The interrogation room was still. The accused was sat on one side of the table, Sherlock the other. His hands were propped beneath his nose, palms together. Pale eyes set beneath a tight frown, the middle finger of his right hand tapped impatiently against his left.
Lestrade and John, as well as two other officers, watched from the other side a one-way mirror. John's jaw tightened as he watched Sherlock. He understood this was important for the case, but it meant they'd had to leave Hamish with Mrs Hudson and John was certain there was only so much of the miniature Sherlock that woman could handle. The impatient, annoying habits of the 7-year-old consulting detective but in an actual 7-year-old.
Sucking in a breath, the detective sat back in his chair, dropping his hands to his lap.
"I'm disappointed in you, Laurence." Sherlock lifted a pale finger and pointed it at his own face. "This is my disappointed face."
John rolled his eyes. The detective was clearly in parent mode, something he'd quickly picked up from John and seemed to find hard to let go off when needed.
"Your intransigence frustrates me."
And parent mode was gone.
"You either know where she is or you don't!" He shouted, standing suddenly straight and towering over the accused who sat there with a face like a dead man, staring straight ahead, almost through Sherlock's torso.
John's fist clenched. Hamish would probably be convincing Mrs Hudson that throwing perfectly good iced buns into the skip outside would be the perfect of testing their biodegradability. He nudged Lestrade's arm with his elbow and the DI nodded at him before heading towards the door into the interrogation room.
"Sherlock." Lestrade spoke, breaking the tensionable silence that followed Sherlock's outburst. "A word?"
Sherlock's demeanour stiffened with annoyance and he swept past Laurence without a word, stepping outside to join Lestrade and John.
"Look, I'm agreeing to let you in there." Lestrade began but Sherlock interrupted him with a groan and a roll of his eyes, he turned to re-enter the room but the DI caught his arm to turn him back. "But it doesn't mean my head's not on the chopping block." He spoke quietly but sternly, hoping it would send Sherlock the warning he needed. He paused, his voice calming a little. "Just get in there, get what you need, get out again. Got it?"
He waited for Sherlock to nod before letting his arm go again.
Just before the detective could disappear back into the room with Laurence, John spoke up.
"Oh, and lay off the parenting act? Combine it with smart-arse and we've no idea what you'll get. Not something I'd like to witness, today." John crossed his arms and shot Sherlock a warning look. Sherlock rolled his eyes yet again and flounced back into the room.
"Nothing. Nothing!" Sherlock huffed and fell back onto the sofa, crossing his arms over his eyes. "Not a word. You'd think a man of his….intelligence-"
"Or lack thereof." John added.
"-would just blurt it out under pressure! He was practically a cardboard cut-out of a man, John!" Sherlock groaned loudly and flopped over onto his side, facing the back of the sofa. "Why must I be plagued with such dull criminals, John? For once I'd like a triple murder suicide with no evident leads." Sherlock shot up, now sitting profile to John, his hands twitching with anticipation. "Perhaps with a startlingly confusing canine influence and a currency from somewhere abroad." He paused, groaned again and flopped back onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "Not a man whose mouth is zipped shut like some disused puppet!"
"Dad!" Hamish came bounding into the room and landed on top of the doctor with a thud and an 'oof!' from John.
"Hey, matey. Has Mrs Hudson kept you nice and busy?" He smiled, reaching to wipe some icing sugar from Hamish's cheekbone.
"Yeah, we made scones with flour but I wanted icing sugar on mine. And then we put them on a plate with a little sign and she said she'll put them out in the shop tomorrow and tell me who buys one." Hamish rambled on and John watched with fond amusement. There was flour in Hamish's hair making patches of his dark curls turn a light grey. His blue eyes shone with delight as he retold the story of his day to his father.
John glanced over at Sherlock to find him still lying on his back, his eyes were closed but his hands were at his sides. John remembered from experience that this meant he was listening, not thinking.
"Come on then, H. Let's go and get all this washed off." John moved Hamish so he could stand up and began walking towards the bathroom.
"Wait!" Sherlock cried from the sofa and was up and over to them in seconds. He took Hamish's hand out of John's and flashed his husband a short smile. "I'll do it. Gives him time to talk to me about his day too."
John didn't want to mention that he knew Sherlock had been listening to Hamish's story already, neither did he want to point out that bathing Hamish would just act as a distraction from the case. Because maybe that was why Sherlock had rushed over so eagerly, silently begging John for a distraction. It did seem like an aggravating case. John smiled and nodded.
"Yeah, go for it. I'll start dinner then?"
Sherlock didn't answer, he was already walking Hamish to the bathroom.
John laughed lightly to himself as he heard Hamish start up his story again. Their voices faded as they disappeared into the bathroom and the door was closed.
"-and she put them on a plate-"
"Mmm?"
"-and she's gonna tell me who buys one, Dad-"
"Oh, really? That's nice of her then. Close your eyes, Hamish."
John chuckled at the conversation between his husband and his son. Clearly Sherlock was trying to get Hamish clean but the boy was too distracted by his own story.
"-so that I can go in and see them getting sold maybe-"
"Mmhm. Hold your hands out."
"-that is if you don't mind."
"Now rub that on your belly and shoulders, good boy-… What do you mean if I don't mind?"
John frowned now, pouring pasta into a pan but listening intently.
"Well, if you're busy again tomorrow then Mrs Hudson says I can stay with her again. But if you're not busy, and you don't mind, can I stay with her anyway?" Hamish asked.
John waited patiently for Sherlock's answer. Truly not knowing what it was going to be.
"If that's what you want to do, Hamish then that's fine. I'm sure Mrs Hudson won't mind."
Sherlock heard John clear his throat in the kitchen. A subtle message of 'don't decide things for other people, Sherlock.' But the detective smiled, watching his son splash water up the wall to see how high he could get it. John was clearly assuming Mrs Hudson wouldn't want to spend another day looking after their son, because he was so very nearly the miniature version of himself. But what John had forgotten was, yes, Hamish had picked up a lot of traits from himself, his intellect, curiosity, quick wit, sharp mind and tongue. But he'd also picked up many from John too, his manners, caring nature, ability to realise when something he's said has offended. So the detective knew Mrs Hudson wouldn't mind in the slightest if Hamish were to stay with her for the second day in a row.
And of that he was certain.