"Hamish is a very bright boy but he doesn't socialize correctly with others." The teacher said, sitting at her desk with hands clasped firmly together.
"Define correct." The detective challenged. John said nothing.
"He thinks it necessary to encourage others to not listen to directions and has gotten sent to the office several times because he shouts out 'wrong!' when someone says something that isn't right."
John looked upset but Sherlock was not the least concerned. "Well was he right in saying wrong?"
"I beg your pardon?" the teacher looked puzzled. The taller man rolled his eyes.
"Sherlock-," John sensed trouble.
"Was he right? When he corrected them, was he right?" Sherlock repeated to the woman as if she was mentally disabled.
"I don't see how that matters-,"
"I'm sorry, do they actually allow you to teach my son or is the real educator hidden somewhere in the broom cupboard?" snapped the detective.
The teacher looked like a kicked dog as she cleared her throat. "It doesn't matter if he was right or not, but if you are so interested in knowing then yes he has been correct when he feels the need to inform the other party that they are not."
John sat back in his chair. "So then who cares? He's right and you know it so why even bring it up."
The teacher turned a shade of red and Sherlock raised an eyebrow, looking at his husband. "Our son's outsmarted the teacher John, it's you he's been correcting all this while hasn't he miss?"
She stood, clearly done with the interview. "I'm sorry Mr. and Mr. Watson-Holmes, but I've got another appointment-,"
"Say no more, we understand that you're a little flustered, I would be too if I had a seven year old boy correct my teaching methods. In fact, I'd even begin to question if I was fit to teach." Sherlock stated, positively gleeful at this new revelation.
John kept his head bowed with proper shame until he made it into the hallway, turning on his husband. "Sherlock!"
"Oh John! Our son is a genius!" the detective was oblivious to the fact that he had offended. He seemed elated, stepping quicker, eager to get home and give his son an enormous hug.
"Sherlock!" the detective paused, turning to frown at his husband.
"What?" the man looked so startled as to why he was in trouble that John's lips twitched against his better judgement.
"The woman doesn't like you, you know that. Please please try to be a little nicer to the next one." The doctor said, sighing as he took Sherlock's hand and squeezed it.
Parent-teacher conferences were always nightmare, John preferred to go alone but the detective was adamant they attend together, claiming that he needed to properly tend after his their son's education and it wouldn't suffice to do it seperately. This just meant that Hamish would spend the night either downstairs with Mrs. Hudson or over at the Lestrades' house with the Detective Inspector's bunch while John sat through Sherlock bullying the boy's teachers and demanding to know why on earth they ever thought they were mentally proficient enough to teach children.
Next was the gym teacher, Sherlock and John had a joined disliking of this one. The doctor's husband had recalled that he had the brain of Scotland Yard and the homophobia of Donovan and Anderson combined into one.
As the taller man pushed the door open to the gymnasium they spotted the behemoth of a man perched on a precariously small chair in the center of the basketball court. Sherlock smirked at him and gave John an impromptu kiss on the cheek to watch the educator frown and look away, his face red.
John pushed the detective away, trying not to provoke anyone as they sat down on the provided seats, both awaiting a review.
Finally the teacher spoke after giving disapproving glares to both. "Your son, Hamish, he's very smart but lacks the physical side of PE that's important to make the grade. He does alright at sports where teams are involved but for the most part he's very lazy-,"
Sherlock leaned forward, eyes flaring. "Lazy is not a word I would use to describe my son sir," John looked skyward, praying for patience. "Because he sees no point in running around a field does not mean he's lazy, it means he's ahead of the curve and an innovative thinker."
The gym teacher was not to be outdone, he moved his lips in such a way that his mustache quivered. "But it also shows that he is not capable of following simple instructions."
"Independent."
"Haughty."
"Able to develop his own opinions! Something you wouldn't understand judging by the fact that your wife has been making you eat healthier foods for the past three months and you despise it but fear her too much to talk back!" Sherlock said triumphantly. The gym teacher looked confused at first, then slowly began to stand and the detective's smile turned to a frown rather quickly.
John sought to intervene. "Right! Well it was certainly a pleasure meeting you again, but look at the time, Sherlock and I really must be off." He said hastily grabbing his husband and dragging him towards the direction of the door in a rapid manner.
The ride to Detective Inspector Lestrade's house was certainly a quiet one.
"I don't see why you're so upset John."
"You know damn well why I'm so upset, don't give me that rubbish." John snapped as they climbed the steps to Greg's house. Sherlock reverted back to wounded silence as the doctor rang the doorbell.
Mrs. Lestrade answered the door, a baby in her arms, complete chaos ruled behind her as she smiled weakly at the pair. "Oh hello, you're back early, I haven't got a chance to feed them yet."
Screeching children ran like wild animals inside and John cleared his throat. "Oh don't worry about it, we'll just take him on back to Baker Street." And they stepped inside.
The Detective Inspector was asleep on the couch as his eldest son, a spindly boy of sixteen, watched telly. John looks at the scene of destruction, trying to sort out his son's dark head of curls from the blonde and brown cluster that are the Lestrade clan.
It is Sherlock who eventually found him; he was hiding underneath a table with one of Greg's children, a boy his age who was named Travis. When he was found he tried to make a run for it but his father caught him and picked him up, preventing further fleeing.
"Thank you so much for watching him." John said quickly to Mrs. Lestrade as the family slipped back outside to the waiting cab.
Sherlock set his son down, taking his hand and John gives Hamish a look. "Your gym teacher says you don't like running around the field." He commented offhandedly, inspecting his seven year old for any signs of surprise.
None came and he was characteristically Sherlock in the way he kept a mask of calm about him. "I don't think it's important." He stated clearly. "Who really needs to run around for an hour when I could be doing something so much better?"
Sherlock smirked at John before raising a hand to set on his son's head. "Ahead of the curve." He repeated for emphasis.