Hello readers! Okay, so I finally proofread this chapter! =) There were a whole bunch of mistakes... =/ So... Many apologizes for all of the mistakes that were in this. Much thanks to my followers, readers, and all of you wonderful people who have reviewed. Have a great rest of your weekend guys! =) Hope you enjoy (the new, revised version)!
Chapter Fourteen: Sick
"All right, Hamish," Sherlock said, standing up from where he'd been sitting on the couch. "Time for your snack, and then we'll get back to learning about the colors, okay?"
"'Kay, Daddy," Hamish said, reaching his arms up towards Sherlock. "Up?"
"Up, what, Hamish?"
The little boy thought for a moment, letting his arms drop back onto the couch. "Oh!" he gasped excitedly, remembering the new word he was supposed to use.
"Up 'ease, Daddy!" he called excitedly, thrusting his arms forward again towards Sherlock.
"Very good!" the detective praised happily. Smiling, he leaned down, and allowed Hamish to wrap his small arms around his neck. Standing up again, he situated the little boy above his waist and walked into the kitchen, smiling slightly as Hamish began to twirl a lock of his hair between his chubby fingers.
He opened the refrigerator, careful to check beforehand that there were no experiments that might frighten Hamish. When he saw nothing too fearful, he opened the door all the way, looking for a snack for the little boy.
"Hmm… Do you want celery, strawberries, or apples, Hamish?" he asked, turning back to the little boy, whose attention was focused solely on playing with the detective's raven hair.
Chuckling, Sherlock reached in, and grabbed the strawberries, knowing that they were Hamish's favorite.
Deciding not to disturb the little boy, Sherlock moved over to the counter and began to wash and cut the fruit. He took little notice of the way Hamish began to tug absentmindedly at one of his ears, seeing how most of the little boy's attention was still focused on playing with his hair.
"Hamish?" he asked gently, pulling the little boy away from his thoughts.
The detective crossed over to the table, and sat down, deciding to keep Hamish with him rather than put him in his chair. He put the bowl of strawberries on the table, and set the little boy on his leg. Moving him forward until he was perched on the end of his knee, Sherlock wrapped one of arm around Hamish, keeping a firm hold around the little boy's middle with his large hand.
Upon seeing the fruit on the table, Hamish eagerly reached forward, grabbing a piece of strawberry in his hand, and shoved it hastily into his mouth. After swallowing, he reached forward again, grabbing more of the fruit in his chubby hands.
Smiling fondly, Sherlock tightened his grip around Hamish ever so slightly.
The smile, faded, however, as he saw the little boy begin to pull on his ears again. His small face scrunched together into a frown as he slowly continued to chew.
"Hamish?" Sherlock asked, now concerned. He turned the little boy around until they were face to face. "Do you ears hurt, Hamish?"
Still tugging at one of his ears, the little boy appeared to think for a moment, drawing his eyebrows together. Suddenly, a wave of tiredness washed over him, and he leaned forward, resting his head against Sherlock's stomach.
Slightly worried about Hamish's out-of-character actions, Sherlock pulled the little boy close, and bent down, speaking into Hamish's hair, "Are you tired, Hamish?" He glanced at the clock. 7:49. Usually Hamish started to tire out around 9:30. Never had he been tired this early before.
"Mmm, Daddy," Hamish replied quietly, nodding his head up and down against Sherlock's chest.
"Do you want to finish your strawberries?" the detective asked, running a soothing hand down the little boy's back.
"No, 'ease, Daddy," Hamish replied sleepily.
Despite feeling slightly anxious, Sherlock chuckled quietly.
"How about just a few more pieces, okay Hamish?"
The little boy thought for a moment, peering up at his father from where he was resting.
"Mmm… 'Kay, Daddy…" he replied eventually.
"Good boy," Sherlock said thankfully. He leaned down and gently kissed Hamish's forehead, smiling at the ticklish feeling of his son's auburn hair brushing against his lips and nose.
Slowly, Sherlock turned Hamish's small form around until the little boy was facing forward towards the table again. The detective wrapped his hand protectively around Hamish's stomach, scooting the little boy close to his chest and stomach, rather than sit him on his knee. Hamish leaned back, letting his head rest against Sherlock's chest.
