A/N: Hey, guys! I hit 387 visits on this story today! Sorry for the lack of uploads in this story, I've been working on a crossover fic called 'A Very Sherlock Crossover' (in which John and Sherlock go to Hogwarts; I realised that in the BBC canon, because they look about 30 [slight change here, they're the same age in the crossover] and would have been born in or around 1980, the same year as Harry… hilarity ensues) As always, constructive criticism and reviews are greatly appreciated! So let's see what kind of trouble little Hamish gets into at 221 B!

Chapter 6

John woke early the next morning, tangled in Sherlock's ridiculously long arms, to a loud, metallic-sounding crash downstairs. "Sherlock. Sherlock, wake up. We have to go downstairs, I think Hamish's gotten into your chemistry set." Sherlock halfway woke up, looking for all the world as if he was coming off of a drug high. "What?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, his voice thick with sleep. "Oh, all right, go back to sleep, I'll go. If he's hurt, it's your fault for leaving that damn experiment down." Sherlock smiled sleepily, obviously unaware of what John was saying, and closed his eyes.

John carefully disentangled himself from his fiancé and rushed downstairs to see Hamish, sitting in the middle of the living room, surrounded by pots and pans that he had dragged in from the kitchen. "'Lo, John," said Hamish. "A-making music!" "Yes, Hamish, you're drumming, aren't you? Are you hungry? If you give me one of these drums I can make you some scrambled eggs on toast, if you'd like." "'Kay, John, here a'go. Make eggs in this one." He handed John an overly large pasta pot and smiled. "Hamish, this one's a little big for eggs… Can I use this one here, instead?" he asked, pointing to a small cast-iron frying pan and wondering how Hamish had managed not to hurt himself on it. "NO! That's mine favorite! Use that one for eggs." Hamish said, with a certain finality in his voice. "Alright, Hamish, don't get upset, I can use this one. Would you like some tea as well? I was going to make some for me and Sherlock, when he gets up." "No please, John." "Okay."

John noted that there was a definite change in Hamish's manner of speaking around John… He sounded as though he were dumbing his speech down to make himself appear less intelligent. John couldn't help but think that that was something that Sherlock must have done as a child Hamish's age, especially around teachers and extended family, and people that he thought wouldn't understand. He made a mental note to get Hamish to believe him to be intelligent. He made a second note to do the same with Sherlock.

Sherlock stumbled downstairs ten minutes later to find John and Hamish having an animated conversation about sippy cups. John looked up and smiled. "Good morning, love, have a good night's sleep?" "Well it was, and then I woke up and you weren't there anymore. Why are all of these pots and pans on the floor? Is the ceiling leaking?" "I was making music, Sherlock!" "Were, you, Hamish? Would you like me to play you some music on the violin?" Hamish nodded enthusiastically. "All right, I'll be right back, okay?" "Okay, Sherlock."

He returned several seconds later with his violin. "Actually, you know what, John? I'll be right back, I'm going out for a while. Won't be long, okay?" He kissed John's cheek affectionately and mussed Hamish's hair. "I'll be right back, I'm going to get you something. You can make more music if John says it's okay, just make sure you don't wake Mrs. Hudson. Be a good boy and listen to John, okay?" "Okay, see you soon, Sherlock." Sherlock smiled as he pulled on his coat and scarf and shut the door behind him.

He returned twenty minutes later with a shopping bag behind his back. "Hamish, come here," he called from the doorway. Hamish slid carefully down from his chair and ran over to Sherlock, stomping loudly as children do. "What a' have?"

Sherlock produced an oblong package, about two feet long wrapped in bright yellow paper from behind his back. Hamish jumped and clapped excitedly. "For me?" "Yes, Hamish, it's for you. Here, sit on the couch and you can open it, okay?" Hamish pulled himself up onto the couch and beamed up at Sherlock. "Okay, Sher, ready now!" "Say thank-you to Sherlock, Hamish," came John's voice from the kitchen doorway. "Thank 'a, Sher!" "You're very welcome, Hamish," said Sherlock, handing the toddler his present.

After a small frustration (The store attendant was obviously incapable of wrapping a gift without an entire package of tape), Hamish and Sherlock sat in the middle of a veritable nest of wrapping paper, and Hamish was clutching his very own junior-sized violin, beaming at Sherlock. "I can teach you how to play pretty music on this, Hamish," Sherlock said proudly, and began sticking bits of painter's tape where the different positions were and showing Hamish how to draw the bow across the strings separately to produce different notes. John sat in his armchair, sipping his tea and smiling at the scene before him proudly, and feeling like the luckiest man in the world.