Chapter Fifty-Two: Swimming
Sherlock was awoken by two tiny hands pressing on his chest.
"Mmm," the detective grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut, as the light outside happened to be refracting just in his eyes.
"He'o, Daddy," Hamish whispered loudly, removing his hands from his father's torso.
"Hamish," Sherlock groaned, rolling onto his side, away from the little boy.
"Daddy! I is up," Hamish giggled, tapping his father's waist, as the detective's back was now facing him.
"You were supposed to sleep in!" Groaning childishly into the sheets, Sherlock grabbed a pillow and pressed it over his head.
Giggling to himself, and attempting to cover the sound with his hands, Hamish crawled over Sherlock's slender body, and carefully slotted himself under the covers, close to the detective. "He'o, Daddy," he whispered again, pressing his cheek against his father's bare chest.
"Mmm." Not bothering to respond verbally, Sherlock removed the pillow from his face and raised an eyebrow. "Why in God's name are you up so early?" he rumbled, brow still raised.
"I is up, Daddy," the little boy answered plainly, peeking up at the detective from where he was settled underneath the covers.
"Yes. I can see that. What on earth were you giggling about?"
Having been reminded, Hamish suddenly broke into a fit of giggles. "Look, Daddy," the little boy laughed, attempting to be quiet.
"Look at what?" Sherlock asked, amused.
Grinning, Hamish crawled out from under the covers, seating himself atop Sherlock's chest when the detective rolled onto his back. "John, Daddy," he giggled, now unable to control his bell-like—and rather contagious—laughs.
Quite confused, Sherlock spread his hand over his son's bare back, and glanced towards the direction of his flat mate's bed. "Ah," the detective sighed with an eyeroll. "And why exactly is that funny?"
Unable to answer, Hamish merely crawled back under the covers and settled his little self close to his father's side, wrapping several small fingers around the detective's forearm.
"He's wearing boxers," Sherlock continued in mild confusion, gesturing towards the sleeping doctor, who had fallen asleep in just boxers, and whose covers had slipped down just a bit to show them.
"Is funny, Daddy," Hamish laughed, attempting to catch his breath.
The detective rolled his eyes. "If you say so." Despite his not understanding why such a thing was so funny, Sherlock smiled and playfully ruffled his son's curls.
"Well... I suppose we can't really do much until John wakes up, can we?"
"No, Daddy," Hamish agreed with a firm nod of his head.
"Right... Well, we could —"
"Ice chippies?"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows, a small smile quirking over his lips. "You would like some ice chips?"
"'Es 'ease. Ah more, Daddy."
"Some more. All right. I can do that." After lifting Hamish out of the covers and setting him on the ground, Sherlock slowly slid out of bed. "Right, then. Come along." After quickly grabbing the ice bucket, the detective offered his hand, which Hamish eagerly took. Hand-in-hand, the two left the hotel room.
"What is be doing ah-day, Daddy?"
"I've not a clue in the slightest... Unfortunately."
"What, Daddy?"
"I don't know," Sherlock reiterated with a chuckle.
"Oh. 'Kay, Daddy. Will be fun?"
"For you? Probably. For me? Past experiences suggest not as much."
"Oh... Oh! Ice chippies!" Hamish cheered, as they had reached the ice vending machine.
"Yes, quite." Sherlock made to put the pot under the dispenser.
"Daddy?"
"Hmm?"
"I can do?"
"Oh. Yes, of course." With a yawn, Sherlock set the ice pot down and then lifted Hamish onto his hip. "There we are. Now, just push the —"
"I knows, Daddy," the little boy giggled, as if such a thing should be obvious. "Did do at John ah-mess... Umm... Lester... Oh, uh..."
"Yesterday," Sherlock supplied with a chuckle.
"'Es! Ester-may!"
"Close enough."
The ice bucket now filled, Sherlock grabbed the pot and then placed Hamish back on the ground.
