Summary: Hamish brings home his new "friend" for the first time to meet his father and John.
Age 17
"Hi, John. Bye, John," Hamish says heading straight for the stairs up to his bedroom, tugging his school bag higher on his shoulder.
John blinks at the whirlwind passing the kitchen and puts down his newspaper, watching Hamish stride along the passage, a smaller blonde boy in tow.
John looks between them and shouts, "Hamish? Who's this?"
"Friend," he smiles, "we have to do partnered work for Biology."
John nods and the two boys scurry up the stairs, and when John hears Hamish's bedroom door shut, and he pulls out his phone firing a text off to Hamish; Studying? Oldest lie in the book. I saw how you were looking at each other. What do you want for dinner? Would your 'friend' like to stay? JW
John waits ten minutes for a reply, and when one doesn't come he lets his curiosity about Hamish's friend get the better of him. He carefully climbs the stairs and knocks on the closed door. He hears urgent scrambling and then a loud, "come in!"
Hamish sits wide eyed on his bed, his hair a mess, obviously having just pulled on his t shirt.
"Everything alright? You didn't reply to my text," John leans against the doorframe. He glances down at the floor, "isn't that your friend's shirt? Is he okay?"
Hamish swallows and purses his lips in thought, "that's my shirt," he lies, "from yesterday."
John raises his eyebrows, "you were wearing a Killers shirt yesterday. And last I knew you didn't even like," he cocks his head to read the text, "Rammstein."
Hamish glares at the ground.
"Where's your friend? You didn't hide him in a cupboard or out the window when you heard me did you?" John smiles.
"No," Hamish tuts, nodding towards the other door in his room, "he's in the loo, and his name is Toby. Where's dad today anyway? I haven't seen him."
"No idea, he took off this morning shouting something about cats and jewellery and I haven't heard from him since. You know what he's like."
A small smile creeps onto Hamish's face, "could you not tell dad just yet?" He asks, fiddling with the bed sheet, "about Toby. I know you've worked it out."
John sighs, "okay. You're 17 now; I can't stop you, but be careful, alright? Sherlock'll probably work it out as soon as he sets eyes on you anyway."
Hamish rolls onto his back, "urgh I know. But just for now, I need to warn Toby about dad and I'll introduce them to each other soon."
"If you're really that serious about him, maybe we should get you a lock for your door to avoid any mishaps," John winks.
"John!" Hamish sits up quickly, flushing red.
John snickers, "joking. But you are getting older now, so," he trails off, leaving the discussion open for another time.
Hamish grumbles, "I suppose. What did you want anyway? You didn't come up here just to spy on us did you?"
"No, I'm ordering pizza for dinner. Is your friend- sorry, Toby, staying?" Hamish nods and John continues, "I'll let you know when it's here."
John pulls the door closed and Hamish hears his footsteps descending the stairs. Toby pokes his head around the bathroom door, Hamish motions with his head that he can come out.
"You know, your dad doesn't sound as bad as you make him out to be," he says, sitting beside Hamish and stretching.
Hamish raises his eyebrows, "that wasn't my dad. That's John. Dad's boyfriend, or flatmate, partner, or whatever they call each other. Apparently you're invited to stay for dinner." When Toby gives him a look, he continues, "John worked it out."
"And he's fine with it?"
Hamish leans into Toby's personal space, "yep," he says, popping the 'p' sound.
Toby grins and closes the space between them, gently pressing his lips against Hamish's.
Half an hour (and lots of kisses) later, and John is calling the teenagers down for dinner.
He is armed with three pizza boxes, and spreads them out on the table after removing the chemistry equipment. He smiles at them both when they arrive, "get yourselves plates and dig in."
They take a few slices each and sit next to each other on the dining chairs.
After a few moments of silence, the front door opens and clicks shut, confident steps taking the stairs two at a time.
"You texted him," Hamish hisses at John.