Using his free hand, the detective grabbed a piece of strawberry and tenderly fed it to Hamish. He waited patiently for the little boy to finish chewing, and then continued, feeding him a few more pieces before stopping. He stood up, lifting Hamish as he did so, and moved the little boy's small form until he was resting just above his waist.
Suddenly, all of Hamish's tiredness seemed to dissipate, and the little boy sat up, grasping tightly onto Sherlock's shirt with one hand. He watched contently as his father moved the bowl of strawberries towards the sink.
"Daddy?" he asked. Upon hearing the little boy, Sherlock stopped moving the bowl, and turned his attention to Hamish. Instantly, he took notice of how the little boy appeared to be more energetic. He felt a small wave of relief was over him. He'd been worrying over nothing; Hamish was fine.
"Yes, Hamish?"
"Daddy?" the little boy asked again, this time leaning forward slightly, keeping ahold of his father's shirt with one hand and pointing haphazardly at the bowl of strawberries with the other. Subconsciously, the detective tightened his grip about Hamish's small body as he felt the little boy lean forward precariously.
"Oh! Yes of course you can have some more. Here." Smiling, Sherlock moved the bowl closer to Hamish, who eagerly reached forward, unsteadily grabbing a few pieces of fruit as he did so.
"'Kay, Daddy," he said happily, trying not to drop the pieces of strawberry.
Laughing at his son's efforts, Sherlock put the bowl in the sink and placed his hand under Hamish's.
"Put them here," he chuckled, nodding at his open hand.
Hamish looked at his father's outstretched hand, then at the detective's face, and then back to his hand.
"Oh… 'Kay, Daddy," he said, understanding what he was to do.
Very delicately, as if he was worried he might hurt either his father's hand or the already-crushed strawberries between his fingers, Hamish moved his tiny hands towards Sherlock's and tenderly placed the pieces of strawberries on the detective's palm. Focusing intently on the fruit, he leaned forward, and, very seriously, began to situate the fruit, delicately moving them apart from each other with his chubby fingers.
The detective stared fondly at the little boy, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly as he felt Hamish's tiny fingernails brush over his palm.
Satisfied with his work, the little boy gave a slight nod of his head, and turned back to Sherlock, smiling up at the detective, before turning back to his father's outstretched hand and eating the rest of the fruit, one piece at a time.
"Good job, Hamish," Sherlock praised, tenderly smoothing down some of the little boy's unruly curls as he did so. "All right, then. How about some quick television before bed, hmm?"
"'Es, Daddy!" Hamish replied happily, practically bouncing in Sherlock's arms. Chuckling quietly, he moved out of the kitchen, and sat down on the couch, grabbing the remote as he did so.
Shortly after the cartoon (chosen by Hamish) had started, Sherlock began to notice that the little boy was tugging at his ears again. He also appeared to be becoming sleepy once again. Yawning widely, Hamish, who had been sitting up on Sherlock's stomach, leaned forward, lying down on his father's chest. His eyes became heavy as he continued to watch the cartoon from where he was resting on Sherlock's chest.
Trying not to worry too much, Sherlock placed his hand on Hamish's small back, rubbing his thumb back and forth as the little boy breathed heavily against him.
Upon feeling the soothing feel of his father's hand, Hamish's eyelids became heavy, and he fought to keep them open, trying to focus on the television.
Sherlock smiled fondly as he saw how the little boy's eyelids fell shut, and then opened quickly as he tried to stay awake.
"Come on, Hamish," the detective sighed, sitting up from his position on the couch, keeping his hand firmly on the little boy's back. "Time for bed."
"Mmm... 'Kay, Daddy..." Hamish sighed, nodding against Sherlock's chest, pressing his face into the soft fabric.
Slowly, cuddling the little boy close, Sherlock stood up, and began to walk towards his room, bouncing gently as he did so. He began to rub his hand slowly up and down Hamish's back.
Once in his room, the detective walked over to the cot, and gently placed Hamish inside, trying not to disturb him too much.
