"John, what you are watching?"

"Oh." He quickly reached for the remote and muted the television.

Sherlock was at New Scotland Yard, so John had taken the opportunity to watch Doctor Who while his annoying flatmate was gone and Hamish was napping.

"What it is?"

"It's just a show, mate."

"I watch it?"

"Um… Yeah I guess that's okay. This one isn't too scary." He pulled Hamish onto his lap and took it off mute. "If you want me to turn it off just say so, okay?"

"Okay. What his name?"

"He's The Doctor."

"Like you!"

"Yeah. He's a special kind of doctor though."

"Shush," said Hamish, apparently already quite absorbed in the show. "What is lady?" he said after a few minutes of silence.

"That's his best friend Rose."

"Okay. What is light? It is a torch?"

"That's his sonic screwdriver."

"What it does?"

"It does lots of things. It opens doors and fixes things and scans things for him."

"Want one."

"Yeah, me too, little man."

Over the next week, Sherlock was busy dashing about London after some serial killer or other, so John and Hamish watched all of the New Who episodes the good doctor deemed suitable. Being the toddler's first doctor, David Tennant was instantly his favourite, and Hamish spent a considerable amount of his time trying his best to look like the tenth doctor. He'd been extremely displeased when John hadn't been able to tame his dark curls enough to style them like The Doctor's.

They were walking past the Converse store one afternoon when Hamish stopped dead in his tracks.

"John!"

"What is it, mate?"

"Shoes! I get shoes, John?"

"What shoes?"

"Like ah Doctor." He was pointing excitedly in the window at a pair of white Converses and grinning.

"Why don't we see if they've got any in your size, Hame?"

His Winnie the Pooh trainers were abandoned the second his new ones were paid for, and for the rest of the day, he would stop every few steps to admire the shoes he was wearing.

John was yet to find him the rest of the costume, as brown pinstripe suits for under-twos were not exactly a la mode. He was complaining about it to Mrs. Hudson one day when she volunteered to make him one for his birthday.

They'd put up a shelf in the bedroom that Hamish could reach which housed his fast-growing collection of Doctor Who figurines. He had two cybermen, three Daleks, the Ninth, Tenth, and Eleventh Doctors, Rose, Amy, Rory in casual wear, Rory as a Centurion, an Ood, a TARDIS of course, and a TARDIS interior play-set; all courtesy of Uncle Mycroft. He was considerably unhappy that he'd had to get the Eleventh Doctor's TARDIS as he insisted that he was "not real Doctor". He'd been on the look-out for a Donna figure (his favourite companion) but had not had any luck. Once, in Hamleys, John had caught him demanding from some employee, "Where Donna is?"

John somehow managed to forget how utterly terrifying the Clockwork Robots were, so Hamish refused to go to bed by himself for a week because, "There is ticks." They'd also had to take the batteries out of every clock in the flat that made any noise at all.

One afternoon while John was helping Mrs. Hudson with a broken door handle, they heard an incredibly loud and fantastically furious shout from upstairs.

"Daddy! You broked it, Daddy!" Then Hamish started crying.

"I'm sorry, Hamish, it was an accident."

"No! Not touch! Go away, Daddy!"

A door slammed and John decided he should probably intervene.

"Um…" he poked his head through the doorway to find Sherlock on the sofa with his head in his hands. "What's happened then?"

"I accidentally stood on his stupid blue box."

"TARDIS, Daddy!" came from the bedroom.

"Hamish?" John carefully opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. Hamish was curled up in the middle of Sherlock's bed, wrapped around his TARDIS. "Can I have a look, little man?"

It was well and truly broken, and Hamish was well and truly fuming.

"It's okay, Hame. Can you settle down and listen for a little minute? Come sit on my lap. It's okay." Once the little boy was settled against his chest, John said, "Hamish, Daddy didn't mean to break it, it was just an accident. I know that you're upset, but it's okay. Tomorrow we can go to the shop and get a new one, okay?"

"No. Don't want new one. Want my one."

"I know. I'm really sorry, Hame. And Daddy's really sorry too. He didn't mean to. Now this is why we don't leave our toys on the floor."

"No, it waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"For ah Doctor. He is 'ighting ah Daleks."

"Oh."

"Now he stuck."

"Oh, I see. Why don't we watch some Doctor Who until dinner time?"

"Okay." He jumped down onto the floor and ran into the living room. "It okay, Daddy. I get new one. Watch ah Doctor ah me?"

"Yes, I suppose I can watch it with you."

"Which one do you want, Hame?"

"Donna ah spider one."

John got home from work one afternoon to find an empty bottle of blue paint sitting at the top of the stairs and proceeded with caution.

His flatmates were sat in the middle of the living room floor, painting a large cardboard box. Apparently Mrs. Hudson had recently acquired a new washing machine.

"John! You is back!" Hamish jumped up and grabbed John's hand with his own wet blue one. "Look! It my TARDIS! But little on ah inside."

"Wow, Hamish, that's amazing!"

"Mhmm. Daddy help me."

"It isn't quite finished," said Sherlock, whose pyjama shirt had also had a makeover and was now almost completely TARDIS blue. "He has the most incredible attention to detail."

"Need a light."

"Yes, apparently there's a light on the top."

They'd painted the entire box blue, and had finished the windows and door handles. Sherlock was in the midst of painting the sign on the door, copying it off a picture on his phone and trying not to slip as Hamish kept pulling the doors open and closed.

"Hamish, love, could you please just wait until I'm finished before you test out the doors?"

"Okay, Daddy."

Eventually it was finished. Hamish had surprisingly settled with a not-so-accurate-to-the-show torch stuck through the roof and covered with an empty jam jar for the lantern, and was now sitting inside the TARDIS with his figures.

He emerged half-an-hour later looking tired but very happy, and pulled himself into Sherlock's lap. "Thank you, Daddy," he said. "Like my TARDIS."

"You like it?"

"Mhmm. Thank you, Daddy."

"You're welcome, Hamish. I'm glad you like it."

"Daddy?"

Sherlock had just gotten into bed when the little voice floated over from Hamish's cot.

"What is it, Hamish?"

"I sleep ah you?"

"Yes, I suppose that's fine."

There was some rustling and grunting, and a small thump as he reached the floor, before some pattering towards the bed. Then some more grunting and rustling as he pulled himself up and plopped himself on Sherlock's chest.

"Hello, Hamish."

"'Lo, Daddy. Uh-oh, I 'orgetted woobie."

"Off you go and get it then."

More grunting, rustling, thumping and a small fist to Sherlock's head ("Oopsie. Sorry, Daddy.") and Hamish was back in bed. "I have him now."

"Excellent work. You need to go back to sleep now, alright?"

"Okay, Daddy."

Hamish settled himself on his father's chest and gave a little sigh as Sherlock placed a gentle hand on the boy's back and a small kiss on the top of his head.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Hamish?"

"I be ah Doctor?"

"Like on television?"

"Mhmm."

"You can be whatever you want to be, Hamish. If you want to be The Doctor, then that's absolutely fine."

"I be a doctor like John?"

"Yes. You can be a doctor like John if you like. Whatever you want."

"What you is called, Daddy?"

"I'm a consulting detective."

"'Edective?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I be 'edective too?"

"If that's what you want then that's what you can do. I'll be proud of you whatever you do, Hamish."

"Okay, Daddy. I be ah Doctor."

"Yes. You can be The Doctor. Goodnight, Hamish."

"Ni, Daddy. Love you."

"I love you too, son."