Note: To avoid confusion. The video is written in italics, present goings on are written normally.
Enjoy!
"Okay, matey. I think that cues bedtime for you." John grimaced as he wiped mashed banana from his cheek. He stood and lifted the bright-eyed boy from his highchair, settling him on his hip before turning to Sherlock who was busy squeezing pipettes of...something... into various coloured petri dishes.
"Do you want to have a try tonight?" He offered, raising both eyebrows.
"No." Sherlock answered in a heartbeat before looking up and flashing a not-so-sincere smile at John. "Thank you."
Sighing, John readjusted Hamish who'd decide to glide his mashed-banana-covered hands through John's hair - For god's sake I need to remember to wipe him clean next time.
"Look, Sherlock. I know he's not been very good at bedtimes recently. But maybe he just needs a change in routine? You never know, he might drop off quicker if you tuck him in."
"John I am very busy and I know-"
"Yeah, fine. Alright. Don't worry about it then." John cut him short with a huff and turned, leaving the room without giving Sherlock the opportunity to redeem himself.
"I told you moving him to your old room was a mistake, John." Sherlock grumbled and frowned down his microscope as Hamish's wails grew louder.
"Why does he always have to cry?" John winced as he washed up Hamish's banana-smeared plate in the sink. "Every night, he's always crying..."
"It's his age, John. You should know that. Don't ordinary people refer to it as the 'Terrible Two's'?" Sherlock scoffed has a reached blindly out to his side for the other petri dish.
John wiped the plate dry and darted to pass the petri dish to his husband before he knocked something acidic all over the table.
"He's not two yet, Sherlock."
"Almost. Besides, you said yourself he's a fast learner, John." Sherlock said as he slid the new dish under the microscope. "Maybe you should avoid feeding him so late at night." He added without a word of thanks for John's help.
"It was only banana, Sherlock. And it was a one-off." John rolled his eyes.
"If you force fed me mashed banana before bed I would cry all night too, John."
"I didn't force feed him!" John protested.
Sherlock just raised an eyebrow and continued in silence.
John frowned at his laptop screen. His USB stick blinked rhythmically from where it stuck out the side of machine and the only light in the room was coming from the screen itself. John watched as the screen played the video.
He was fumbling with the camera having just switched it on, Hamish was stood up in his cot, hands grasping the top of the bars and flinging himself backwards and forwards, wailing at the top of his lungs.
"Ssh, Hamish. Calm down." John's voice was barely audible over the wails, even though he was closer to the camera. "Alright, come on matey. Please stop crying."
John finally managed to secure the camera so that Hamish's cot was in view before moving over to the side of the cot and lifting his son out of it. He walked over to the changing table and pressed a button on a small blue machine. Immediately, 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' began to play out throughout the room and Sherlock's groan was audible from the all the way downstairs. John chuckled, both on screen and off, and smiled lightly as Hamish had finally stopped crying. He bounced him gently in time to the nursery rhyme until it had ended, before lowering him back down into his cot and sliding the bars up slowly. Hamish wasn't quite asleep, but he seemed sleepier than he was and he wasn't crying any longer which allowed John to let out a sigh of relief.
John clicked the machine on again and quietly left the room.
Choosing to fast forward most of the night now that Hamish was too tired to wail any longer, John held his finger down on the button, watching the time in the corner of the screen go from 10:00pm (Hamish easily kept them awake until late in the evening) all the way through to 2:35am with only a few shuffles of movement from the cot and nothing else. But by 3:13am, Hamish had pulled himself up and was wailing to be let out. Apparently he had decided it was morning.
John sighed and stretched his hands behind his head as he watched himself reappear on the screen.
He was wearing his pyjama trousers and had pulled on his dressing down, leaving it undone. He sleepily trudged over to the cot, a disgruntled grimace quite clear on his face, and lifted his son out. Repeating the same routine as earlier on, he bounced Hamish gently to the rhythm of the nursery rhyme before lowering him back into his cot once again.
