"Sorry? Punched? No he would never-...Oh. Oh, of course. Yes. Both of us? Yeah, okay. We'll be over as soon as we can. Thank you, Mr Jacobs."
John stabbed his phone to hang up and shoved it into his back jeans pocket, running a hand through his hair as he did. He stalked to grab his and Sherlock's coats and threw the aformentioned at the latter who was lying on the sofa, feet propped against the wall, head dangling over the edge and hair falling almost long enough to touch the floor. His hands were propped beneath his chin and his eyes were closed.
The coat sailed through the air and landed straight on top of the detective, covering him mid-waist to head in black.
"What is it?" Sherlock's voice came muffled from beneath the material but John wasn't in the mood to find it even the slightest bit funny.
"It's Hamish. He's been in a fight."
Sherlock swizzelled round to right himself and ignored the coat.
"Good. Show's character." He sniffed and leant his head back to delve back into his Mind Palace again but John stopped him.
"No. He's been punched, Sherlock. He was in a fight." John's fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Sherlock gaped up at John, both of them sharing the same thought.
"Well, I'm not one to say 'I told you so'-"
"Yes, you bloody are-"
"But I told you we shouldn't have sent him to public school, John." Sherlock shrugged his coat further around his shoulders before reaching up to hail a cab. "I said to you, I made it very clear, between us we would have more than enough capability to teach him the skills he'd require for life."
The cab pulled up and Sherlock pulled the door open.
"Well, we can sort that out later, Sherlock. For now I'd just like to make sure-" A hand suddenly against John's chest stopped the doctor from bending to get into the cab.
Sherlock said nothing, just gave the man a knowing look. Realisation and annoyance reached John's face at the same moment.
The detective nodded, now sending John a sympathetic, thankful flash of a smile before ducking into the cab and closing the door behind him.
John waited a moment, contemplating why the pair of them showing up together would actually have any further affect on Hamish's problem, before sucking a breath and hailing the next cab he saw.
"As you can imagine, these things are often out of our control." The headmaster, Mr Jacobs, lead Sherlock and John to his office, showing them three chairs set up in front of his desk before seating himself behind it. "Only the aftermath we can contain."
"Well you could put more effort into your systems of avoiding the whole act of fighting so that-"
"Sherlock." John noticed his husband's tone and decided to step in and change the subject. "Mr Jacobs, will Hamish be joining us? It's just that I am a doctor so I could help if-"
"Stupid, John. Three chairs. Of course he's joining us." Sherlock muttered, somewhat offended at being cut off a few moments ago.
Mr Jacobs looked between them for a moment before answering John's question. "Yes, Dr Watson, I've just sent Mary down to fetch him from the nurse. He should be here shortly."
"And the seriousness of his injuries?" John had subconcsiously taken on a formal tone and Sherlock deduced it was the one he often used at work. The detective wanted to roll his eyes, scoff even, but found himself smirking with impress instead.
"I am to believe the older boy caught his cheek and possibly his eyebrow. A witness said he got a good few punches in before Hamish started fighting back, however-"
"Older boy?"
"Fighting back?"
John and Sherlock both spoke at the same time and looked at each other.
Mr Jacobs looked momentarily confused before blinking and shaking his head. "Err, yes. The boy was the year above Hamish. And, yes, Hamish managed to swing a few of his own punches. I'm sure you understand that it will mean he stays in isolation until we are sure it won't happen again? It could only take a day or so, but just so that you understand our causes for-"
"No need for isolation, Mr Jacobs." Sherlock interrupted coldly. John looked at him in surprised and he suddenly felt a rush of sympathy. It seemed the mention of isolation had struck a chord of pain in Sherlock and his deducing meanour was sharper and as evident as ever. "We will be removing Hamish from your school as of today. He will be homeschooled from now on."
John could tell he wasn't going to win this argument even before he started it. He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, fixing his gaze on the wall behind Mr Jacobs's head.
"Mr Holmes, I'm sure we can make sure Hamish isn't a subject-"
"Of bullying, Mr Jacobs." Sherlock interrupted yet again. "Hamish has clearly been targeted by a boy who believes him to be immediately inferior to him, despite Hamish's obvious intellectual advantage. The reason for this being that he has two father's."
John bit the inside of his cheek.
"Having gay parents can cause other children to feel awkard around a child can't it, Mr Jacobs?" Sherlock continued, leaning forward on the desk and propping his hands beneath his chin. "You would understand that of course, your lack of uneasiness while we've been here, despite the fact that your profession in a Catholic primary school tells you to be nothing but 'uneasy', shows me that you are, in fact, perfectly comfortable with this situation." Sherlock gestured between John and himself. "Why?" He nodded to a photoframe on the windowsill behind the headmaster. "Two mothers."
Mr Jacobs held the expression of a startled goldfish.
"Sir, I've got Hamish Watson-Holmes here for you." A female voice spoke from behind John and Sherlock and they turned to see a blonde school secretary, her hand on the shoulder of a very annoyed looking boy.
"Hamish." John finally spoke and stood up to get a better look at his son's injuries.
"The nurse cleaned him up well, he was bleeding from his eyebrow and had a graze on his cheek. Looks like that eye might swell up a bit yet, too." Mary smiled at the doctor causing Sherlock to scowl, before nodding to Mr Jacobs.
"Thank you, Mary." The headmaster shook himself out of his shocked state to dismiss the secretary from his office.
