"Hai, what are you doing?"
Hamish, too deep in concentration, ignores him.
"He's picking locks."
"What? Sherlock, he's four.He can't pick locks!"
"No, he can't. I tried to teach him just on our door and he couldn't do it at all. I told him to just leave it but he wouldn't,"
"Why the hell are you trying to teach him to pick locks? Hai, put that down."
"But Dad-"
"No, the pin's sharp at the end. Answer, Sherlock?" he bends down and takes it from Hamish who makes a noise of anger, tries to hold on and finally relinquishes it when John threatens to send him to his room.
"I didn't have the chance. It's for his own safety." I picked the book I'd been reading (and correcting) up again.
"How?" John comes closer, resting a hand on my shoulder "Sherlock, you haven't explained. Why would he need to pick locks to 'get out of danger?' You only use that for breaking in."
"True enough, but yet, he may need to get out of somewhere. Or, he may be, say, alone with Mrs Hudson-she always locks the flat door- and she could be ill, when there's no key. The chances of her phone not working is low, but I'm being cautious."
"Okay, good reasoning. What if he uses it at school or something? Tries it out on some random door?"
"If it works, I'll be pretty proud of him. He's very young, andcan barely reach the handle." (Hamish had been stood on a small buffet we bought for that sort of activity when playing at ours)
"Sherlock! No, he'd be in trouble. Please don't tell me he's been learning about unlocking safes too."
"No. I got him to memorise some of the most common codes and passwords though. Also, our mobile numbers, the surgery and Mrs Hudson's landline."
"How did he do that?"
"It's easy." Hamish says, walking up to John, already over his sulk.
"Mind Palace."
"What-I. He's deleting things?"
"That isn't the same thing. No, he's just remembering everything better now."
"Okay. Hai, want to help me make jelly?"
"You can't."
"What this time?"
"I like the consistency. I wanted to see what it could preserve. Take a look, there's a finger in the bowl over there."
"You put them in our breakfast bowls? I told you, stop doing that. I even bought a new set."
"I know. I'll go buy you more."
"What? You, shopping? For food? I'd like to see it,"
"I'm only getting the jelly. And milk, we're out. Maybe some potassium chloride."
"They don't sell that." John sighs, sitting down. Hamish jumps up and cuddles next to him.
"Why? I'm sure they said on the ad 'anything you'll need in daily life'? Well, I'm not hoping for 'we sell everything' like the other supermarket, I thought this would work."
"Potassium chloride isn't something most people use every day. Not very popular,"
"They should. It's pretty volatile so good for showing some very basic reactions."
"Not normal to do that either, love."
"But…They have fireworks. They must have some supply. I could just extract it from those."
"Not in March."
"Oh. Right. Well, I'll get some from the morgue or something. Anyway, shopping. Will they have it at the corner shop?"
"No. I'll get some ,it's fine."
"But…you do everything John. I should do more around here."
"You don't usually care. Have you been watching soaps again?"
"No. Though there are a lot of murders- which can be interesting- they're simple and everyone around is stupid. It's bad for my health."
"Okay… Have you broken something? Blown something up? Did you get my laptop corrupted again trying to hack Mycroft?"
"Yes…the blown up thing." John rolls his eyes and starts to speak "Just a bowl. And it's nothing to do with that."
"Well? Seriously Sherlock, are you sure you're fine? It's not normal for you. Really, it doesn't usually matter. I mean, I appreciate but-"
"It isn't in line with my normal patterns of behaviour, which worries you. Especially according to the diagnosis you gave me of Asperger's."
"Exactly-you know I've rethought that though. Anyway I needed to check. If you say it's nothing, then I'll believe you. Could you go sort Hai's room while you're still in that mood?"
"Okay. Hamish, come with me." John leans back, putting his hands behind his head.
"And maybe the kitchen, unless Martha's done it. Oh, and maybe tidy up our room."
"That is perfectly organised," Hamish stands, a little moody, but runs when I open my arms and grin, allowing him to jump up. "Which is what you're going to do to your room." I tickle under Hamish's chin and walk upstairs, John laughing and shaking his head. I hear him put the TV on as we walk upstairs.
"Organise?"
"Put it in order. Index you clothes, sort out all of your toys into groups."
"Index?"
"Put them in a list and then sort them by that."
"I put stuff in boxes and order."
"Your floor is still a mess," I say, opening the door "I don't actually think it's bad, but Dad said that we had to tidy it,"
"Can I have a lock on my door?"
"No," I say and put him down. "Now, we'll put all those soft toys in the box. Do they have names?"
"Yes. Why?" Hamish is sat down, putting the Lego away. Not properly, but it's a start. All of the soft toys, all of his cars and trucks, all of the action figures, are all in separate lines in his room. (the rest of his toys; board games, outside play things, are all in a cupboard, his books on a shelf). "Because we'll be able to order them better. In fact, you can do that. Order the bears alphabetically, and then we'll sort them by those you like the most."
"They're not all bears."
"Yes, I meant that. I'll start with your books."
"Why?"