"Go back now, Daddy?" the little boy asked.
"Yes. Here." Having noticed the way his son was eyeing the ice bucket, Sherlock reached in and picked out a small one. "Here you are."
"Tank-su, Daddy," Hamish thanked, eagerly shoving the ice into his mouth.
"You're very welcome." Smiling, Sherlock took ahold of Hamish's hand, knowing his son would attempt to make his own way back to the hotel room.
Once back in the room, John was just waking. "Where did you two go?" the doctor asked groggily, sitting up.
"Gots ice chippies, John," Hamish answered proudly.
"Ah. Hmm." With a yawn, the doctor rubbed several fingers into his eyes. "What time is it?"
"Not late enough," Sherlock answered with a smirk.
"Ah. How unfortunate."
"Quite. Ah, ah, ah, no! Come here, Hamish." Realizing Hamish was attempting to open the doors that led to the balcony—whose gate slats looked just big enough for Hamish to fit through—Sherlock rushed over to the window and lifted his son's small form up, quickly pulling him away from the door handle. "Hamish, you can't do that." Releasing a breath, Sherlock placed Hamish on his bed and sat down next to his tiny—and clearly confused—form.
"Hamish, you cannot do that, little one," the detective started, brushing some of his son's curls away in an absent-minded gesture.
"Do what, Daddy?" Hamish asked, his already-small voice just barely a whisper. Though it was clear the little boy knew he had done something, it was also clear he did not know what.
"Open any doors without John's permission or my own."
"Oh. Why, Daddy?"
"Because you never know what may be on the other side. And I don't want you getting hurt, or taken, or… I just want you safe, alright?" Noticing that Hamish's tiny frown had deepened, Sherlock took a thin hand and gently cradled his son's face in his hand, urging the little boy to look at him.. "You're not in trouble," the detective rumbled softly, once he had caught Hamish's gaze, "I just want to make sure you understand why I got nervous when you opened the door. Should you have fallen through any of the slats, I… Do you understand?"
"'Es, Daddy."
"And you understand that I'm not upset with you?"
"'Es."
Steel-grey eyes gazing into his son's green ones, Sherlock smiled. "There's my boy," he whispered. Lips quirking at the corners when he saw Hamish's form relax, the detective leaned down and, after brushing away several of the little boy's curls on his forehead, pressed a kiss to the delicate skin there. "Are you all right?"
"'Es, Daddy. Is 'kay. Is be sorry for ah door," Hamish answered with a nod, leaning against Sherlock's chest.
"That's quite all right, love. You've nothing to be sorry for… You're just as perfect as can be." After squeezing his son's small body close, and giving the little boy a reassuring smile, the detective playfully hoisted Hamish over his shoulder, and toted him to the bathroom. "Right, then." Looking utterly serious, Sherlock set Hamish on the ground, and then knelt down so they were eye-to-eye. "All good?" he asked, raising a brow.
A tiny smile graced the little boy's small lips. "'Es, Daddy. All is be good," he giggled softly.
"Good. John!" Sherlock called, pulling the shirt off of a now-giggling Hamish.
"Yeah?"
"Plan for today?" the detective asked, winking playfully at Hamish, who was now completely naked, and attempting to crawl into the bath on his own.
Chuckling, and still in his pajamas, John padded over to the bathroom and leaned against the doorway. "Nope," he chuckled smugly.
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock turned on the water.
"Mmm-hmm." With a smirk, John left, already hearing the sound of Hamish splashing in the water.
"Right, then," John sighed, tugging on his small flat mate's jeans. "A complimentary breakfast is being offered downstairs today. I say we try it, hmm?"
"'Es, John. I is be hungry," Hamish agreed, with an earnest nod of his head.
Smiling, John playfully chuffed his tiny flat mate under the chin. "Good man."
"John?"
"Yeah, bud?"
"What is be doing ah-day?"
