Hey all! Just wanted to apologize for the gap in updates; I just got my braces off two days ago (YAY!), but have had to have a ridiculous amount of dental work done that has taken forever, so as such have been having a hard time writing. However, because I'm so happy at having my braces off, I have given you a cute, little fluffy chapter, filled only with cuteness and no angst or heavy emotion (it was getting kind of old, anyway). And, I've already written ahead on the next chapter in an attempt to get back into the swing of things, so next update will not be four days! Promise! =) Thank you all for supporting me and following me! I never imagined this story would turn into what it has, and you all are who I have to thank, so truly, thank you so very much! I really love writing for you all and you're the ones who have made it possible that I can keep going. Your reviews and favorites and follows are what keep me going and give me encouragement. You all are lovely! Thank you so much! Have a great week you guys! (And good luck to anyone taking finals, like me!)

Chapter Thirty-Six: Fixing An Ouch

"What doing, Daddy?" Hamish cheerfully from where he was seated in between John and Sherlock in the cab, absentmindedly twirling the sleeve of his father's coat between his tiny fingers.

"We're going shopping, Hamish," the detective replied quietly, gazing out the window as he wrapped an arm around his son's middle and gently patted Hamish's side.

"Oh. 'Kay, Daddy." Chewing slightly on his bottom lip, the little boy leaned to his side, resting his weight against Sherlock's arm, yawning widely, as he had missed his nap for that day. "John go?" he asked, wide eyes staring up at Sherlock from where he w as resting.

"Yes. John's going, too," the detective chuckled, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb up and down the back of his son's hand as he shared a quick smile with the doctor, who was sitting just to the other side of Hamish.

"Oh. 'Kay, Daddy. What shop?"

"Not much," John lied, gently ruffling Hamish's curls. They were actually going shopping for gifts for the little boy's birthday, which was coming up in a few weeks. "We just need to get some food and some things for the case Daddy's working on."

"Oh," the little boy yawned, nestling further against Sherlock's arm. "Daddy?"

"Yes, Hamish?"

"Hame now nap?" he asked quietly, eyes already slipping shut.

"Of course," Sherlock chuckled deeply, moving his hand to cradle his son's and urge him downward.

Half-leaning, half-falling down, Hamish sighed softly to himself as he rested his head on his father's thigh, curling his fingers around the soft fabric of the detective's trousers. "Ta, Daddy," he whispered, yawning into Sherlock's leg.

"You're welcome," the detective murmured fondly, twirling a lock of Hamish's auburn curls between his fingers.

Murmuring tiredly to himself, the little boy fell asleep, hand subconsciously curling and uncurling around his father's trousers as he slept.

Sharing a quick smile with his flat mate, Sherlock waited patiently throughout the cab ride, absently playing with some of his son's silky curls.

Wanting to allow Hamish some sort of a nap for the day (and knowing the little boy would be extremely grumpy without it), Sherlock merely slipped out of the cab and curled his arm under his son's bottom, allowing the little boy's head to rest on his shoulder as he napped.

"Ready?" he asked quietly, gazing at John, who had paid the cabbie and hurried over to his side.

"Yep!" the doctor declared happily, giving his friend a sympathetic smile as he nodded at Hamish. "Sleepy, hmm? Poor little guy… Uhh, how about you take him and walk around until he wakes up and I'll go get some gifts. Anything in particular you'd like me to get him for you?"

"Oh, uhh… No thank you, John," the detective thanked.

"Right. Meet back in the galley in… An hour?"

"Yes. Good. See you then." With a small nod of his head and a smile, Sherlock turned and hurried into the mall while John went in the other direction, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Moving carefully so as not to jostle Hamish too much, Sherlock entered the mall, glancing around the large entrance as he debated where he wanted to go. Deciding he would take Hamish to the children's play area when he awoke, the detective turned to his right, heading towards the escalator that led up.

Arms growing tired from the dead weight of the little boy's sleeping form in his arms, Sherlock carefully shifted Hamish to his other side, settling him into the gentle dip of his waist.

"He's beautiful," came the soft voice of a woman. Turning around at the sound, the detective found an older woman, approximately 55 years of age, gazing wistfully at his son's sleeping form.