"Daddy?" Hamish asked quietly as he felt Sherlock pull his arms away and out of the cot. He reached up, grabbing one of his father's fingers as he did so.
"Yes?" Sherlock murmured, leaning in towards the little boy. He placed his free hand on the side of Hamish's small head, tenderly twirling a lock of he little boy's auburn hair between his fingers.
"Hmm…" Hamish sighed, already falling asleep.
"Goodnight, Hamish," Sherlock murmured bending down to press a kiss to the little boy's forehead. "Sleep well."
The detective tried pulling his hand away, but when Hamish's small finger remained tightly wrapped around his own, he decided just to lie down on the bed, keeping his hand inside the cot. He smiled fondly at the sensation as Hamish's fingers tightened slightly, and the little boy let out a content sigh.
"Daddy?"
Sherlock was awoken by the sound of Hamish's small voice calling out in the night. There was something different, though, Sherlock noticed. It sounded as if Hamish was in pain.
Instantly, Sherlock sat up, rolling over on the bed, and hurried towards the cot. He looked in, and even in the darkness, he could see Hamish's little face scrunched up in discomfort.
Frantically, Sherlock reached in and pulled the little boy out as tenderly as he could.
"Daddy," Hamish whimpered. Eyes scrunched shut, he reached forward blindly, trying to hold onto Sherlock. "Daddy," he cried again, only adding to his father's alarm.
Quickly, Sherlock pulled Hamish close, hurriedly running a hand over the little boy's face and back, trying to understand what was wrong. However, he found no evidence of external injury.
Trying to stay calm, so as not to add to Hamish's discomfort further, Sherlock hugged the little boy close to his chest. Keeping a firm hold of the little boy, the detective began to gently smooth his hand over his son's auburn curls, hoping to provide some sort of comfort for the little boy.
"Hamish? What's wrong? Does something hurt?" he asked quietly. He felt the little boy nod against his chest.
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish whimpered quietly, talking into Sherlock's shirt.
"Do you think you could show me where it's hurting?" the detective asked tenderly, rubbing a comforting hand up and down Hamish's tiny back. He started to move the little boy away, trying to place him on the bed.
"Noo," Hamish moaned. Shaking his head, the little boy pressed himself further into Sherlock, clinging to the detective with his small fists.
"Okay, okay," Sherlock said quickly, clutching the little boy back to his chest.
Pressing his small form against his father, Hamish shivered—almost violently—in Sherlock's arms, only adding to the detective's anxiousness.
"Are you cold, Hamish?" he asked, struggling to hide his worry.
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish replied sadly as another shiver coursed through his small body.
"Okay," Sherlock murmured to himself, trying to figure out what to do. "Hamish? I need to lay you down, okay?"
The little boy sniffled, looking up at his father. He nodded slowly. "'Kay…"
Tenderly, trying to keep his arms wrapped around Hamish as much as he could, so as to give him some sort of warmth, Sherlock placed the little boy on the bed.. He leaned down, and pressed his lips to Hamish's forehead, testing for a temperature. The little boy's skin was incredibly hot.
"Oh, Hamish," he sighed sadly, leaning back. "Hamish, I'm sorry, but I need to take your shirt and trousers off, okay? We need to cool you down, all right?" He moved down, slowly easing the little boy's shirt off.
"No… 'Ease, Daddy?" Hamish asked quietly, trying feebly to push his father's hands away.
Sherlock couldn't help but feel a stab of sadness rush through him upon hearing his son's tiny voice. He felt his eyes sting as he stared down at Hamish's sad face.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, silently telling himself to continue. He quickly pulled off Hamish's shirt and pants, and then wrapped his arms back around the little boy, cradling him in the crook of his arm. Hamish sighed, glad to be enveloped in the warmth of Sherlock's arms.
"Hamish, can you show me where it hurts?"
"Ouch?" the little boy asked quietly, peering up at Sherlock.
"Yes. Yes, can you show me where the 'ouch' is?"
Nodding slowly, Hamish took one hand, and pointed to his stomach and then began pulling on his ear.