Chuckling, John finished dressing his tiny flat mate, and then placed the little boy on his hip. "It's a surprise," he whispered with a wink.
"Oh. 'Kay, John," Hamish whispered, placing a tiny index finger against his lips. "'Prise."
Smiling at his precious flat mate, John nodded in agreement. "Right. Sherlock?"
"Hmm?" the detective hummed from where he was seated at the small desk provided in the room, countless files scattered across the expanse of wood.
"Coming?"
"What?"
"Are you coming? With us. To eat."
"'Es, Daddy. Come 'ease?"
Fingers stilling their writing, Sherlock turned, a hint of a smile crinkling the corners or his eyes. "Oh, I suppose I could spare a few moments," the detective sighed dramatically and with an eye roll.
"Good. Tank-su, Daddy," Hamish thanked with a smile. Now clearly content, the little boy settled into John's hold, and rested his head atop the doctor's shoulder.
"Grab the bag," John called as he exited the room, gesturing vaguely behind him.
"Got it."
"Daddy."
"Hmm?"
"Eat 'ease," Hamish declared, attempting to lean over far enough to offer a piece of sausage grasped tightly between two chubby fingers.
"No thank you, Hamish," Sherlock chuckled with an apologetic smile.
"Needs ah eat, Daddy. Eat 'tis."
Heaving a sigh, Sherlock reached over and took the tiny piece of sausage from his son's little fingers. "All right."
Hamish grinned. "Tank-su, Daddy," the little boy thanked with a giggle.
"Mmm."
"Hamish, bud, you need to eat your fruit."
The little boy frowned for a moment. "But is not sta'berries."
"Well, no, but grapes are just as good."
"Not I does 'tinks so, John."
"Well, what would you like instead?"
"Sta'berries, 'ease."
"Right, of course."
"Dear Lord. John, have you learned nothing?" Sherlock inputted suddenly, uncrossing his legs and scooting his chair closer to Hamish's. "Hamish, you must eat some fruit today. There are no strawberries available. So. If you can eat all of your grapes for me, I'll put syrup on your waffle... Deal?"
Contemplating, Hamish sunk a little further back into his chair and glanced between the fruit on his plate and his father's soft, yet expectant gaze. "Deal," he mumbled after a few moments.
"Very good." Crossing his legs, Sherlock moved several grapes onto his palm and offered his hand.
"Tank-su, Daddy." Apparently eager for the syrup, Hamish took several and shoved them into his mouth.
Pleased, Sherlock raised a brow at John, who merely rolled his eyes in response. "Well-played.
"M-hmm."
Once Hamish had successfully eaten all of fruit, Sherlock found a container of syrup, opened the package, and then drizzled the sticky substance over his son's waffle. "There. And thank you for eating your fruit."
"Wel'cmin, Daddy. Oh. Can help?"
"Of course." Finding a knife, Sherlock cut the syrup-drizzled waffle into several small, easily eatable pieces.
"Tank-su."
"You're very welcome."
"John?" Hamish asked, having finished his breakfast.
"Yeah?"
"I is icky, John," the little boy stated, frowning at his syrup-covered fingers.
"Oh. Yes you are," the doctor laughed. "Let's find a bathroom and get you cleaned up, hmm?"
"'Es 'ease. Is icky."
"Quite."
"Here, I'll get it," Sherlock offered, standing up and pulling Hamish out of his chair.
"Thanks."
"Right, then. Don't touch anything," the detective chuckled, nearly laughing aloud at the way his son was holding his hands out as far away from himself as possible.
"'Kay."
Toting the little boy to the nearest bathroom, Sherlock entered and sat Hamish on the counter. "Stay just there," he stated, gently patting the little boy on the leg.
"'Kay, Daddy."
After gathering several paper towels and wetting them down, Sherlock returned to Hamish, who was still holding his hands out in front of him. Chuckling, the detective took a single arm in hand and gently washed away the syrup, and then did the same for the other arm. When Hamish still held his arms out, Sherlock gently lowered them, one corner of his lips twitching at the corners.