"Oh. Yes. Thank you," Sherlock answered politely, giving the woman, who bore a striking resemblance to Mrs. Hudson, a warm smile.

"Just a darling. How old is he?"

"Nearly two."

"Oh," she sighed happily, turning her gaze to Sherlock and giving him a warm smile. "So sweet. He looks just like you. It's clear he's your son," she murmured, giving the detective a gentle pat on the back.

Poised for a response, Sherlock stopped suddenly at the woman's last comment. "Yes," he murmured eventually, a bittersweet pang shooting through his chest. "Thank you."

"Of course, dear." Giving the detective one last smile, the older woman hurried ahead and left the elevator, making her way up to the next floor.

Twitching his lips into a small, fond smile, Sherlock placed his lips to Hamish's temple, allowing them to linger as he gave the little boy a tender kiss, smiling against the soft skin.

"Hamish… Hamish?" Sherlock asked delicately, gently shaking the little boy awake from where he was resting on his lap, as they were seated at a bench by the children's playground. "Can you wake up for me?"

"Mmm. Oh. Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Where is?" Hamish asked quietly, rubbing his cheek up and down Sherlock's arm. The little boy paused, however, a wide grin spreading across his face as he stared up at his father with bright eyes, precious features lighting up with his accomplishment.

"Hamish, wha—Oh!" the detective exclaimed quietly upon realizing why his son was looking up at him with a tiny grin. "Excellent job!" he praised, leaning forward and clutching Hamish close in a tight hug.

"Daddy!" the little boy giggled into Sherlock's chest, wrapping his arms (as well he could) around his father's neck, returning the hug.

"Oh, you're so clever," the detective murmured into his son's silky hair, quickly running his fingers over the little boy's back. "That was an excellent job using your new word, Hamish," he praised again, leaning back and scooting Hamish further back on his thighs so he could gaze at him properly.

"Hmm," the little boy giggled contently, his hands sliding to rest against Sherlock's jaw and exposed collarbone. "Good, Daddy," he sighed, tugging absently at the collar of the detective's shirt as he started to gaze around his surroundings. "Daddy, where is?"

"We're at the mall, Hamish," Sherlock chuckled, turning the tiny boy around on his lap so Hamish could have a clear view of the play yard. "See? We're waiting here while John does the shopping. Would you like to go over and play?"

Bouncing cheerfully in his father's arms, Hamish squirmed, quickly sliding from the detective's lap and onto the floor. "Go, Daddy?" he asked, tugging gently at Sherlock's trousers.

"Yes, of course you can," the detective chuckled, standing from the bench and giving his son a reassuring pat on the back. "Go on. I'll be here."

"Oh. No Daddy go?" Hamish asked quietly, giving his father a worried look.

"Would you like me to go?"

"'Es 'ease, Daddy. No Hame can," the little boy stated cheerfully, pointing to some of the larger toy sets.

"Ah. I see," Sherlock chuckled, bending down and offering his hand to his son. "Come on, then."

"Mmm." Grinning happily to himself, and deep green eyes scanning his new surroundings with a gaze uncannily like his father's, Hamish reached up, wrapping his little fingers around Sherlock's much larger ones as he huddled closer to the detective's leg.

"What's wrong, Hamish?" Sherlock asked, giving his son's tiny hand a gentle squeeze. "It's not much different from the park."

"Lots," Hamish answered, gazing warily at a large group of particularly loud teenagers as they crowded by.

"Yes," Sherlock murmured, staring after the group with almost the exact same expression as his son. He turned back to the little boy, and couldn't help but laugh out loud as he saw Hamish's face. "You're right. There are a lot of people," he chuckled lightly, crouching down until he was almost face-to-face with the little boy. "But I'll stay with you the whole time, okay? It'll be alright."

"Hmm? Oh," Hamish gasped quietly, too immersed in his observations to notice that his father had knelt down beside him. "What doing, Daddy?" he asked, cocking his head to his side as his wide, sea-green eyes scanned over the detective's face.

"Would you like me to carry you over there?" Sherlock asked gently in response, nodding towards the large aisle crowded with people.