"Your stomach and ears hurt?"
"'Es, Daddy. Ouch." Frowning, Hamish started tugging on one of his ears, like he had earlier that day.
"Yeah, I know. Ouch…" Sherlock murmured, more to himself, worried and unsure about what he should do. "We're going to have to go and wake John up, okay?" The detective turned his attention back to Hamish, who was staring up expectantly at him, his small lips drawn down in a sad frown. He gave a little nod of his head in response.
Trying to move Hamish as little as possible, Sherlock stood up off the bed. Moving swiftly, he left the bedroom and hurried up the stairs to John's room.
"John?" he whispered loudly, swinging open the door. "John?" he called, louder this time. When his flat mate remained asleep, Sherlock hurried over the bed, keeping Hamish close, and gently shook the doctor's arm.
"John? John, wake up."
"Hmm? What? Sherlock?" he asked groggily, sitting up. His eyes fell upon a rather ill looking Hamish clutched tightly to his flat mate's chest.
"Is everything all right?" he asked, turning his attention back to Sherlock.
"Hamish is sick. His ears and stomach are hurting him and he has a high fever," the detective said frantically, now unable to control his anxiety. "And I don't know what to do to make it stop—"
"Okay, okay, okay," John said quickly, getting out of bed. He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock, he probably just has an ear infection. It's very common among young kids; it's nothing to worry about at all. We'll just need to get him some Tylenol to help with the pain and fever," he said calmly, giving Sherlock a reassuring smile. "Let me feel," he said, placing his hand on the little boy's forehead. His eyebrows pulled together slightly upon feeling how warm Hamish was.
"What?" Sherlock questioned anxiously upon seeing the look on John's face. "What's wrong, John?"
"Nothing, hopefully. He's just really hot, that's all. But it should be fine. Don't worry," he added reassuringly. "I don't know if we have any infant Tylenol, though. We'll have to go check." He nodded towards the doorway and exited the room, walking down the stairs, Sherlock right at his heels, clutching Hamish close.
The trio entered the kitchen. "Sherlock, get him a sippy cup and fill it with water. See if he'll drink it," John ordered as he began looking through the kitchen, trying to find some Tylenol for Hamish.
Sherlock found one of the little boy's cups, and quickly filled it with water. Cup in hand, he left the kitchen and sat down on the couch, cradling Hamish in his arms.
"Hamish?" he asked. "Can you try and drink this for me? We're going to see if it helps, okay?"
The little boy closed his eyes together for a moment, tugging at one of his ears again.
"Ouch, Daddy," he mumbled, frowning as he pulled at his ear.
"I know, Hamish," Sherlock replied quietly, staring down at his son with sad eyes. "I'm going to try and make it better, okay?"
"Mmm… 'Kay, Daddy," Hamish whispered quietly, opening his eyes to look up at his father. Sherlock couldn't help but notice the way the little boy's eyes were glazed over. He lowered the cup, placing it in Hamish's mouth. Hesitantly, the little boy began drinking, slowly sucking at the liquid.
"I'm going to have to run out and get some," John called. Sherlock looked up, watching as his flat mate emerged from the kitchen, already pulling on his jacket.
"I shouldn't be long, okay? In the meantime, we need to try and get his temperature down. You're going to need to give him a cold bath. He's not going to like it, okay, Sherlock? But we need to cool him down. I'll be back as soon as I can. If anything happens, ring me?"
John's instructions had only added to Sherlock anxiety. He let out an unstable breath. "Yes, John," he sighed shakily.
"Right," the doctor said, giving a slight nod of his head. He turned around and hurried out the front door, leaving Sherlock alone with Hamish.
"I'm sorry you're sick, Hamish," he murmured, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the little boy's nose.
Hamish closed his eyes, sighing quietly at his father's kiss.
Sherlock waited patiently for Hamish to finish drinking the water, holding the little boy close.
"Okay, Hamish," he said, pulling the cup out of Hamish's mouth. "Come on. We have to go take a bath, all right?"
"'Kay, Daddy."