Realising he didn't mean why I would be working on another job, I began to explain, "Because it's better this way, you'll be able to think straighter and find things easier."
"But I can see everything when it's out in my room"
"Why are all your toys arranged in lines, Hamish?" Though it's not very good or the best way for his room to be, not in organisation terms at least, Hamish's room is pretty good. I like that he's made his own order to things. Though, the rest of the floor is littered with drawing s and crayons, Lego bricks (which hurt an unsuspected amount stepped on. Though, it's not as if I've thought of it before, probably deleted their existence after childhood).
"Because-because… uh." I wait, Hamish doesn't often take long to form a sentence, even when he was learning to talk, but this signifies he's really thinking. His brow wrinkles. "I don't know." He sounds stressed.
"It's okay. Don't get annoyed. It's a pretty normal behaviour, apparently. It just helps you to concentrate, and the fact they're in size order is interesting."
"Oh. How do you spell Argon?" Hamish had asked for a Periodic Table in his room after seeing my own, though he didn't really understand it he remembered a few of the names and I'd marked off the ones I'd shown him.
"You know that. Don't look at the chart."
"A-R" Hamish, despite his teacher's instructions, spells in uppercase as that are how we'd taught him before school began "G-O-N-E"
I smile, the 'E' though silent and a part that he shouldn't have recognised at his age, he'd added on after reading or spelling the word 'gone' at some point."No 'E', Hai.But good."
"Oh. Sam says it's weird I called my teddy 'Bach'."
"He knows you play violin? Did you explain?" I take all of the books off his shelf and begin putting them into piles.
"Yes. But I can't play that so I couldn't show him. And I didn't have my violin."
"Yes, I know. Did you explain to him what a composer is?" I've long since given up on believing that normal people would be intelligent enough to appreciate music like that.
Hamish has already become distracted from his ordering, and is making one of his smaller bears attack a larger one "What?"
"Did you explain what a composer is?"
"He didn't get it."
"Oh. Well, then what?" Hamish usually gets upset with any detrimental comments, and he'd usually have told us as soon as it happened. The last time he took in his bear was 13 days ago.
"He said I was weird. And then I was upset and called him names too."
"What? I hope you were a little more inventive, rather than using the same insult twice."
"Yes. I called him an idiot and told him he smelled."
"Good." Hamish smiles and seems to remember he was supposed to be tidying as I start to place the books back. "Wait. I think you're supposed to tell a teacher. But in my experience, that usually makes you worse off. Better to insult them back. That's when they're older though. Maybe tell me or Dad? Dad might be better; he'll know what's right."
"Okay…" Hamish moves to his one of his puzzles- a pentomino- on the floor, beginning to fix it together.
"I think it'll be fine. Were you okay after? Did he hit you?"
"No! We just started playing in the sand."
I smile. Children recover so easily with friends, and Hamish can't really have been so bothered about the comment if he hadn't mentioned anything "Hai, focus."
"What I'm nearly done."
"How many ways can you do that?" I ask, leaving the books and shuffling over
"I don't know" Hamish giggles around a blue triangle and slots in the last rectangle "I think only this way, I know it."
"I think we should get you a harder one." I check the box. "Why did we get the one aimed at 7 year olds anyway? That's far too easy."
"Molly got it."
"Oh, of course. Well, I think we can make our own actually. Pass me some paper."
"But it won't fit in," Hamish protests, but I shake my head and he tips the puzzle out as I start drawing. "Fa? Why is something being easy bad? School's easy and that's not bad. I can play more times."
"You misbehave when you're bored like that. Well," I've gotten used to put it in slightly simpler terms for Hamish "it means that your brain has to work harder, so you get smarter."
"But this is easy and it's for bigger children. Aren't they smarter?"
"No Hai…well, they would normally be, because they've had more time to learn things, but because of the way you've been brought up, and Dad being intelligent, you're able to learn more than them. Do you get that?"
"So I'm smarter than people in Year 2 when I'm still little?"
"And some adults." I finish off the pieces for the pentomino and shout John for scissors. I hear him get up, muttering to himself and go to the kitchen.
"But if it's Dad making me smart it's you too right?"
"No. Not in that way anyway. It's really about the way you were made." John walks in, scissors in hand and passes them to me
"Weren't you cleaning?"
"We got side-tracked. I was just explaining to Hai why your intelligence had a different effect on him than mine and why it's more prominent."
"Intelligent? Thanks, you never say that. And no."
"What?"
"Not yet, Sherlock. Explain when he's older. Like the sex thing."
"What is that?" Hamish asks, he'd taken to colouring in the drawn pieces of the made pentomino.
"You have a very inquisitive mind, Hamish and though we'll always try and satisfy that and tell you anything you want to know, there are some things only adults talk about, and you'll get to know when you're older," John explains, bending down.
"Like a secret club? There was one of those in the book Grandma read to me."
"Yeah, almost." John supresses a laugh and walks out. "I'm gonna write up some notes while you're quiet.Get this room finished; it's more of a mess than when you started."