"Oh. Tank-su, Daddy," the little boy giggled.
"Mmm. Now, then. Mouth closed."
"'Kay."
Once again, Sherlock nearly laughed aloud when Hamish not only closed his mouth, but puffed out his cheeks, as well. "Close enough." Disposing of the old paper towels, Sherlock grabbed a new one, wet it, and then slowly cleared the syrup from his son's cheeks.
Now clean, Hamish crawled into his father's arms, waiting patiently while the detective threw away the paper towels and gathered the nappy bag.
"Bathroom?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to one of the stalls.
Thinking, Hamish's eyes travelled upwards and then back down again. "No, Daddy. Not does have ah potty."
"Excellent. Then up we go... To face whatever frighteningly domestic activity John has planned for us today."
"Will be fun, Daddy," Hamish reassured with a positively precious pat of reassurance to his father's cheek.
"Perhaps," Sherlock murmured, having reached the elevator. "Thank goodness for you, Hamish. You're the only redeeming part of this whole trip."
Not fully understanding, but concluding whatever his father had said was kind, the little boy merely smiled and rested his head on the detective's shoulder, burying a tiny hand in Sherlock's raven curls. "Tank-su, Daddy," he whispered, closing his eyes.
"Oh... You're very welcome, Hamish." Smiling, Sherlock pressed a kiss to Hamish's temple using the corner of his lips and then entered the elevator, pressing the up button. "Good luck to us both."
"John?" Hamish asked, looking at the doctor as if he had literally lost any sane part of his mind. "What is?"
"These," the doctor declared with a smile, "are swim trunks!"
"Oh." Frowning at the fabric, Hamish merely rolled some of the brightly-colored cloth between his fingers. "Can sit now?"
"Yeah, sure, of course."
Still frowning, though in a way that was more of concentration than upset, Hamish plopped himself down on the doctor's bed and began to carefully examine the multi-coloured fabric. "Has fishies," he whispered, still engrossed.
"Yes, I know. They're to go swimming in!"
"Unbelievable."
"Ignore your father. Swimming is fun."
"A swim park," Sherlock muttered into the hand covering his mouth. "And I thought the zoo was bad."
"Oh, shut up! You enjoyed the zoo."
"Trivial."
"Has fishies," Hamish repeated once again, completely oblivious to his father, and still not understanding the purpose of the unusual shorts at all.
"Yes," John laughed, amused by the complete seriousness of his tiny flat mate's examinations.
"I'm not swimming," Sherlock stated, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, come on, Sherlock!"
"I will watch," the detective compromised.
"Not will go, Daddy?" Hamish asked, releasing the swim trunks from his grasp.
"I will go. I'm just not going to swim."
Rolling his eyes, John grabbed the swim bag. "I've packed a pair for you just in case."
"John is?"
"I am swimming, yes. See?" With a kind smile, the doctor gestured to his own navy blue swim trunks.
"Oh, 'kay. Good."
John smiled. "Shall we head out, then?"
"'Es, John... I still not does 'stand."
"I know. That's okay, little man. You'll see."
"'Kay." With a tiny grunt of effort, Hamish slid off the bed and onto the ground. "'Eady."
"Excellent. Come on, Sherlock."
Grabbing his Belstaff, the detective squinted accusingly at his flat mate, before exiting the room.
"John?" Hamish asked as they were walking to the elevator.
"Hmm?"
"Why Daddy not does like?" the little boy asked, tapping his swim trunks.
"Because he's never been, so he just doesn't understand the fun."
"Oh." Bottom lip protruding slightly, Hamish glanced back at his father. "Is sad, John."
"Well... Yes, I suppose it is a bit," the doctor mused, pressing the down arrow.
The three boarded the elevator, with Hamish settled between John and Sherlock.
"Here, Daddy," the little boy whispered suddenly.