Sherlock picked the little boy up and moved to his room, walking into the bathroom. He started the water running, trying to make it as warm as possible for Hamish. Letting the tub fill up, and still holding the little boy close to his chest, Sherlock reached under the sink, grabbing some of Hamish's toys, hoping they might help to take his mind off the cold water.
He turned back to the tub and switched the water off, tossing the toys in.
Sherlock quickly discarded Hamish's nappy and sat down on the ground, sitting the little boy in his lap.
"Hamish, the water is going to be a little cold, all right? But it's going to help make you better, okay?" he said tenderly, staring sadly into Hamish's dark green eyes.
"'Etter?" the little boy asked quietly, looking up at Sherlock with heavy eyes.
"Yes," Sherlock whispered back.
"'Kay, Daddy," Hamish sighed sadly, nodding his small head.
Remaining seated, Sherlock lifted the little boy up underneath the armpits and moved him over the water. He quickly lowered the little boy into the cool water, feeling a painful amount of guilt run through his body as he saw the look on Hamish's face upon being lowered into the cold water.
"Daddy!" he gasped, gripping tightly onto Sherlock's hand, desperately trying to get away from the freezing water enveloping his body. "No, Daddy! 'Ease!"
Upon hearing Hamish's cries, Sherlock felt a tremendous amount of pain swell in his chest; he couldn't breath; it seemed his whole body was aching with guilt and sadness.
"I'm sorry, Hamish," he breathed, trying to catch his breath.
"Daddy," the little boy whimpered, starting to cry. Another wave of guilt and sadness washed over him as Hamish shivered violently, tears streaming down his small face.
"Just a few more minutes, okay?" Sherlock begged. "Would you like to play with some of your toys?" he asked feebly, reaching down to the other end of the tub and grabbing a small plastic boat. He placed the toy in front of Hamish, who, after a moment's pause, reached down and began playing with the small toy.
Sherlock managed to keep Hamish in the water for several more minutes before the little boy grew tired of playing with the toys and remembered how cold he was.
"Daddy?" he asked, stretching his small body, trying to pull himself out of the water.
Sherlock quickly found a towel and plucked Hamish out of the tub, wrapping the warm fabric tightly around him.
"Ahh," Hamish sighed upon feeling the warmth of the towel surround his small body.
"You did such a good job, Hamish," Sherlock praised, whispering into his son's hair as he hugged the little boy close. He turned his head, and pressed a loving kiss to Hamish's forehead. Moving back, he placed his hand to the side of Hamish's face, stroking his thumb over the little boy's smooth cheek.
"Daddy," Hamish sighed. Closing his eyes, the little boy leaned into his father's touch.
Sherlock quickly dried Hamish off, and put a clean nappy on, but decided to keep him undressed, as he was still quite hot. He began to slowly pace around the flat, waiting anxiously for John to return. Hamish wrapped his tiny arms around the detective's neck, resting his head against Sherlock's collarbone.
"Daddy?" Hamish whimpered, talking against his father's neck.
"What is it, Hamish?" the detective replied worriedly.
"Ouch," Hamish said, pointing to his stomach. His eyebrows pulled together as if he was confused.
"Hamish?"
Suddenly, the little boy's whole body lurched forward, as if to throw up. Knowing what was happening, Sherlock hurried into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl and situated it just as the little boy convulsed again, throwing up this time.
"Oh, Hamish," Sherlock said sadly, rubbing circles up and down Hamish's back, trying to comfort the little boy.
"Daddy!" Hamish cried, tears falling from his eyes. He turned around, and pressed his face against Sherlock's chest, staining the fabric with his tears.
"Shhh," the detective whispered, kissing Hamish's head and rubbing his hand up and down the little boy's back. "I know. I know... I'm so sorry," he whispered, feeling that same sensation of guilt and sadness come over him.
"So sorry..." he murmured, talking into Hamish's hair. He felt his eyes sting as he heard the little boy sobbing against his chest. "I'm so sorry, Hamish," he whispered as a single tear fell from his own eyes.
"Daddy!" Hamish cried, sobs shaking his body.
"I don't know what to do!" Sherlock cried to himself, desperately trying to comfort his son.
