"Will you just listen to me Lestrade?! They are connected! Now where is the mans phone?!" Sherlock yelled at Lestrade.
Lestrade sighed, giving up his argument knowing that Sherlock would be right in the end, "Find his phone."
Lestrade began to walk toward Anderson and his crew telling them to search for it.
"Well are we done here?" I asked Sherlock, tiring to hide my smirk.
Hamish was at school. Mrs. Hudson was out of town. So we had an empty flat all to our selves.
"I believe so," he said as we walked away.
"So do you know where the phone is?" I asked as he opened the cab door for me.
"Of course I know where it is," he smirked. "The murderer planted it with the other victim to throw us off."
He sat down and closed the door. "221 B Baker street."
Neither of us could hide our smile. But eye contact would have been too much. We probably would have started in the cab.
His hand was on his knee, open, and relaxed.
Slowly and softly, I slid my hand under his and held it. Our fingers laced and I looked at him. He smiled at me and I kissed his hand.
Our fingers brushed each others skin just feeling every perfection and imperfection.
Sherlock's phone rang making him take his hand away. "Hello?"
Sherlock's face was confused when the person talked.
"Yes, we'll be right over," Sherlock put his phone away and told the cabby a different address.
"Who was that?" the address sounded familiar but I couldn't remember where it was.
"It was Hamish's school," Sherlock explained. "They need to talk to us about his behavior."
"What do you mean?" I asked confused. "Did they say what happened?"
"No."
"Well it can't be anything too bad. You know how primary school teachers can be, he probably just colored a dog blue," I joked.
I know, I'm not funny.
When we got in the school there was a sign that had a cartoon of a school bus and an apple. It said "Principle's Office" with an arrow so we followed it in the direction.
In the office there was a young man, no older than 30, at a desk typing in an old computer, the decorations yelled Primary School, and many chairs against a wall. There was Hamish sitting in one crying.
"Hamish," I walked to him. "What happened?" I got down on one knee.
"I was just drawing," he cried as he jumped in my arms.
I held him and stood up.
"I'm Sherlock Holmes, you called us over because of Hamish's behavior."
"Oh, yes, Principle Brown will be right with you. You can go in her office," the man explained, "It's the first door on your left."
We walked inside and sat down. There was a man and women sitting with their son on the other side of the room. They gave us a rude look. The mother rubbed the son's arm. He was holding his eye.
They didn't even attempt to speak to us.
The desk has pictures of family members. There were coloring pages poorly colored hanging up on the walls. A cork board was filled with important looking papers but ever so often was a picture.
Once I sat down Hamish looked at Sherlock and whispered calmly, "I didn't do anything wrong Father."
"Unlikely!" the Principle marched in and took her seat. Her hair was in a tight bun and she was wearing a purple suit. "Hamish punched Dalton over a drawing."
Shocked, I looked at Hamish, "Is that true Hamish?"
"No," Sherlock stated.
That pretty much was all I needed to hear.
"Excuse me," Mrs. Brown was almost offended, "But you were not there. How could you know?"
I sighed, this poor women didn't know what can of worms she just opened.
"I know you are married and have three children. But none of them are from the same father. Poor man doesn't know that none of them are his. I know that you cheated your way threw college by sleeping with some of your professors. I know that you have one, two, three cats but one is fur less due to an allergy problem with your youngest. I know that you are having an affair with your husband, one of your lovers being the receptionist," Sherlock was annoyed, "The question is not 'How?' but 'Why?' Now why are you accusing my son of hitting a kid?"
Mrs. Brown was so shocked she didn't even blink. I almost felt bad for her, but then again she is trying to punish my son for something he didn't do.
The couple on the other side of the room was speechless.
"I apologize for him," I started as I stood up. I offered my hand to the father, "I'm Hamish's father."
Stunned he just shook my hand.
Sitting back down, "Now what happened?"
"W-well," Mrs. Brown tried to come back to reality, her face was very red. "Dalton, why don't you tell the story."
"Well, Hamish was drawing and then I asked him what he was drawing. Then he punched me in the face for no reason what for ever!" he explained.
Mrs. Brown looked at Hamish, "Now Hamish tell your side of the story."
"Well I was drawing a picture for Father because he was working a lot and I thought it would make him happy." By now Hamish was relaxed. "So then Dalton came up to me and asked me what I was drawing. But when I answered he said it was stupid and ripped it in half!" Hamish went in his pocket for the drawing, "I promise I didn't punch him. I was really angry at him but I didn't punch him."
"Then what happened to his eye?" the mother asked.
"He's faking it," Sherlock explained.
"What do you mean? His eye is swollen!"
"No, it's not, his eye is fine. If Hamish did hit him his right eye would not be the one injured. Hamish is a brown belt in karate and left handed. If he wanted to hurt him he would have."
Hamish got out the drawing and gave it to me since Sherlock was still talking. It was a picture of the three of us eating at the dinner table. "It's all okay," was on the top.
"Is this true, son? Did he not hit you?" The dad asked.
Dalton didn't answer. The silence was enough of an answer.
"I'm sorry for the trouble Dalton has caused,"The dad stood up.
"It's just child's play," I said as I stood.
Mrs. Brown stood up, still embarrassed, "Now Mr. Holmes, " She went to me.
"Oh, he's Mr. Holmes," I directed her to Sherlock.
"But you're Hamish's father. Mr. Holmes is Hamish's father."
"Hamish has two fathers," Sherlock stood up defensive. "Is there a problem with that?"
Mrs. Brown was almost scared of Sherlock, "No, not at all. I'm sorry for the inconvenience Mr. Holmes."
"Well that was a waste of time," Sherlock explained as he walked out of the office.
"Sherlock, be nice," I said as I followed him with Hamish.
We exited the school and Sherlock looked for a cab. "Am I in trouble?" Hamish asked me.
"No," Sherlock answered.
"You didn't do anything wrong," I said as I took his hand.
Hamish smiled to himself relieved. "I drew this for you father." He handed him the picture, "I'm sorry it is ripped in two. Dalton ripped it because he said he didn't like fairies."
Sherlock and I looked at each other. We both were hit with the same feeling.
Fairies?
We are humans, not fairies. So we are two men. But by now, shouldn't the world be different?
And why is Hamish being bullied for it. He's not the gay one. Even if he is, what's the problem?