"'Es, 'ease," Hamish replied, giving an earnest nod of his head as he took a step forward and wrapped his little arms around the detective's neck, grabbing a fistful of his father's curls as he did so.

Lips quirking at the tickling feeling of Hamish's hands in his hair, Sherlock stood, pulling the little boy up with him and turned, maneuvering his way through the large crowds of people, diaper bag swung over his shoulder.

"Ah. Here we are," he sighed softly, letting the bag slip to the floor as the glanced around the playground, unable to turn his nose up in distaste at the thought of how many germs must be lurking on the sets. He pushed the thought aside, however, as he heard Hamish start to giggle and bounce in his arms. "Alright, alright," he laughed, placing the little boy on the ground and smiling in delight at the happiness that was evident on his son's sweet features. "Where to first?"

"Uhh… 'Es?" Hamish asked, pointing to a small climbing set with a slide on the end.

"Sounds lovely." Slowly following after his son and wading through the young children running and screaming about, Sherlock watched as Hamish toddled up to the set and, using the handrail rope, pulled himself up the first step, grinning happily to himself. "Got it?" the detective asked, hurrying forward and placing a hand to his son's back as the little boy had started to fall backward.

"Mmm-hmm," Hamish hummed, hurrying up the next two steps.

Chuckling to himself, Sherlock pulled is hand away once Hamish was successfully at the "top," though the entire set only came up to about his waist, and pulled out his phone.

"Daddy?" the little boy asked worriedly, eyes scanning from left to right as he tried to figure out what to do.

"That's alright, Hamish. You're doing beautifully," Sherlock praised, moving to other side of the set, where the slide let out, keeping his camera positioned on his son. "Just come over here and slide down. I'm just at the bottom, see? Just like at the park."

"Oh," the little boy sighed in relief. "'Kay, Daddy." The sweet grin gracing his tiny lips once again, Hamish turned around, and squatted down at the entrance to the slide. "'Kay, Daddy?" he called down loudly, even though the detective was just a few feet away.

"I'm ready," Sherlock chuckled, giving Hamish a reassuring smile.

"'Kay." With a deep breath, as if to steady himself, the little boy sat down, and with one last quick to his father, shoved himself down, squealing as he slid down the tiny slide.

"Oh! Mwah!" Sherlock cried, simultaneously tucking his phone back into his pocket as he scooped Hamish into his arms, laughing along with his son as he pressed a stream of ticklish kisses to the little boy's cheeks and neck. "Got you!" he laughed, ignoring all the women who were murmuring in approval around him.

"No, Daddy," Hamish giggled, tucking his head into the collar of the detective's coat to stifle his laughing. "Daddy."

"Where next?" Sherlock murmured cheerfully, pressing one last, playful kiss to the tip of the little boy's nose.

"You, Daddy."

"I get to pick? Hmm," the detective hummed, turning to look around the room as he gave Hamish a sly glance out of the corner of his eye, which sent the little boy into a quiet fit of giggles. "That one?"

"'Es!" Hamish cried, giving Sherlock a kiss on the cheek in approval.

"Excellent," the detective murmured back, grinning softly at his son.

When, fifteen minutes after the time they'd agreed to meet at the front, John was standing at the entrance alone, the doctor gave a small huff of disapproval, rolling his eyes as he silently scolded himself, knowing that he shouldn't have expected Sherlock to remember.

Mumbling unhappily to himself, and with a ridiculous amount of bags in his hands and hanging from his forearms, John stomped back into the mall and hurried to the children's section, suspecting Hamish was probably playing there.

Trying not to fall backwards as he rode the escalator to the children's floor, John quickly exited, striding towards the playing area. The doctor stopped in his tracks however, a small smile spreading over his lips as he saw Sherlock make his way towards him… With Hamish seated cheerfully atop his shoulders, playing contently with the detective's raven curls as he talked to himself.

"Well, hello!" the doctor called, smirking at his flat mate. "You're up high, Hame!" he called, reaching an arm up to take the little boy's hand in his own.

"'Es, John! He'o!" Hamish yelled down, causing his father to wince and chuckle at the same time.