Just then, he heard the sound of the front door opening.
"John," he sighed, relieved, and hoping that the medicine his flat mate had would help to ease some of his son's pain.
"Daddy!" Hamish sobbed again as Sherlock stood up, hurrying over to the doorway.
"Hey!" John called, reaching the top of the stairs. His gaze moved, glancing back and forth between a very anxious-looking Sherlock and the sobbing Hamish clutched close to his chest.
"What happened?" he asked, hurrying into the kitchen with the medicine.
"He threw up," Sherlock replied tersely, rubbing his hand up and down Hamish's back again. "Shhh," he whispered, kissing the little boy's forehead. "John's back, and he's got some medicine that should help make you better, okay?"
Hamish looked up at his father, his cheeks flushed and wet from the tears. "'Etter?" he sniffled.
"Yes," Sherlock murmured sadly. He moved his hand, and began to gently brush away the tears from his son's face, feeling another pang of sadness course through him.
"Here, Hame. I need you to drink this for me," John said, coming over to Sherlock and Hamish, a spoonful of medicine in hand.
Still sniffling, the little boy looked up at Sherlock for reassurance before turning back to John and opening his mouth slightly in preparation.
John quickly slid the spoon into Hamish's mouth, pouring the liquid in. The little boy swallowed, making a face as he did so.
"No, Daddy," he mumbled, turning around in Sherlock's arms. The detective couldn't help but laugh out loud at the look on the little boy's face, though Hamish barely noticed. He reached his chubby arms up, wrapping them feebly around his father's neck, and pressed his cheek against the base of Sherlock's neck, sighing tiredly as he did so.
Swaying slightly, Sherlock turned his head to the side and pressed another kiss to the little boy's forehead. Tilting his head to the side, the detective let his cheek rest tenderly on top of Hamish's head, breathing in, allowing the sweet smell of his son and the feel of his silky hair against his cheek calm him.
He turned his attention back to John. "Now what?" he asked, calming down slightly.
"Now all we can do is wait, unfortunately," John replied, giving a slight nod of his, staring sadly at the little boy.
Several hours later, after Hamish had thrown up several more times, an incredibly frustrated and shirtless Sherlock was pacing the flat, clutching the little boy, who was crying, close to his chest. A very tired looking John was sat on the couch, running his fingers through his short hair.
"You're a doctor, John!" Sherlock hissed. "You should be able to fix him! Look at him, he's—he's—" Upon hearing Hamish cry even louder, Sherlock quickly stopped speaking, and moved the little boy, cradling him in the crook of his arm.
"Shhh," he whispered calmly, brushing his thumb over the little boy's cheek. "It's okay, Hamish. Daddy's here." He continued to tenderly move his thumb across Hamish's cheek, as it seemed to calm him down considerably.
"Sorry, John," he muttered quickly. "It's just—I can't do anything! He's in pain and I can't do anything! I can solve impossible mysteries, but I can't stop him from hurting. It's just so frustrating!" he ranted, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible for his son's sake.
"Daddy?" Hamish whimpered weakly.
"Yes, Hamish? What is it? Is everything okay? Does something hurt?" he asked frantically, before noticing that Hamish had stopped crying.
"No, Daddy," he replied feebly, blinking slowly up at Sherlock. Tiredly, and with heavy eyelids, now exhausted from the previous hours, Hamish reached up towards Sherlock. "Up?" he asked, his voice weak and raw from crying and throwing up.
"Of course," Sherlock whispered, so quietly, he wasn't even sure John heard. Gingerly, he moved the little boy, hugging him close to his bare chest. He noticed how Hamish's skin felt much cooler to the touch. Sighing in relief, he rubbed the palm of his hand up and down Hamish's bare back, smiling for the first time in several hours.
"I think the worst is over, Hamish," he murmured happily, pressing an incredibly tender kiss to the little boy's warm cheek.
