For ChocolateandCheese, who asked for more Hamish fluff. I couldn't resist.
"Damn!" The exclamation is punctuated by a chubby fist flinging a sippy cup onto the floor. John turns to look at Hamish, who's smiling rather smugly.
"Excuse me, little man?"
Grinning, he hurls a small stuffed giraffe from his high chair. "Damn!"
John rubs his eyes, realising that Hamish is merely imitating his own bad habit of swearing whenever he drops anything. He's been trying hard to curb it, but years of ingrained cursing are hard to break.
Gently, he lifts the wriggling, giggling toddler out of his chair and guides him into the sitting room. John settles onto the couch, his son leaning against him.
"Now Hal, I want you to listen to me. Sometimes Daddy says things, but he's trying to stop, because they're not nice. Can you promise me you won't use that word around Father?"
Hamish looks very serious for a moment, his tongue running across his lower lip in an imitation of one of John's other habits, before considering the question.
"Okay." He smiles, and John ruffles his hair.
"That's my boy."
They sit in peace for a while, John watching the telly and Hamish playing intently with one of Sherlock's good shoes, when abruptly he lobs the shoe across the sitting room. Looking directly at his dad with a huge grin, he proudly exclaims "Bollocks!"