about? And stop throwing paper about you'll give someone a paper cut." He scolded darkly, heaving a sigh as he turned toward Hamish and lifted into his arms. He gave him a kiss on the cheek, greeting his nephew and knowing that Sherlock was no longer able to entertain "Daddy" mode as he was in full on case mode.

"Why are you wearing such a big shirt?" He asked Hamish, clearly surprised that the boy would want to wear his father's clothing.

"It smells like Daddy." Hamish said softly, shrugging.

"It's connected." Sherlock said again with emphasis, directly to Greg and his brother. His eyes on Hamish and holding up a picture of one of the crime scenes. Mycroft followed Sherlock's gaze and realized what he was saying. Greg however was still clueless, looking between the brothers with crossed arms and waiting for an explanation.

"To the case that brought you Hamish." Mycroft stated firmly, but confusion evident on his face. "I thought you solved that case. Didn't you two catch the person who committed all those murders?" Greg frowned.

"No, we didn't. Once Sherlock and John became busy with Hamish I couldn't get Sherlock to come look into the case with me. I've had people looking into this but it's just untraceable." Sherlock snorted. "For us. No fingerprints found. No DNA. Nothing."

"Wonderful." Mycroft sighed, Greg was being incredibly stupid. He was feeding Sherlock's guilt. "I suppose this will the afford you the opportunity to solve the case." Mycroft said before turning his gaze back to Hamish. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather wear your own clothing?" He asked a bit firmly, as if encouraging him. Hamish however did not relent.

"No." Hamish said sternly. "I want to wear Daddy's shirt." Sherlock was all over the room, from the kitchen to his laptop, to the couch, and back. Mycroft gave up watching him, easily ignoring his brother's frantic movements. Greg however drank it in, relief spreading through him that Sherlock was finally joining him on the case.

"No we lost the trail. But they didn't..." Sherlock started typing away on his laptop furiously, trailing off as he finished the sentence in his head. Tracing addresses and looking for a pattern. "Shut up!" He snapped and Greg just sighed knowing it was directed at him. Sherlock paced away from the computer and back, then away again. "Here!" He snapped suddenly and pointed to an article about a family who was relocated after their house caught fire about a year before. The picture showed a young couple and a small red haired boy at least a year younger than Hamish. "Where are they, Greg? They are next. I'm so stupid..." He was already throwing on his coat and scarf.

"You get 'em Papa!" Hamish cheered. Greg walked over to the computer and looked at the family.

"Christ, I remember them." He said with shock and when Sherlock shouted his question again, he sighed and stood. "I don't have the exact address but I know they live in a flat in Lambeth. It was a cheap place. They couldn't afford much after their house burnt down. No insurance and the woman didn't have a job." He walked over to Mycroft and gave Mycroft a peck on the lips, not caring how flustered he would get. "We'll be back." He promised and then he looked to Hamish. "If your Uncle My..." Mycroft glared. "Mycroft," He finished sighing. "Starts to be mean just tickle his tummy. Always gets him laughing." He whispered in his ear and pulled away with a bright grin.

"Sherlock tell your son to put his own clothing on." Mycroft began but Sherlock just glared.

"Hamish, when the tree gets here I want you to show your Uncle the blue box in your closet. Wake your Daddy gently and see if he wants to help." Hamish giggled and nodded.

"Okay Papa." He leaned out so Sherlock could hug and kiss him.

"I love you 'Mish."

"Kiss Daddy goodbye!" Hamish scolded.

"I will." Sherlock swept towards the bedroom, he slipped in barely letting any light in.

"When the tree gets here?" Mycroft looked confused.

"Daddy bought us a big Christmas tree and they are bringing it to us!" Hamish giggled again, flipping the sleeves of the button down around as he gestured.

"Aw that's precious." Greg said with a smile. He took Hamish into his arms to nuzzle his nose. "Uncle Mycroft will help you decorate, Maybe Daddy too if he feels better." Greg promised him. He saw the look of disdain on Mycroft's face and he sighed. "Get into the Christmas spirit love, for your nephew." He pleaded before he let Hamish down onto the floor. He watched the little one run over to the couch and crawl onto it saying he wanted to watch a Christmas movie until the tree got here. Hamish flipped on the telly and clicked through the channels quietly, Greg just watching him fondly. "Mycroft, play along and maybe if you're good Santa will bring you a treat." He winked and couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped his lips when he watched his husband's face turn a bit red. Mycroft simply strode over and sat on the couch beside Hamish. Beginning to roll the sleeves of the shirt up for Hamish, who giggled.

"I will try." He said, still blushing.