"Not so loud," he chuckled, reaching up to pull the little boy from his shoulders and place him on the ground.

"Mmm," Hamish hummed contently, hurrying forward to wrap his arms around John's leg. "He'o, John," he said into the fabric, staring up at the doctor with cheerful eyes.

"Hey there, little man," the doctor chuckled, gently ruffling the little boy's hair as he grinned down at him.

"He'o. Go now?"

"Oh. Well… Daddy still has to shop… I suppose I could take you home?" the doctor suggested, glancing at Sherlock for approval.

"Yes. That's all right with me. I shouldn't be too long. Hamish? You're going to go home with John, okay? I'll be home in a little while."

"'Kay, Daddy… Daddy?"

"Yes, Hamish?" the detective asked, keeling on the ground to see the little boy, who was still clutching a fistful of John's trousers in his small fist.

"B'bye cuddle?"

Eyes softening as he gazed at his son, Sherlock bent forward, wrapping his arms around Hamish's tiny body and pulling him into a tight hug, tucking his much smaller body into his arms. "Of course. You can always have a goodbye cuddle, Hamish. Mmm," he hummed, pressing his son closer for a few more moments before releasing him. "Better?"

"Mmm-hmm. 'Es, Daddy. Hame 'etter."

"Good," Sherlock murmured, giving his son a quick wink and running his thumb over the bottom of Hamish's chin before straightening. "Be back a little while, yes?"

"'Es. 'Kay, Daddy," the little boy said cheerfully, pressing back against John's leg as he smiled up at the detective. "B'bye, Daddy. Fun?"

"I'm most certainly going to try," Sherlock chuckled, smiling down at his son. "Bye, you two. Call me if you need anything."

"Yeah, yeah," John scoffed, giving a submissive wave of his hand. "We'll be fine. Right?"

"'Es!" Hamish replied, giving his father a reassuring smile.

"Of course. Bye, then.

"B'bye, Daddy," the little boy whispered, giving his father's leaving form a tiny wave with his little fingers.

"Good man," John murmured, smiling down at his little flat mate. "Ready?"

"'Kay! Go home?"

"Yep. Let's go!"

Sherlock returned to the flat nearly forty-five minutes later, and hurriedly stashed his bags in Mrs. Hudson's flats, along with John's (as the three of them were going to be wrapping the presents in the next few days), and then hurried up into the flat. The detective paused in the doorway as he saw John, lying on the ground, propped up on one elbow, playing toy cars with Hamish, grinning at the little boy as he slid the car across the floor.

Unable to help himself, Sherlock pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures, finding the scene in front of him to be strangely precious. Though he had not outright said it, the detective had John had a mutual agreement that both were parents to Hamish… Sherlock had made the doctor Hamish's guardian after all.

Smiling to himself and tucking his phone back into his pocket, the detective shuffled slightly in his spot and tugged off his coat. "Hello," he greeted, giving John a knowing smile as the doctor's head whipped around towards him.

"Daddy!" Hamish gasped happily. Toys quickly forgotten, the little boy jumped up and toddled over to his father, wrapping his little arms around Sherlock's leg. "Back, Daddy!"

"Well of course I'm back," the detective chuckled, pulling Hamish into a tight hug. "Mmm!" he laughed, pressing a soft kiss to his son's cheek. "What were you and John doing, hmm?"

"Cars!" Hamish declared, placing both of his hands to either side of his father's face.

"Ah, I see," Sherlock chuckled, reaching up and wrapping his long fingers around his son's tiny hand. "Did you two have a good time?" he asked, pressing a quick kiss to Hamish's palm.

"Mmm-hmm. 'Es, Daddy! John play at Hame an' play cars."

"Very good! Oh! Have you told John your new word yet, Hamish?" Sherlock asked excitedly, shifting the little boy to his hip.

"Oh. No, Daddy... John!"

"Yeah, little man?" the doctor chuckled, smiling at his little flat mate's excitement.

"Hame new!"

"Yeah? What new word did you learn?" John asked, moving closer.

"Where!" Hamish declared gleefully, tucking his head just under Sherlock's jaw as he giggled.

