Hey guys! This one was a request from the lovely Writing Bird and I took a little artistic license with it.
Original request:
John and Sherlock talking about how Hamish is suddenly so grown up. They seem to have some running joke between them, which we don't realize until the end. It turns out that one of them caught Hamish wanking...
Feel free to leave suggestions and always remember to review! Love you 5ever!
Hamish was out with friends and John saw this as the perfect opportunity. No better one would surface for a while. As soon as the doctor got home he had beelined straight for the cleaning cupboard, much to Sherlock's dismay.
"I see," he said, lips pressed into a thin line. "It's going to be one of those days off."
John frowned. "What are you going on about?" he said, carefully diluting bleach solution in the kitchen.
His husband didn't look up from what he was doing. "Well, Hamish is out of the house and I was hoping we could've utilized this time to further experiment in disproving my male pregnancy hypothesis but by the looks of your cleaning gear you've decided to covertly attack our son's room."
The shorter man blinked. "Male pregnancy hypothesis?"
Sherlock sighed loudly, glancing up from his case file. "Go clean the bloody room John." He huffed.
"Right, you meant shagging didn't you?"
"Go clean."
"We can still shag if I've got time after I clean-,"
The detective looked up, exasperated. "For once having a spot in the armed forces you are the worst at following orders. Go. Clean. Your. Son's. Room." John took time to contemplate the pros and cons with marrying Sherlock Holmes as he climbed the stairs and threw the door to Hal's room open.
Debris was littered everywhere. The smell of decay hit the soldier first and he gagged, plugging his nose as he began to wade through the buildup of laundry that was overflowing from his hamper in the corner. His son's chemistry set was on the far side of the room, on the table where John used to do his medical work all those years before the night Sherlock invited him into his room. Presently, the table looked like it belonged in a burn ward on life support. There was more charred wood than actual table and some kind of sticky blue substance was dripping onto the carpet.
John consulted his cleaning caddy and went to work on the blue goo first. Well, to be honest, he tried to go to work on it, then aborted the mission as soon as he discovered that the blue goo was corrosive. He then put a bucket over it and called it good.
The violin started up downstairs, and John groaned. It was Solvegettio, which meant that Sherlock was upset and pouty. The doctor had to guess it was with the fact that he chose cleaning this wasteland over several enjoyable hours in his husband's bed.
Gritting his teeth and ignoring the shrill scraping of that damned instrument (the detective was playing it wrong on purpose, to irritate him) he set about tidying everything but the table with the chemistry set on it. He would get Sherlock to decontaminate that on a later date.
The clothes were the easiest to get out, and much to John's good luck it turned out the room was much cleaner after the dirty laundry had been extracted. The carpet was pulled out and thrown over the railing downstairs, to be beaten out, and then the doctor prepped his swiffer for the hardwood.
The floors hadn't seen a life without filth in at least nine years. Ever since Hamish grew old enough to blatantly disregard commands. The first one to be discarded was "clean your room". John threw out the seventh swiffer pad and wiped his brow. Sherlock had finished playing Solvegettio then, and the shorter man exhaled in relief, only to clench his fists as his husband picked another equally loathsome tune to screech along to.
"Almost done." He told no one as he set the mop aside to make his son's bed. Stripping the sheets and exchanging them, he looked, satisfied, upon the fresh bedding. The pillows were fluffed and then John put his efforts on the bedside table. There were only a few items skewed atop, an alarm clock, and a two semi-melted action figures. They were carefully thrown out, before the doctor moved on to the drawers.
Much to John's surprise, there was nothing in the first on but a magazine. Tentatively he picked it up, and then dropped it with a yelp when he realized what was in the magazine. The violin wailing stopped abruptly.
"John?" Sherlock asked at the bottom of the stairs. "John I'm coming up." Rapid footfalls sounded as the detective appeared beside him. The shorter man motioned helplessly to the glossy pages on the floor before him and made distressed noises. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and picked up the literature.
"Found that in his drawer." John said, rubbing his temple.
Sherlock looked up, his mouth quirking. "John this is pornography." He said bluntly.
John whimpered, snatching the magazine back and stuffing it in the bedside table like it was made of acid. He didn't mean to come across so squeamish but the thought of Hal looking at the magazine made him want to burn Playboy industries to the ground. Sherlock however thought this was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all day. "Stop it!" snapped John.
"It's a natural thing to happen at this age-,"
"I said stoppit!"
"John you're being unreasonable. He's a young man-,"
"Sherlock please!" John whined. "Not, not just now. I really can't believe…" he trailed. "I thought he was like you."
The detective's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean like me?" he said dangerously.
"Oh don't you do that." Shot back his husband. "Don't twist what I was saying into something bad. You know what I mean! Like you, like… like he didn't get off on shit like Playboy magazine!"
Both men sat down on Hamish's bed, thinking different completely different things. John's mind wandered to how the pages appeared to be stuck together and blanching at what that might entail and Sherlock was rejoicing that his son wasn't like him and was completely hormonal as boys his age should be.
"Well I think that's enough cleaning for one day." The doctor said in a small voice. "Male pregnancy hypothesis?" he asked.
Sherlock stood, offering his hand to his husband. "Of course." He said.
"Not one word to Hal. You hear me Sherlock?" John threatened as they walked out of the bedroom.
There was only a dark chuckle in reply.