"Here, wha—" The detective quieted when he felt his son's tiny hand wrap around his own. "Oh. Thank you, Hamish."
"Wel'cmin, Daddy."
"Come on, Sherlock, it's just swimming! You look more ridiculous in your suit and coat than you would in a suit!"
"No. I've already told you. I am not swimming," the detective stated firmly, crossing his arms over his chest in a child-like manner.
"Fine," John grumbled. "Your son and I will go have fun and you can sit and sulk," the doctor finished with a glare, taking Hamish's hand in his own. With one last scowl towards his flat mate's indignant form, John turned, marching away in search of a chair. "Ignore your father, Hamish; he just doesn't know what fun is."
"'Kay, John," the little boy giggled.
John couldn't help but smile when he saw Hamish steal a glance back behind him.
"Is he following us?" John whispered loudly.
Daring a glance behind him in a way that was meant to be inconspicuous, but ended up being incredibly obvious, Hamish nodded and then whispered loudly, ""Es, John. Daddy is be follow."
Chuckling and with a smirk, John picked a chair and set the nappy bag and swim bag down.
No longer having the distraction of walking, Hamish quickly realized how many people there were around, and just how big the water park was. "Uhm, John?" he asked quietly, frowning at the largeness and height of the swim park.
"Just a minute, little man," John chuckled, absently patting his flat mate on the head, as he was too busy smirking at his flat mate's nearing form.
"Ridiculous," the detective muttered, straightening his suit.
"Yes, you are."
A huff. "I am not swimming. I find it—" Sherlock was cut off by Hamish bumping into his leg. "Oh. Hamish, what's the matter?"
"Up 'ease, Daddy," the little boy whispered, tugging at his father's trousers.
"Hamish. What's the matter?" Noticing how Hamish had settled himself between John's legs and his own, Sherlock reached down and pulled his son onto his suit-clad hip. "What's the problem, love?" he asked, wrapping a slender hand around his son's bare middle.
"Is lots big, Daddy," the little boy explained with a frown. Releasing a small breath, Hamish reached over and placed a hand on John's forearm. "Lots big," he repeated, now carefully situated between his father and John.
"Hey, it's okay little man," John reassured with a smile. "I'll be with you the whole time, okay?"
Hesitating, the little boy turned his attention to Sherlock, who nodded and gave the little boy's middle a gentle squeeze of reassurance.
"'Kay."
"Good man. Now..." With a smile, John carefully took Hamish from his flat mate's arms and then placed the little boy on his hip. "Ready?"
"'Es."
John smiled sadly when he noticed the way Hamish was gripping onto his collarbone and shoulder. "It's okay, bud," the doctor reassured, pulling up Hamish's tiny swim trunks. "It's only water. Sort of like a big bath."
"Bath'ime?"
"Yeah, sort of!"
"Oh."
Smiling when Hamish clearly seemed to calm, John began wading into the water.
"Bye, Daddy," Hamish called, leaning over John's shoulder to wave at his standing father. "Be back."
Gaze softening, Sherlock pulled a hand out of his pocket and waved back, pleased with the smile that soon after lit his son's features.
Now in about a foot of the pool water, John slowly lowered Hamish into the water. Though clearly curious, the little boy instantly huddled closer to John's legs.
"It's okay. Just water. See?" The doctor scooped up a handful of water and tossed it against Hamish's tiny chest. The little boy froze with a gasp. "John!" he laughed, a grin quickly spreading over his lips.
The doctor merely smiled in response. "Now. Go play," he instructed, feigning sternness.
"'Kay, John." Giggling to himself, Hamish began to run—though it looked more like hopping—through the shallow water, any and all trepidations now forgotten.
Pleased with himself, John followed behind his tiny flat mate, ready for action at any moment, and glanced toward Sherlock, a small half-smile on his lips. The detective—who still looked utterly ridiculous in his suit—was gazing lovingly at Hamish, legs crossed, fingers steepled under his chin.
