Summary: A seventeen year old Hamish breaks up with his first girlfriend, luckily John is there to give some advice.
Age 17
John comes home to a tightly wrapped bundle curled in on itself on the sofa.
Sherlock? Or Hamish? He thinks. Judging by the size, Hamish.
He drops his shopping bags on the kitchen table and sits beside the blanket cocoon. He rests a hand where he assumes the occupants hip is, "hey," he says, "you alright?"
A face emerges from the lump, Hamish's eyes have dark shadows around them, "what?"
"You're not getting ill, are you?" John asks, suddenly concerned at the boy's paleness.
Hamish sniffs, "no."
"Then, you want to tell me what's wrong?"
Hamish sits up, taking the blanket with him, and perches on the edge of the sofa, "well," he starts, "you know that girl I was seeing? Jackie."
John nods.
"She broke up with me this morning."
John just manages to keep his surprise silent, instead nodding for Hamish to continue.
"She did it this morning, and I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get a reason from her. Apparently she just didn't 'feel it' anymore." Hamish pouts.
"Well, some people just don't completely click, you know," John says, "maybe in the future, she'll change her mind and ask you out again?" He suggests, "happens quite a lot."
"I suppose." Hamish pulls the blanket around himself a little tighter for security.
"Is there anyone else? For either of you? Or are you both happily single for now?"
Hamish thinks for a moment, "I don't know, there was this guy she's been friendly with recently, but I don't want to accuse her of anything."
"What about you?"
"Me?"
John nods.
Hamish thinks again, "there is this boy, in Biology," he says slowly, "we get partnered together a lot, and he acts like he's interested in me," Hamish pauses, putting the pieces together, "I mean, he's attractive, yeah, but, I don't know. I never really took notice because of Jackie."
"Well Hamish, it might seem a bit quick, but why don't you ask him? The worst he could say to you is no."
Hamish nods, pushing his blanket down from his head, revealing unruly curls similar to Sherlock's on a bored day, "I think I might."
"What's his name?" John says, smiling.
Hamish grins back, "Toby."