John cleared his throat, standing up off the couch. Tiredly, he began walking towards the stairs, thoroughly exhausted from the night's endeavors. "I'm off to bed," he said to Sherlock, "I still have to work tomorrow." He nodded at Hamish. "I think he should be fine for the rest of the night. Poor thing is probably exhausted." he said, peering sadly at the little boy in his flat mate's arms. "Goodnight, Hame. Hope you feel better, little man," he said, quickly kissing the little boy on the cheek. He continued walking towards the stairs, calling back, "'Night, Sherlock."
"Goodnight, John. Thank you again for all of your help."
"Mmm,"the doctor replied tiredly, smiling back at his flat mate before hurrying up the stairs, anxious to be able to sleep.
Keeping one hand protectively on Hamish's back, Sherlock walked into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and laid down on the bed. He placed the little boy so he was sitting up on his stomach. Hamish peered at the detective with tired eyes.
"Hamish," Sherlock began, absentmindedly twirling a lock of the little boy's hair between his fingers. "You are such a brave and strong little boy. I'm so proud of you, Hamish." Sherlock paused, taking a deep breath, and closing his eyes. "I'm sorry you got sick, hmm? But hopefully tomorrow will be much better, okay?" he whispered, opening his eyes once again to peer at the little boy lying on his chest.
Eyebrows pulled together, Hamish scooted himself up towards Sherlock's face. He placed one tiny hand against the detective's cheek for balance.
"Ouch 'etter, Daddy?" he asked quietly, a small glint of hope in his deep green eyes.
"Yes," Sherlock whispered, staring intently into his son's eyes. He reached up and tenderly brushed away some of Hamish's curls, smiling sadly at the little boy's tired face. "Yes, Hamish... All better."
"Oh!" the little boy sighed happily. He leaned forward, and placed his head against Sherlock's cheek. "Daddy..." he whispered, draping one arm around the detective's neck as he did so. "'Nigh, Daddy?" Using all of his energy, Hamish lifted his head up to look his father.
"Of course, Hamish. You can sleep now..."
Smiling sadly, Sherlock moved Hamish onto his chest, placing one hand on the back of the little boy's head.
Smiling contently, Hamish leaned into his father's comforting skin, snuggling his head against the base of Sherlock's neck. He reached up, haphazardly trying to find the detective's face.
"'Nigh, Daddy..." The little boy's small cheek moved against his father's skin as he spoke. "'Ove..." he murmured. Shifting slightly, Hamish snuggled himself against the base of his father's collarbone, his head fitting almost perfectly into the space.
"Daddy..." he sighed, contently, allowing his full weight to lean into Sherlock as a wave of tiredness washed over him.
Still smiling slightly, Sherlock reached up, and took ahold of Hamish's tiny hand, which was resting upon his jaw. Wrapping his fingers around his son's tiny hands, Sherlock moved Hamish's small fingers to his lips.
"Goodnight, Hamish... I love you, too," he whispered before pressing a tender kiss to the little boy's fingers.
"Mmm..." Hamish sighed, smiling against Sherlock's skin.
"I love you so much..." He pressed another quick kiss to the little boy's fingertips. Drifting off into sleep, Hamish subconsciously wrapped his tiny hand around one of his father's fingers.
Smiling lovingly at the little boy snuggled close to his chest, Sherlock wrapped his hand around Hamish's small fingers, covering his son's entire hand with his own. He moved down, placing both their hands on his chest, then flattened his hand out, keeping Hamish's trapped safely underneath his own. He couldn't help but sigh happily as the little boy's hand rested perfectly in the gap at the bottom of his neck. In his sleep-induced state, Hamish began to move one of his small fingers slowly against his father's skin, absentmindedly tracing the gap he'd traced so many times before.
Sherlock smiled, now very content that Hamish's sickness was over and that the little boy was snuggled close to his chest. Turning his head ever so slightly, Sherlock pressed one last kiss to his son's forehead, this one more loving and more tender than all the rest.
Feeling his own tiredness wash over him, Sherlock moved his free hand and placed it tenderly on Hamish's small back, still amazed at how soft and smooth his son's skin was.
Slowly rubbing his thumb over Hamish smooth skin, he whispered again, "Goodnight, Hamish...Sleep well..."
And with that, both father and son, wrapped in each other's embraces quickly fell asleep.