A Worried Mind (Chapter 4)
*Just so you remember, pay attention to "dad" and "father," otherwise you'll get confused. Remember John is "dad" and Sherlock is "father."
Nothing exciting happened after they sat down to eat lunch. They were all silent and didn't want to discuss Hamish's problem at school. Sherlock sat on Hamish's right and occasionally reached out his hand and rubbed it over his son's face. Hamish's cringed slightly after the third time Sherlock touched him, and Sherlock frowned and didn't lift up his hand anymore.
While Sherlock lied on the couch after he actually ate something, Hamish suddenly jumped into his lap, startling him. Sherlock gave a groan as Hamish landed directly on his stomach. Then he sat up and adjusted his son's position so it was more comfortable for him. He lifted his long and graceful hand and brushed his son's hair out of his face.
He suddenly noticed that Hamish was still covered with dirt. "Hamish," he said, concern in his voice. "You're filthy. Why don't you go take a shower, get yourself cleaned up?" Hamish had no objection and smiled. Sherlock wrapped his arms around Hamish's waist and pulled him in closer. Their foreheads came together and Hamish's childish giggle was heard in Sherlock's ears. He looked up into his son's eyes, smiled, and gave him a light kiss on his forehead.
"Come on," he said, bouncing Hamish lightly in his lap. "Go get clean." Hamish slid off his legs and Sherlock patted him on the back of his leg, sending him off to his room. Minutes later, Sherlock and John heard the sound of running water from the bathroom next room over.
Sherlock messed up his hair as he always did and turned his gaze upwards. John stood leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen with his arms crossed, a smile across his face.
"He loves you, you know…" John looked down and started moving his feet over towards where Sherlock was sitting.
The smile on Sherlock's face widened. "I know," he said. "But he loves you more. You're more of a father to him than I am…"
"That's not true." The cushions on the couch sank slightly as John settled his body down to Sherlock's left. "He loves you just as much as he loves me. Don't deny it," he added as Sherlock began to open his mouth to argue.
"He doesn't show it though…" Sherlock said after a long silence. John took in a deep breath and shifted his sitting position. He lifted his hand and turned Sherlock's head so it faced his. John's bright blue eyes stared into Sherlock's brilliant green ones. His hand rested on Sherlock's cheek and he reached in closer to give Sherlock a small kiss on his lips.
John whispered into Sherlock's ear. "Just give him some more time." He messed up his husband's hair and stood up. He collapsed in his favorite chair and began looking at some evidence from their case.
Hamish finished his shower but didn't immediately return to the living room. In fact, he didn't return until just before dinner time. John stood in the kitchen, stirring a large pot of chicken noodle soup on the stove top. Sherlock had his feet resting on the coffee table and his nose was buried in a book. Hamish rushed in, his hair still wet and tangled and jumped on his father, wearing a fresh pair of pajamas.
"Ugh! Hamish! Hi. You're getting too big to jump on me." Sherlock gave his son a small smile to avoid Hamish's mouth turning into a frown. He laughed, set his book down, and let his son rest his head against his chest.
"What were you doing Hamish?" Sherlock asked, curious.
Hamish twisted his position in his father's arms. "Looking at pictures of you and dad." John heard Hamish and turned his head at the mention of 'dad'. Sherlock saw him over Hamish's curly hair and blushed slightly.
"Any good ones?" He asked, staring from Hamish to John, who stood in the kitchen with a smirk on his face.
"Oh yeah," Hamish said, crouching next to him. "There's some from before you adopted me, and lots of all three of us." Sherlock smiled. "And," Hamish said, continuing, "There's one of you and dad at your wedding. That one's my favorite." Sherlock looked up at John in the kitchen. John couldn't help but smile at him.
"Can I see them?" Sherlock asked, placing a hand on Hamish's shoulder.
"Yes," he said, his voice sounding like a five year old. "I'll be right back." He got off of his father's lap and scrambled to his room. When he returned, he had a whole stack of photographs in his hand. He climbed back onto Sherlock's stomach and lay on his back, so the two of them could see the pictures together.
"Look!" Hamish said, pointing to a photo of the three of them four years previous. They all looked so much younger. It was a family photo in which Hamish was peeking at the camera over his parents' shoulders. His elbows rested on Sherlock and John's shoulders, and they all looked extremely happy.
Sherlock slid the next photo out from the bottom of the pile. "I remember this," he said, laughing at the funny face Lestrade was making. "He's like your uncle, Lestrade is." Lestrade was holding a three year old Hamish on his hip, who was smiling with a few teeth missing.