"Good boy," Greg said, still wearing the smirk as he walked toward the door.

"John, love," Sherlock whispered leaning down towards him. "Greg and I are going to catch the people who murdered Hamish's parents. There's another boy in danger. This is the case Greg has been bothering me about, it needs to be solved now. Mycroft is here and Hamish is with him. Rest and I will be home soon." John was aware of the throbbing pain in his head before he even registered what Sherlock said. He sat up carefully, wincing as the throbbing seemed worse. He forced his brain out of sleep and to focus on the situation at hand, his body immediately trying to convince him to get up and go out on the case with him.

"How do you know it's the people who murdered Hamish's parents?" He asked, his voice very soft as he rubbed his temples. He couldn't even find it in him too be upset that Sherlock was leaving. The pain was too severe.

"We never caught the murderers. And the case Greg wanted me to look at were two other murders where the children were also killed. I think it's some sort of scheme. People with money pay poor couples to conceive and then take the babies. The families are left well off and the rich families get an heir. But I think some of these families become attached to their children and go on the run to try to keep them. There is another family that I think is in danger right now. I'm sorry. Greg wouldn't let Mycroft take him on holiday until it was solved and I didn't want Greg to get hurt because we both know he can't suspend judgment when his emotion is involved. I have to go... I talked to Hamish he understands..." Sherlock was trying to ignore the guilt gnawing at him, but his voice betrayed it. His words slipping our rapidly and without his normal focused manner.

"Sherlock! I'd hate to rush you but we need to go!" Greg shouted and when Hamish snapped him for shouting he bit his lip, "Sorry." He mumbled. When John heard the shout, he cringed and covered his ears, his head falling on to Sherlock's shoulder. He gave a whimper, the throbbing behind his eyes hurt so much.

"Of course he understands," He whispered, thankful when he felt Sherlock's arms wrap around him. "I understand too. You have to go. I should have let you answer his texts earlier. I'm so sorry, Sherlock." He was crying now, mostly because of the pain in his head but part of it was because he felt guilty on so many levels for what was happening. He clawed into Sherlock's shirt for a moment before letting go.

"Sh..." Sherlock whispered softly and he pressed gently kisses to John's forehead. "Hush love, tears will only make it worse. I promise everything is okay. We should be able to catch the murders at this house, get the shopping done, and be back before dinner. Greg and I will be careful and I'll come right back home to you. Everything's okay..." Sherlock's voice was tight, panic rising in his stomach. "Please love... Rest. Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson will help with Hamish you just rest. I'll be home before you know it..." He promised.

"Uncle, I'm going to go help with Daddy... Sometimes he doesn't like to let Papa go out on cases and Papa needs to go now." Hamish said, getting down and sneaking into the bedroom. He crawled up in the bed and hugged John. "Papa, I'll take care of Daddy. I promise. You go get the bad men." He whispered.

"That boy could pass for a full blooded Holmes..." Mycroft said as his face tensed.

"He acts just like the perfect mixture of the both of them. He worries, he's smart like Sherlock but also caring and kind like John. I hate that he worries so much though. Children shouldn't worry so much. But... I guess in this line of work they always worry." Greg frowned moving to sit on the couch next to his husband. He did have experience with this after all. He was a father despite the fact his children chose not to see him much anymore. "When my girls were little they used to worry themselves sick whenever I went to work. I'd come home at three in the morning and they'd all be piled on the couch together waiting for me." He chuckled, an odd sound considering the sadness in his heart due to the changes that had occurred. "They don't worry about me anymore. Hell they don't even call me." Since the divorce from his wife he didn't get to see the kids much anymore. Maybe once every few months if he was lucky. But they didn't want to see him. He knew part of it was that his wife had convinced the girls that it was wrong that Greg was now married to a man.

"I'll be okay, Sherlock. Really. Go. Go catch them." John whispered, forcing his tears to slow as he hugged Hamish close to him. Inhaling his little boy scent and allowing it to relax his mind. Sherlock wanted to scream. He knew if he hesitated any longer the murderers would strike but he desperately wanted to remain by his family.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered and he kissed the top of both their heads before sweeping off and out the door, Greg having to run after him to keep up. Sherlock had no words even as Greg scolded him down the stairs, he was too wrapped up inside his head.

"It's okay Daddy," Hamish whispered to John as they heard the door downstairs snap shut. "Papa will come home..." He snuggled closer to him, humming the song John used to hum for him when he couldn't sleep. He hummed it very softly and smiled as John relaxed a bit and sank to sleep, Hamish succumbing to sleep himself just a few minutes later.

---

Notes: Remember to favorite, follow and all that other lovely stuff.