"Dad, I'm fine. I'm ok!" Hamish complained as John hugged him but hugged back nonetheless.
John pulled back and bent low to assess his son's cuts. "Just let me make sure-"
"Dad! I said, I'm fine!" He swatted John's hands away from his face and walked past him to sit himself on the chair between his fathers' two.
Sherlock didn't look down at his son, but Hamish didn't look up either.
"Alright?" The detective asked quietly.
"Yup." Hamish responded, just as quiet.
John frowned, noticing how Hamish seemed to be picking up Sherlock's habits of dealing with pain by keeping silent.
"Hamish, do you want to tell your parents what happened?" Mr Jacobs asked, his tone completely changed to one of a soft and gentle nature. Sherlock scoffed at the man's ability to be so fake. John cleared his throat.
"No, Mr Jacobs. I'd rather wait until I get home. I don't really want to stay here much longer." Hamish answered. John and Sherlock shared a glance.
"Four?" John nearly choked on his tea.
"Well, there were four in total. Shouting, I mean. But only Sam actually hit me." Hamish answered, popping another biscuit into his mouth. John glanced worriedly at Sherlock who only gave him another look of 'I told you so'.
"Hamish, what made him hit you?" The doctor asked seriously, returning his gaze to his son who was eating his way through an entire packet of Custard Creams.
Hamish paused, biscuit crumbs stuck to his lip. He reached for his own cup of tea and lifted it to drink, ignoring his father's question.
"Hamish." John warned. "Tell me what happened."
Silence.
"Hamish, what did you do?" Sherlock decided to word the question differently, earning a look of surpirse doubled with an impressed smirk off of his son.
"I told him." Hamish answered with a shrug.
"Told him what?" Sherlock grinned slightly. "What did you see?"
John cottoned on to what was going on and rolled his eyes.
"His tie."
"What about his tie?"
"It was stained, and fraying at the edges." Hamish answered, pleased that his father seemed proud.
"Good. And what did that tell you, Hamish?" Sherlock glanced triumphantly up at John who tried to display his annoyance but ended up chuckling and avoiding Sherlock's eyes. It was quite amusing to watch after all.
"That clearly it hadn't been washed, despite today being a Monday when he'd had the whole weekend for his mother to wash it." Hamish paused and the glint in Sherlock's eyes told him he was correct, so he continued. "Therefore, I told him that his mother hadn't washed it, and asked him why his relationship with her was so unstable."
John's eyes momentarily widened at his son's use of such advanced vocabulary.
"That could have just been because he forgot to give his uniform to his mother last week."
"No, because his shirt was clean, his trousers were too small and his shoes were scuffed. Clearly this wasn't an issue of forgetting, Father. He had to scrabble together a uniform out of what he could find. Luckily he had a clean shirt already in his wardrobe." Hamish rolled his blue eyes. "Do keep up."
Sherlock smirked. "Good. Anything else?"
"Sorry? Good? He shouldn't just go asking about other kids' home lives, Sherlock!" John intervened and Hamish went back to eating biscuits.
"Why not?" Sherlock looked extremely put-out.
"Look," John sighed, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "I understand that you're enjoying this. Clearly Hamish has picked up your deducing...skills." John stopped short of calling them 'habits'. "But I don't think we should encourage it, Sherlock. At least not yet."
Sherlock stayed silent and turned his head away from John, fixing his eyes on his son instead.
"I just..." John paused, contemplating whether to tread on the ground that he was about to venture into. He sat down beside Sherlock and fixed his gaze on Hamish too. "We know what it got you...at that age." His voice was lowered so Hamish couldn't hear. "I know you don't want the same for him, Sherlock. No one would." John continued, turning to face the detective now. "I'm happy too...that he's picked it up. But let's just...not encourage it, yeah?"
Sherlock stayed silent and John took that as a yes, albeit a slightly unwilling one.
"Right then!" John stood, causing Hamish to jump and drop his biscuit in his tea.
"Da-ad!" Hamish tutted and leapt up to grab a spoon from the kitchen.
John chuckled and apologised, turning to Sherlock to share the laughter. Except Sherlock wasn't laughing. He'd also stood up and was at the window, looking out onto Baker Street in contemplating silence.
John sighed quietly. He knew he shouldn't have brought it up.
"Sherlock, I'm sorry." John approached him slowly. "Hey, look at me."
Hamish rushed back into the room to retrieve his biscuit but didn't take notice of either of his parents.
"It's fine, John. It's alright." Sherlock didn't turn around, a frown set in his forehead as he watched Baker Street go about it's business.
"No it's not I'm a terrible husband and a shitty doctor if I can so easily cause you pain from memory like that." John reached Sherlock sighed and turned him to look at him.
"What's this got to do with you being a doctor?"
"I should be a caring person! And clearly I'm not always...I'm sorry for dredgin up old memories." He stroked Sherlock's arm and Sherlock stared at him for a second before smiling softly, something even John rarely saw him do.
"It's ok. Don't worry about it, John." He leant forward and pressed an affectionate kiss to the doctor's forhead before stepping away and disappearing into the kitchen.
John frowned and pursed his lips in thought. He was going to worry about it rergardless of whether Sherlock told him not to.
He just hoped Mycroft didn't find out that he'd caused Sherlock to reminicse about his childhood. Lord knows what the British Government would do to the man that did that.