This whole ordeal repeated itself another time before it reached 6:00.
As the clock in the corner reached 5:58am, Hamish decided enough was enough and began rattling the bars of his cot with such force, it was Mrs Hudson who padded softly into his room and soothed his tear-stricken face before lifting him up and out, carrying him out of the room on her hip.
John decided not to mention that he'd filmed her retrieve their son. She was in her nightgown and he thought it best it went unnoticed that she'd been recorded in it.
Sherlock didn't know about John's little experiment either. He'd kept it to himself, hoping that everything remained normal because he had done so. Otherwise he would end up with unreliable results.
It wasn't a fancy experiment. Nothing like any of Sherlock's. John just decided that if he filmed the goings-on of Hamish's nights, he'd understand his son a little better. But so far, it seemed that the little lad just woke up and got bored. Reminding John of a certain other toddler in his care.
The third night's recording, John had worked a late shift at the surgery and was more tired than usual. He only danced with Hamish through one song of Twinkle Twinkle before setting him down and disappearing.
Like before, John fast-forwarded Hamish's pre-sleep shuffles until the clock reached the usual 3:15am.
The 2-year-old snuffled as he gradually stood himself up and grasped onto the top of the bars for support.
John grimaced a little as he watched.
His son's face slowly contorted into a scrunched up frown and the soft sound of quiet cries filled the room. This time, it took a whole 20 minutes for John to make it to Hamish's bedroom.
John worked out that it was because he was more tired than usual and so must have been sleeping more deeply therefore unable to hear Hamish's first few cries.
On the screen, John carefully soothed Hamish from outside the cot; his hand gently stroking his son's dark curls until the young toddler was lulled into a sleepy state enough for him to sink back down onto his bottom and flop slowly onto his side.
John smiled and felt his chest swell with love for his son as he watched him sleepily flop over, his curls falling onto his forehead.
John set a cup of tea down next to his laptop and took a bite of toast, brushing his hands together to get rid of any crumbs before switching the machine on.
"I'm needed at the Yard." Sherlock suddenly appeared from the kitchen and made straight for the hall to grab his coat. He poked his head round the door only seconds later with an inquisitive frown. "You're...staying here?"
John nodded with another mouthful of toast as his laptop booted up. He was glad that his mug of tea was blocking Sherlock's view of the USB stick stuck into the side of the machine. He swallowed his toast and answered; "Yeah, I've got, err, some cases to be catching up on." He pointed to his laptop.
Sherlock paused, his eyes scanning John momentarily, gazing over the desk and laptop before he seemingly decided all was well. "As you wish. I'll be back later then." And he was gone.
John waited for the sound of the front door closing before opening up the files from the memory stick.
"Yoo hoo!" Mrs Hudson tapped on the doorframe as she entered the lounge and John inwardly sighed at the second interruption. "John! Do you need me to look after Hamish while you're busy with all that? I'm not your nanny, dear, but I have some biscuits downstairs if he would like them?" She smiled warmly and John took back his earlier sigh of frustration.
"If you wouldn't mind, that'd be great yeah." He answered gratefully. "He's still in his highchair at the minute but he's only had juice this morning. He refused his breakfast."
"Yes, my little Nathan did that a lot at that age." Mrs Hudson waved at little Hamish as she entered the kitchen and the boy's eye lit up.
"Hudsa!" He attempted and clapped his hands happily. She smiled and lifted him out of his chair before turning back to John.
"You have a son, Mrs Hudson?" John sounded genuinely surprised.
"Oh no, dear. Nathan was my nephew. I looked after him a lot though." She re-entered the lounge and headed for the door. "I'll bring him back later."
"That's fine. Thank you, Mrs Hudson." John smiled and the landlady returned it warmly.
"Daddy bye-bye!" Hamish giggled and waved his arm.
John grinned up at his son. "Bye bye, H. See you later!"