Hamish's tiny hand pulled out the next photo. It was from Sherlock and John's surprise anniversary party thrown by Lestrade and Molly. They had been married for two years then. Sherlock and John stood in the middle with Lestrade and Molly on either side of them. Hamish's tiny figure was kneeling in front of them. Sherlock had on black dress pants and shoes, a white shirt and a black blazer. John had on black dress pants and shoes as well, but he had on a purple shirt with a white tie.
"See Hamish, that's when Molly was pregnant with Isabella. This was taken about three months before she had her." He pointed to Molly, who wore a skinny yellow dress at the far right of the picture.
"I like this one too," Hamish said, pulling out another photo from their anniversary party. Sherlock smiled at the sight of the picture. Lestrade had taken this picture. Both Watson-Holmes were standing in the middle of the wooden floor, holding hands and sharing a kiss. One of Sherlock's hands had grabbed John's tie to pull him in close. John turned away from making dinner and saw Hamish's cuddling with his father. The sight of them getting closer to each other made John happy.
There was a loud beeping noise and the timer on the stove went off. "Dinner," John called from the kitchen.
"Want to finish after dinner Hamish?" Sherlock asked.
"I'd love to father." Sherlock smiled and ruffled his son's hair. He reached around his head to plant a small kiss next to the gash in his cheek and patted him on the back, signaling for him to get up. The smell of the soup was strong and Hamish carefully grabbed a bowl from the counter. He took baby steps, holding his soup bowl with two hands, and went back to sit on the couch and eat it.
"Thanks John," Sherlock said, giving him a kiss on his cheek. John followed him out of the kitchen and all three of the smushed together on the couch to continue looking at pictures. Occasionally they would come across a funny one or a family one. They actually found one of Sherlock doing a photo bomb of Hamish and John and John snorted at the sight of it.
"Shut up," Sherlock said, elbowing his husband in his ribs. "You done with your soup Hamish?" he asked as he stood up to stretch his legs.
"Yeah, I guess so." He handed his father the bowl and told him his thanks. The bowls clinked together as Sherlock stacked them on top of each other in the sink. Sherlock wiped his hands on his dressing gown and sank back onto the couch next to Hamish.
They spent the rest of the night looking at their photographs before Sherlock and John sent Hamish off to bed. They followed him down the hall and into his room. Hamish crawled under his covers and moved his legs so John could sit down next to him. Hamish could see his father standing with his hand on his husband's shoulder.
John stroked his son's hair and smiled. He didn't say much except, "Goodnight Hamish," and gave him a small kiss on his forehead. He rose from the bed and went to stand in the doorway. It was Sherlock's turn to say goodnight now. The bed sank as he put his full weight on it.
He sat stroking Hamish's curly hair and running his fingers gently over his cheek. He traced his finger over the cut on Hamish's face and tried to open his bruised eye more so he could see it better. "Don't worry," he told Hamish, "It'll heal soon."
"Goodnight son," he said, stroking his hair one last time. "I love you."
"I love you too father." His arms extended and he gave his father a hug.
Sherlock whispered into Hamish's ear before breaking away, "Thanks for the picture memories." Sherlock stood up and went to join John in the doorway. His eyes were bright and a smile was on his face. Hamish glanced up from his bed and saw both his parents standing side by side together.
"Goodnight Hamish." Hamish smiled and waved as Sherlock's hand closed the door and the light from outside in the hallway in Hamish's room became fainter. The door closed completely and Hamish was plunged into total darkness.
Sherlock felt fingers weave through his own as John's hand clasped around his. He was led into their bedroom and both of them dressed into their pajamas. John pulled on his pajama shirt and Sherlock flopped himself onto the bed. John slid into bed and Sherlock rested his hands on his stomach.
John reached over across the bedside table and turned off the light. Pitch black surrounded them. Sherlock heard John whisper in his ear, "Goodnight Sherlock," and felt a light kiss on his lips.
Soon a light snoring could be heard from Sherlock left and he knew his husband was asleep. Sherlock's eyes wouldn't close and he had no interest in sleeping. He rolled over onto his side and looked at the alarm clock from across the room. Time had flown by. It was now 11:43 P.M. He lay in bed for a few more minutes, silence pounding in his ears.
And then from the room next door, a high pitched scream suddenly filled the night and Sherlock sat up abruptly in bed.
"John…John!" He shook John on his shoulder and woke him. "Listen…" There was nothing but silence all around the flat.
"Sherlock," John said sleepily, rubbing his eyes, "There's nothing to hear. Your brains going funny on you or something…" But he was cut off as Hamish sent out another scream from his mouth and John rolled over quickly.
"What the hell…?" John was too late in asking, because Sherlock already bolted out the door and was sprinting down the hall.