The doctor had no time to make some sort of rude comment, however, as there was a very loud buzzer, signifying the wave pool was starting. Just as John was about to return to his insults, there came a very loud, "John!"
Instantly recognizing that if they had not come already, tears were on their way, John turned around and quickly found Hamish, his face already turning a lovely shade of red, and quite flustered, now that waves had already started. "Hey, hey, it's okay, Hame," the doctor said hurriedly, pulling a now-sobbing and wet Hamish into his arms.
"Not is," the little boy cried, wrapping his arms around John's neck and tucking his head under the doctor's chin.
John sighed when he heard his flat mate's distinctive voice. "Hamish!"
"Wants Daddy," Hamish sniffled, grip tightening.
"Okay," the doctor chuckled sadly. "Here we go."
Not bothering about his suit, Sherlock stepped to the edge of the water and waited for John to transfer a very unhappy Hamish into his arms.
Sniffling madly, the little boy pressed his wet form against his father's and turned just enough so he could scowl at the wave-filled water.
"What's the matter, Hamish?" Sherlock asked, paying no heed to his quickly-wetting suit. Taking a seat in one of the pool chairs once again, the detective began to gently pat his son's wet bottom. "Hmm, what is it?"
"Was loud an'—an' 'lmost fell ah'cos—'cos—" A sniffle.
"Because of the waves," Sherlock finished with a melancholy smile.
"'Es, Daddy," the little boy cried, snuffling into his father's shoulder.
"Right..."
Knowing Hamish could not be reasoned with until he calmed down a bit, Sherlock gently rocked back and forth, running his fingertips through his son's curls. Once the little boy's cries had subsided into sniffles, Sherlock situated his son so he was no longer hidden under his jaw, but leaning against his chest. "Would you like to go back in, then?" he asked.
"Not does like ah water," Hamish replied.
"Well..." Pressing his eyes shut, Sherlock sucked in a breath, held it for a few moments, and then released it. "Would it make you feel better if both John and I swam with you?"
"Daddy an' John?" Hamish asked with a sniffle, green eyes wide.
"... Yes."
"Would help lots, Daddy," the little boy answered earnestly.
"Then that's what we'll do." Heaving a sigh, and shedding his coat, Sherlock stood, keeping his son in his arms. "Let's go get dressed."
"Seriously?" John asked, disbelieving.
"If it will make him happy, yes," Sherlock sighed, though he rather contradicted himself by pressing his lips to Hamish's flushed forehead.
"Oh. Well, great! That's great!" Now grinning, John rooted through the swim bag and pulled out the pair of black swim trunks he'd bought. "There you are."
Keeping Hamish held firmly against him with one arm, Sherlock took the black swim trunks from his flat mate with the other. "Coming?"
"No, I'll stay with the stuff."
"Right." Stroking several fingers up and down his son's bare back, Sherlock made his way to the bathroom, ignoring the many longing stares he was receiving from obviously-single women.
Once in a changing stall, the detective set Hamish's still-snuffling form on the ground. "I'm just going to change, all right?"
A sniffle. "'Kay, Daddy."
Sherlock couldn't help but smile when Hamish covered his tear-stained eyes and turned around. "Thank you, Hamish. That's very considerate of you," the detective thanked, quickly pulling off his pants and trousers and replacing them with the swim trunks. "Okay, love, I'm done; you can turn back now."
Dropping his hands, Hamish turned around, and—despite his tears—managed a small giggle upon seeing his father dressed in swim trunks on the bottom and suit on the top.
"Oh? Something funny?" Sherlock asked, feigning confusion.
"Does looks silly, Daddy," Hamish sniffled with a hint of a giggle, taking an arm and running it under his running nose.
"Mmm. Quite." Having changed, Sherlock folded and grabbed his shed suit and then, smiling warmly at his son, picked the little boy up and settled him against his now-bare chest. "Here. Let's go clean up a bit, hmm?" he asked, gently patting Hamish's also-bare stomach.