"Wow! Good job, Hame!" John praised, sharing a quick smile with his flat mate before coming over and giving Hamish a quick kiss on the cheek.

"John?"

"Yeah, bud?"

"Eat?" Hamish asked, suddenly frowning down at his stomach.

"Oh! Yeah that's right, we ordered takeaway, didn't we? Sorry bud, I totally forgot! I'll go run out and get it now, hmm?"

"Mmm-hmm," the little boy responded, nodding his head at the doctor.

"Right," John chuckled. "Be right back," he informed his flat mates, quickly tugging on his coat and heading down the stairs.

"Daddy play at Hame at cars?" Hamish asked softly, gazing up at his father with wide eyes.

"You'd like me to play with you, too?"

"'Es 'ease, Daddy," the little boy murmured, replacing his head under Sherlcok's jaw.

"That would be lovely, Hamish," the detective chuckled, moving over to the toys and plopping down on the ground. "Thank you for asking."

"'Es, Daddy. 'Kay." Clearing in toy-mode, Hamish silently slid out of Sherlock's lap and hurried over to his pile of cars. "Daddy," he stated plainly, holding the car in front of his father.

"This one's mine?"

"Mmm-hmm." Clearly engrossed in what he was doing, and chewing absentmindedly on his bottom lip, the little boy returned to the pile, and pulled out a green one (Hamish's current favorite color... It changed often.) "Hame," he whispered, drawing his brows together as he carefully placed the car between his legs.

"Yours," Sherlock translated silently, watching with mild wonder and amazement as his son sorted through the rather large pile of cars, handing the ones he obviously didn't want to the detective.

"Ah. Thank you," Sherlock thanked as the last of the cars were dolled out. He couldn't help but smile as he glanced between the two stacks of cars; all of his were older model cars with dull colors, while Hamish's pile consisted of vibrant colored vehicles, which look decidedly better than the ones in his pile.

"'Kay, Daddy. Good?" Hamish sighed, quickly straightening all of his cars out before giving his father a triumphant smile.

"That's excellent, Hamish. Now what?"

"Oh! Now..." Sherlock tried to follow along with instructions his son was clearly trying to tell him, though he could only make out a few words here and there as a lot of the explanation was mostly words Hamish could not fully pronounce yet.

"Good, Daddy?" the little boy asked eventually, clearly done with his lengthy instructions.

"Yes, I think so," Sherlock chuckled, lying on his side in the position John had taken earlier.

Hamish was practically beaming. "Good, Daddy!" he declared, giving the detective a wide grin. "Oh!" Having clearly forgotten something of importance, the little boy pushed himself up from his position on the floor, and hurried into the kitchen.

Sherlock chuckled after the little boy as he saw his son attempting to tug his shirt off as he ran. "Hamish, don't run and do that," he chuckled. "You might—" Suddenly, as if on cue, there came a loud crash, followed by a moment of silence which Sherlock recognized all too well.

"Hamish?" he called worriedly, instantly fleeing to the kitchen to find the little boy, curled up into a ball on the floor, clutching his arm. "Oh, Hamish," he sighed sadly, pulling the little boy's crumpled form into his arms, just as the sobs began.

"Shh," he soothed, gently rocking back and forth. "It's all right. You're okay, hmm? You just fell over..."

"No, Daddy," Hamish sobbed, curling his tiny form inward so it appeared even smaller and then pressing himself as close to Sherlock as he could. "Ouch, Daddy," he cried, wincing in pain as he shifted.

Panic starting to creep into his veins, Sherlock instantly pulled back, and gasped silently upon realizing there was blood on his exposed arm.

Not entirely sure of what to do and too panicked to think to call John, the detective hurried over to the sink and sat Hamish on the counter, though the little boy refused to let go of his shirt. "Hamish, I need to take a look at your arm, all right? Yes? Can you let me do that?" he asked gently, placing a comforting hand to the back of his son's head.

"No, Daddy," Hamish cried sadly, little face scrunching together in pain. "Ouch."

"I know. I know it hurts... But I'm going to try to make it all better, okay? But I can't do that if I can't see what hurts, right?" he asked, amazed at how calm he sounded, compared to what he was actually feeling on the inside.

