Written for one of chasingriver's word suggestions, and my urge to include Hamish Malcolm Watson-Holmes in one of my stories. For more information on Hamish, please visit hamish(-)watson(-)holmes(dot)tumblr(dot)com.
Sometimes John wondered what he'd done to deserve all this. He'd pretty much given up looking for a family when he realised he already had the beginnings of one, right under his nose. Not only had he found his perfect match in Sherlock, but now they'd been blessed with a wonderful little boy.
And really, who would have thought that Sherlock Holmes, self-proclaimed sociopath and part-time madman would have made such a spectacular father? John as he lowered himself onto a bench, a thermos of tea in one hand. He was watching Sherlock push Hamish on a swing, his chubby little legs flailing wildly.
Hamish was as curious as his father, and it wasn't long before he tired of swinging and jumped down to inspect something – probably an insect. He had a fascination with bees, and John was always terrified he was going to get stung, but so far it hadn't happened. Sherlock squatted down with him, coat trailing through sand and getting filthy, but he couldn't seem to care less.
Suddenly Hamish darted away from his father and chased down a man selling balloons. Sherlock hoisted him up onto his narrow hip and paid the man, who handed the boy a sunny yellow one. John's heart warmed as he watched Sherlock and Hamish, both of them transfixed by the balloon.