"'Kay." Nodding, Hamish tucked his head under Sherlock's chin and allowed the detective to run a wet paper towel over his face and back, and under his nose. "There. Better?"
"'Es, Daddy. 'Etter."
"Good. Now. Let's go swimming."
"Not a word, John," Sherlock muttered as he returned to the chair.
The doctor merely smirked in response.
Setting Hamish and his suit down, Sherlock took one of the little boy's hands, and gestured to John that he was to do the same.
Ignoring the many stares he knew they would be getting, John obeyed and took Hamish's free hand. "Ready?" he asked the little boy, giving the hand a squeeze.
"'Kay."
"Good man."
As there were no waves yet, Sherlock and John waded into the water, Hamish holding each of their hands.
"Still doing all right?" Sherlock asked.
"'Es, Daddy."
"Good."
Soon after, the loud buzzer signaling the waves were starting echoed throughout the water park.
"Wants ah go back, Daddy," Hamish stated, attempting to scoot backwards.
"All right. Can we try something?" Sherlock asked, already stepping back.
"'Kay."
"Good." Ignoring everything telling him how much he didn't want to be doing this, Sherlock picked Hamish up and, after stepping back a few more steps, sat down in the shallow water, and placed Hamish between his legs.
"What is doing, Daddy?" the little boy asked, attempting still to back up.
"You're all right. Now, give me your hands, love."
"Oh... 'Kay?" Though confused, Hamish obeyed and, and placed each of his tiny hands his father's large ones.
Hamish whimpered sadly as a wave quickly drew near them, and attempted to back up, but rather fell on top of Sherlock's legs.
"It's okay. I've got you," the detective reassured, picking the little boy back up, and wrapping a hand around his tiny middle. "Ready?"
"No."
A chuckle. "Here it comes. Eyes closed." A smile twitched over Sherlock's lips when Hamish squeezed his eyes shut and puffed out his cheeks as the small wave hit them.
"Oh," the little boy sighed, releasing his breath once the wave passed.
Sherlock laughed aloud when the little boy turned back to look at him, eyes wide and a tiny smile gracing his lips.
"Not was bad, Daddy," Hamish sighed in amazement, squeezing his eyes shut again as a another small wave hit them.
"I told you it wouldn't be," Sherlock chuckled, releasing his son's hands.
"No, Daddy!" Though seeming to enjoy the waves more, Hamish grabbed his father's hands once again. "Stay."
"All right."
Now he was being firmly held in place by his father, Hamish seemed to be quite clearly delighted with the waves, and even allowed the next one to knock him over, and against his father's chest.
"Tiny bit fun," the little boy admitted sheepishly, standing up in preparation for the next wave.
"Yes, it is," Sherlock laughed, smiling when his son settled himself on top of his legs.
"Come, John! Is lots fun!" Hamish laughed, sliding his fingers out of his father's and attempting to catch the next wave with his tiny hands.
Smirking, Sherlock wrapped his slender hands around his son's middle and glanced at his flat mate. "Yes, John. Come along, sit."
Rolling his eyes and ignoring the stares they were receiving, John obeyed and sat next to his flat mates in the water, allowing his legs to float.
The two adults eventually melted into peace as they watched Hamish—now completely joyful—attempt to catch each of the waves with his tiny hands, only to be knocked back into the water, which seemed to delight him even more.
"He'o, Daddy!" Hamish called, returning from the Lazy River with John, settled safely in the doctor's arms.
Smiling, Sherlock left his seat, glad to remove himself from the steadily-growing crowd of women that had been attempting to inconspicuously gather close by, and waded into the water. "Did you have a good time?" he asked, taking the little boy from his flat mate's arms.
"'Es! Lots was fun, Daddy! Does want ah go?"