"'Kay, Daddy." Sniffling madly, and attempting to stop the stream of tears streaming down his face, Hamish reluctantly released his grip around Sherlock's collar and pulled back.

"There's my good boy," the detective whispered, giving his son a loving kiss on the nose. Returning to the matter at hand, Sherlock quickly located where all the blood had come from, just above Hamish's right elbow. "I'm going to need to lift your arm a little," he murmured, giving Hamish a reassuring smile. "I'm not going to hurt it."

The detective sighed in relief as he saw that the injury looked much worse than it actually was. Hamish had scraped a little bit of the skin back when he fell. Though the gash was not deep it was long, hence all of the blood. Still not entirely sure how to proceed, Sherlock quickly tugged off Hamish's shirt, which was now stained with blood, and found a washcloth. "Right," he whispered, placing a reassuring hand to his son's back as he made to place the cool fabric against his arm. "This may sting a little, all right?" he asked, looking for reassurance.

With a tiny sniffle and a nod of his head, Hamish whispered an incredibly sad, "'Kay, Daddy."

"Very good job, Hamish." Wincing slightly himself, Sherlock carefully pressed the flannel to Hamish's arm, feeling a pang of guilt and sadness constrict in his chest as he saw his son's face scrunch up in discomfort and heard the tiny moan that escaped his lips. "I'm sorry," he whispered, quickly dabbing up the blood that had started to dry on Hamish's little arm.

"'Kay, Daddy," the small boy sniffled badly. "Daddy?"

"Yes, Hamish, what is it?"

"Daddy 'ease..." A sniffle. "D-daddy 'ease hum at Hame?" Hamish asked feebly, eyes falling to the ground, as if embarrassed.

"Of course!" Sherlock cried instantly, giving his son a warm smile. "I'd love to."

Upon hearing his father's gentle and comforting baritone voice, Hamish calmed down considerably and allowed the detective to finish cleaning his cut with little to no disagreement.

"You are doing so well," Sherlock praised, quickly dropping the stained cloth into the sink. "You're such a brave boy," he whispered, tenderly pulling the little boy into his arms. "I'm very proud of you... Now, all we need is a plaster, and then you'll be right as rain!" he added, hoping to cheer up Hamish, who looked miserable.

"'Kay, Daddy..."

After rummaging around the cabinets, Sherlock eventually found the plasters and then sat down at the kitchen table, opting to keep Hamish on his lap. "Right," he mumbled to himself, quickly tearing off the packaging of the plaster, which, ironically enough, was covered in race cars. "Ready?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Good." Careful not to upset the skin too much, Sherlock pulled Hamish's arm close to his face and, plaster ready, covered the cut with the padding. "Oh," he sighed, almost in relief. "Hamish, you did a very good job. That was very brave of yo—"

"No done, Daddy," the little boy inputted quietly, frowning slightly at the cars on his arm.

"What's not done, Hamish?" Sherlock asked, turning the little boy on his lap so they were facing each other.

"Kiss, "Hamish stated plainly, holding his arm up to the detective's face. "Make go b'bye," he whispered.

"Oh. Of course. My apologies." Giving his son a loving smile, and moving with incredibly tender hands, Sherlock pulled his son's arm to his lips, pressing a kiss to the plaster, careful not to press too hard so as not to hurt Hamish further. "All gone," he whispered.

"Mmm. Ta, Daddy," the little boy whispered, resting his head against Sherlock's chest as he closed his eyes, cradling his arm close.

"You did a very good job... You are a very brave, big boy," the detective praised, absentmindedly rocking back and forth in the chair. "Come on. I do believe that deserves an award," he said softly, pressing a tender kiss to the top of his son's curls. "How about a bath and then some ice cream before dinner, hmm?" he suggested. Sherlock couldn't help but smile as he felt Hamish relax in his arms. "Mmm-hmm. Good Daddy."

"I agree. Come on then."

Smiling fondly at his son, and minding his injured arm, Sherlock stood up from the table and, keeping Hamish close, hurried into the bathroom and started the water running, pressing another quick kiss to the cars plaster.