John looks offended, "not this time kiddo, he's like a stray cat, you never know when he'll be home."
Hamish sighs and leans over to Toby and whispers, "this is him."
When Sherlock enters the room Hamish speaks immediately, "dad, this is Toby." He pauses at looks between the others, "my boyfriend."
"I see," Sherlock says, shrugging off his coat and throwing it over the back on John's chair.
"Toby, this is Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective and my father."
Toby smiles and bobs his head.
"How long?" Sherlock demands, taking a pizza crust from Hamish's plate and popping it in his mouth.
"A week," Hamish says, "though I wasn't sure if it would be safe to bring him home or not, even after the warnings I gave him."
Sherlock nods, muttering something that sounds like should have brought those ears home under his breath, "isn't Molly's cat named-" he's cut off by John playfully slapping his arm and sitting opposite Hamish, "so, Toby," John starts, "as it seems as though we're going to be seeing you here a lot more often, tell us a bit about yourself."
A few months later:
Hamish and Toby are sat together on the sofa when John and Sherlock return from a case. Toby is sat properly with Hamish half on his lap, legs thrown over his thighs and snuggled into his side. Toby has one arm wrapped around Hamish's waist and is reading a book, which John recognises as the book Hamish had been reading when he'd first gone to look at the flat, almost ten years ago, he thinks.
"Nice of you two to come home last night," Hamish grumps, "where've you been?"
"Case," John yawns, kicking off his shoes, "stayed at Greg's, was easier."
"You'd think you were the father here," Sherlock sits on the sofa beside them while John hangs up their coats, "you know, ever since you got a boyfriend you've become a lot grumpier and five times more sarcastic."
"Yeah well ever since you got a boyfriend-" Hamish snaps, but cuts himself off, unable to think of an insult. Instead he narrows his eyes and sighs, settling with whispering "happier."
He looks up at his father through his eyelashes, trying to avoid direct eye contact. He sees a smile cross Sherlock's face.
"I'm suddenly reminded of the nine year old who tugged on my shirt and begged for John to stay, so you have mostly yourself to thank that."
Hamish grins, "I didn't make you kiss him though. I knew exactly what you were up to when you got home from Angelo's."
Sherlock smiles again, "brat."
"Freak," Hamish retaliates.
"Alright boys, less name calling please," John sighs from the doorway, "we're ordering Indian for dinner, are you staying Toby?"
"If it's okay with you," he smiles, "I'll text my mum to let her know."
John nods and leaves in search of the takeaway menus, while Toby pulls out his phone, ignoring the almost-telepathic conversation going on between Hamish and Sherlock. When he's done he picks up his discarded book and rearranges himself comfortably around Hamish's form.
Seemingly concluding their conversation, Sherlock smirks and stands to leave, ruffling Hamish's hair on his way. He narrowly dodges Hamish's half-hearted kick.
"Oi, pass the remote before you leave, lanky git," Hamish shouts, settling back into Toby's chest.
He sees Sherlock smirk as he picks the remote up and throws it at the sofa. John snorts from the kitchen, "like you can talk Hamish, you're taller than me now, you skinny streak of nothing."
Hamish takes the remote and switches on the television. After a moment of watching Sherlock following John around the kitchen, Hamish realises Toby hasn't read a page of his book in quite a while.
"What's wrong?" He asks, rubbing his nose against the other boy's chin.
"You alright?"
"Yeah," Hamish glances a look into the kitchen, seeing John berating Sherlock for stealing his mug of tea, "we fight quite a lot," he continues with a whisper, "it's okay in the end though. We're too alike, dad and I, and we've always had our tiffs, but we always make up in the end." Hamish leans back and smiles up at Toby, "and John is a good referee, although he has trouble stopping us when we start arguing in other languages. Maybe that can be your job; you took French and German at GCSE, didn't you?"
Toby tsks and pulls Hamish closer to his chest, throwing his book on the floor and focusing on the tv.