"No, that's all right. Thank you, though," Sherlock chuckled, pressing a peck to Hamish's temple.
"Is 'kay, Daddy," the little boy reassured, returning the kiss by placing his lips against the tip of his father's nose.
Eventually, Hamish had decided he wanted to have a go at the small slides located in the Kiddy Pool. Desperate to do anything to escape the growing female attention, Sherlock gladly agreed to help with the process.
"Right, then," John stated with a grin at the stop of a small slide, keeping Hamish situated by holding him under the armpits. "Ready?"
"'Es, John!" the little boy laughed, waving to his father, who was situated at the bottom of the slide, ready to catch him. "He'o, Daddy!"
"Hello, Hamish," the detective laughed in response, returning the wave.
"Okay. One. Two. Three." Laughing fondly, John set the little boy on the slide and gave him a gentle push.
Laughing, Hamish squealed the entire short trip down the slide, reaching his arms out towards his waiting father at the bottom.
"Annnnd... Got you!" Sherlock laughed, catching Hamish and lifting him up in the air. "Yes, I did! I got you!" the detective continued, pressing several kisses to his son's jaw and nose and cheeks.
"Daddy!" Hamish squealed once the kisses were done, wrapping his arms around the detective's neck. "Can do again?"
"Of course," Sherlock chuckled, hugging his son's small body close, as he found he was rather enjoying the skin-to-skin contact. "Just head back up to John."
"'Kay."
Smiling fondly, and finding he was not actually regretting putting on the swim trunks, Sherlock waited for John to send Hamish down the small slide again, ready to catch the little boy at the bottom.
After growing tired of the slides and a quick break for dinner, Hamish had decided he wished to spend the rest of the time at the wave pool.
"I told you he'd like it... In addition to everything else I told you he'd like."
"All right... Perhaps the holiday was not a horrible idea... I can downgrade it to awful."
A scoff. "Admit it. You've enjoyed yourself more than you thought... If for no other reason than because Hamish is having a good time."
"Mmm. Perhaps," Sherlock murmured, tilting his head as he watched Hamish hopping into the small waves.
"Exactly."
"You're not tired at all?" Sherlock asked incredulously to Hamish, who was situated between his legs, eyes drooping shut with each gentle wave.
"Not is, Daddy."
"Hmm... I can see that," Sherlock chuckled standing out of the water, and pulling Hamish's wet and tired form with him. "Let's head up," he mouthed to John, who nodded fondly in response and took his tiny flat mate into his arms.
"You get the bags."
"Yeah."
"He'o, John," Hamish whispered, wrapping his arms around the doctor's neck.
"Hey, little man. I'm proud of you. You did a great job today," John murmured against the little boy's skin.
"Mmm... Tank-su, John."
"You're welcome, bud."
"Should we put pajamas on him?" John whispered, lowering Hamish's now-asleep form on his bed.
"No, just change him out of his swim trunks and the water nappy."
"Right." Having gotten his tiny flat mate changed, John picked his small form up and placed him under the covers in Sherlock's bed. "He had a good time tonight."
"Yes, I think he did. Thank you," the detective murmured, crawling into the other side of the bed.
"You're welcome. Though your brother deserves some thanks, as well," John chuckled, crawling into his own bed.
"Mmm... No." And with that, the detective wrapped a hand around Hamish's sleeping form to ensure he would not fall off the bed, and switched off the lights.
John couldn't help but smile to himself when he heard Sherlock press a kiss to Hamish's cheek. "You big softie."
"Oh, shut up."
"D... Daddy?"
"... Way to go."
"What is be doing—" A yawn. "—Daddy?"
"Nothing, love. Goodnight."
"'Kay, Daddy... Be nice ah John."
"Oh, always."
"Mmm-hmm... Mmm."
"Goodnight, Hamish," Sherlock murmured once again, brushing a stray curl out of the little boy's eyes. "I love you... And not a word, John."
The doctor merely smiled.