He smiled long after they'd left and finally shook himself back to present and clicked on the newest video file.
He was glad he was alone to watch this one, because it meant he could assess the newest stage of his experiment with better concentration.
Stage 2 meant John was no longer allowed to visit Hamish to sooth him in the night. He wanted to see what Hamish's coping strategy would be when no one turned up to baby him. John felt a bit cruel, but by the age of 3 or 4, Hamish would be old enough to settle himself back down to sleep should he need to. He was a fast-learning child and John had every confidence he would be fine at it when the time came.
It was hard to do so, but last night, despite Hamish's cries, John stayed in bed. Luckily, Sherlock never woke to ask why he'd not gotten up to see to their son, neither did he get up himself.
The video was relatively boring, actually.
John did the usual bed time routine, danced with Hamish gently before setting him down and leaving the room.
Like all the other videos, John fast-forwarded to 3:15am and frowned.
Hamish shuffled around a bit, reaching to grab a hold of a stuffed hedgehog in the corner of his cot, before pulling towards him and snuggling back down to sleep.
John frowned deeper, rewinding and watching it again to make sure he'd definitely got the time right and that grabbing the stuffed toy was really all that Hamish did during the usual 'Wail like a Banshee' hour.
With a shrug, John fast-forwarded again. Nothing. Absolutely no crying whatsoever. That would explain why Sherlock didn't wake questioning why John hadn't got up.
After contemplating that Sherlock might have drugged their son with a sedative, John put it down the typical fact that last night was an anomaly and Hamish had just had a good night for a change.
The doctor sighed and sipped his tea. It seemed Stage 2 would string out for another night.
Stage 2: Attempt 2.
John waited for Sherlock to get in the shower and Hamish to be busy playing with a puzzle set on the lounge floor before he clicked open the video file from the night before.
The usual bed time routine. John left and Hamish gripped his toy hedgehog tightly.
John fast-forwarded, glancing at Hamish on the floor to make sure he was alright before returning his gaze to the screen. Only to stop dead.
There was a dark shape standing in the far left side of the screen, only slightly in shot. Hamish was standing in his cot, hands gripping the top of the bars tightly. His eyes were fixed on the shape and he looked bewildered.
John felt his guts turn to cold spaghetti as he realised without doubt that the tall shape wasn't him.
The shape stepped further into shot. It seemed tentative and hesitant to get any closer. The weirdest thing was that Hamish wasn't crying. He was awake, but no sound was coming out of his usually-loud little mouth. He was just staring at the shape in awe.
John could've thrown something at the screen when the figure crouched beside the cot and its' errant, sleep-fluffed curls were lit up by the streetlight through the window. Fucking Sherlock.
John felt his heartbeat slowly return to normal.
"Why aren't you crying, little one?" Sherlock asked, sounding genuinely curious and a little concerned as he crouched down to Hamish's level.
Sherlock reached a hand slowly through the bars and tickled Hamish's chin lightly. The boy giggled and scrunched his chin to his chest in an attempt to stop his father from tickling him.
"Pa-pa!" Hamish beamed brightly and Sherlock hushed him.
"Ssh, ssh. Not too loud. Daddy's asleep." He brought his hand back through the bars again but stayed crouching at his son's level. "And you should be too."
He straightened up and reached down to stroke the back of Hamish's head gently before encouraging him to lay back down again. "Sleep now, Hamish. Night night."
"Daddy ni-ni!" He called from his cot and Sherlock smiled slightly before disappearing out of shot.
John paused the video.
Never before had he been aware of Sherlock visiting Hamish during the night. And the evidence from the past few nights had proved it was a rare occasion. Did Sherlock know about John's experiment? There was every possibility he did. Maybe he was just trying to stir up unreliable results because he found John's attempt 'ridiculous' or 'unnecessary'.
Still, John wouldn't confront him just yet. There was something about watching Sherlock behaving so fatherly that he enjoyed. So Stage 2 stretched on a bit longer.
The next night there was no sign of Sherlock again. And Hamish didn't cry again.
The night after that Sherlock only ruffled Hamish's curls in his sleep before leaving silently. John smiled at that one.
The night after that Hamish did cry and after a few minutes of being alone, he was gently soothed back to sleep by Sherlock softly playing a short violin piece for him. John smiled at that one too.
The following night was by far the best for John. It left him feeling warm inside and a stupid grin plastered across his face.
It was 3:15am. The usual crying time for Hamish, although the past few nights he'd seemed to break this rule. Tonight he was up and wailing dead on time and John never entered the bedroom.
Sherlock did, however. No violin. No chin tickling. Not even a word was uttered. Hamish extended his arms up to Sherlock, wanting to be lifted out as he shouted "Up! Papa, up!"
Sherlock didn't lift the boy out of his cot. Instead, he lifted a pyjama-clad leg over the bars, shortly followed by the other one, and settled down to sit beside his son who stared at him in confusion.
The detective shuffled to lie down awkwardly, his legs bent up slightly and his head propped on the cushioned lining of the cot. Hamish immediately sunk to flop himself over Sherlock, his arms hooking themselves around his father's neck. His cries were still loud but Sherlock moved a hand and started stroking his back gently.
Hamish continued to shuffle about a bit, obviously not used to having to share his crib with anyone, let alone a tall, lanky man like Sherlock. But eventually he settled, his body perpendicular to Sherlock's with his tiny head using his father's stomach as a pillow, his legs bent under his own belly like a frog. His crying ceased and his hands gripped themselves in Sherlock's t-shirt, willing him not to leave.
They stayed like this for a few minutes, neither moving. Sherlock's eyes were closed but he wasn't sleeping. This was obvious from the way he kept peeking one eye open every so often to see if Hamish was asleep yet. He wasn't. He turned his head to the other side and rubbed his eyes before settling down again and Sherlock rolled his eyes.
John grinned. It was a night where Sherlock must've been far from tired, something that being stuck in a cot would make very frustrating!
A lot of time passed without much movement from Hamish so Sherlock made an attempt to slip out unnoticed. Only to wake Hamish again, the boy sitting bolt upright and looking around himself in his sleepy state before flopping back down onto his father's stomach, further across it this time and so restricting him even more from his escape.
John chuckled as he watched his husband struggle.
Sherlock groaned and readjusted his position back to how he was. Hamish settled down once again and his breathing pattern evened out.
John didn't fast-forward any of this video. It was far too heart-warming. And amusing.
Sherlock looked around the room, obviously trying to deduce a way out. Every now and again Hamish would stir and he'd stop dead in his tracks. He visibly sighed and dropped his head back onto the cushion, grumbling when the stuffed hedgehog poked him in the neck.
More time passed, each attempt at an escape lead to Hamish readjusting his position and making it harder. He went from resting just his head on Sherlock's torso, to laying his whole body across him and curling up into a ball, his head tucked under Sherlock's arm. Sherlock rolled his eyes as his every attempt was shot down.
At one point, Sherlock seemingly accepted his fate and lifted Hamish up so he could move himself into a more comfortable position. But as soon as he had found one and put Hamish down again, the boy woke and got to his feet, gripping the bars and crying loudly.
Sherlock groaned and threw his head back in annoyance.
John laughed. He could tell Sherlock was starting to regret his plan.
The detective quickly sat up and pulled Hamish into a hug, soothing him gently and quietening his cries once again. After some more manoeuvring, Hamish was back asleep. His whole body on top of Sherlock's, head and arms splayed across his chest, legs tucked up under him like a frog.
This was how they stayed for ages, with only the odd shuffle from Sherlock attempting to get the blood flow back to his feet without waking his son.
All the hard work and shuffling about seemed to have tired them both out though because by 6:00am Sherlock was asleep too; one hand spread protectively across Hamish's back, the other gripping the stuffed hedgehog tightly.