John's bonding with a talkative Hamish.

By the afternoon, time seemed to be slowing down. Maybe it was because John had woken up so early or maybe because Sherlock wasn't around to make it fly. It was terribly dark outside. The winter weather had left its marks on the windows. Frost and thick layers of snow and Hamish was standing by the glass, observing and investigating. Using his breath to fog the window and pressing his palm against it, he saw the frost melt and then freeze again. John looked up from his laptop and watched him for a moment. Hamish had been standing there for many minutes now. Not saying a word, nor asking questions.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked and sipped from his steaming tea. Hamish pressed his fingertips to the glass and backed up slowly. Like he was trying to see his experiment on a distance to give himself another perspective.
"Can it get just as cold here as in Russia?" he asked and lowered his hand to take a look at his wet fingertips.

"Not really. It would take a dramatic climate change for that to happen." John answered him and got up from his armchair to join him. "You wanna go outside for a walk? We've been inside all day. Some fresh air would do us some good." Two eager eyes looked up at him and soon a broad smile curled his thin lips.

"Can we go to the music store?" he asked and grasped his hand with icy fingers. With that face in front of him, John couldn't say no.

"Go put on your overall." The boy ran quickly through the room and out in the hallway. "I'll tell dad we're going out and then I'll help you with your shoes, okay?"

Sherlock was sleeping as tightly as he was swaddled. He hadn't moved since the accident with the beans and probably didn't plan to do it either for the rest of the week. He placed a hand on his forehead and felt the heat. Sherlock moaned and shifted in bed.

"Your hand is cold."

"I wish I could say the same about your forehead." said John and took his pulse. "Think you can handle yourself for an hour. Hamish and I were planning to take a walk."

"Why would I need you?" Sherlock groaned, making it sound like a curse for waking him. "Let me sleep." John lowered his head and kissed his unshaved chin. Just reassuring him that he was still caring even if he left for the hour.

"Love you." he whispered and raised from the bed when he heard his husband groan in response. The carpet felt wet under his feet and he deduced that Sherlock had knocked over the glass of water on the floor in his sleep. With a grunt, he decided to let it dry on its own when he heard Sherlock mumble under the cover.

"I love you too."

It came like a shock rather than a surprise, and he was about to answer him 'thank you' but he stopped his tongue in time. He closed his mouth and was to nervous to turn. Sherlock would be able to read everything in his face if he saw him. But from the sitting room came the words of salvation from this awkwardness.

"Daddy?" He grabbed his keys on the way out and left the elephant in the room. Sherlock hadn't said those words for... how many years? Hamish stood in the hallway with the shoes on his feet and the laces all around him, probably two inches to long.
"Where's your hat?" John asked him and fell to his knees to tie them for him. The only answer he got was Hamish pulling the thick hood of his overall over his head. "That's not enough." The boy gave him a grunt and pulled the hat out of his pocket. It was given to him by 'granny'. John would never get used to calling Mrs Hudson that. The knitted hat was pulled over his dark hair and down over his ears. "Good." John praised him and gave him a teasing grin as he pulled the hood over his head as well. "Now you look like a antarctica-explorer."

After putting his own jacket on, Hamish was just as strict to make sure that he dressed just a properly as him. Hat, scarf and mittens was very important and he agreed when Hamish told him about how bad Sherlock was at this as they walked down the stairs.

"Yes, I know Hamish. Dad really needs to wear a hat. Maybe you should ask granny to make one for him too." The chilly weather hit them as he opened the door and Hamish grasped his hand and walked after him into the falling snow. He let his head fall back and John watched as Hamish tried to catch the snowflakes with his tongue. "So, the music store then?" The boy nodded and let his father lead him wile he stared at the sky. This was the first time he had decided where to go. During earlier walks they just walked. No destination accept tesco or the pharmacy. They had passed the music store many times but Hamish had never as much as pulled his hand when they'd passed it. John wished Sherlock could be here to see this happen.

"So, what are we going to do at the music store?" he asked his son as they saw the sign blinking close by in the falling snow that Hamish had giving up on catching. He looked up at John with big eyes and blinked the away the melted snow from his eyelashes.

"Just have a look." he told him and stopped outside the door. Just staring trough the window. John reached out for the handle when the grip around his hand tightened. He couldn't see Hamish's face so he pulled back his hood. Never in Hamish's short life had he looked so worried. He stared at the door like he'd seen a ghost and John crouched beside him to get into his eye level.

"What's wrong?" he asked carefully and placed his hand on his back. Hamish swallowed hard and opened his mouth to speak but he closed it again. Turned to his father and took a deep breath through his nose.

"This isn't what me normally do." he whispered. There was no fear in his voice. Only a deep anger like he had disappointed himself by not entering the store at once. This was his first time deciding something and it was to overwhelming for him. Right now he wished that they'd just passed the store and moved on to Tesco. He wished that they didn't brake their normal routine. This changing didn't work well with his head.

"No, but it's funnier. Isn't it?" John asked him, giving him a calming smile and Hamish nodded. The little wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows and he started to nibble his bottom lip. "You don't need to talk while we're in there if you don't want to." John continued and cupped his face, trying to warm up his blushing, but cold cheeks. Still biting his lip, he nodded as he determined that he was going into that shop. "You ready?"

A bell announced them as they entered the little shop and they were welcomed by a nice warm wind from the fan. Second hand guitars and violins hanged from the roof, leaving John with a very clouded vision as he tried to look around. The lights were dimmed, leaving the room in a slight golden tone that brightened the varnished wood of the many instruments and Hamish's eyes grew as he looked around, gaping to this new experience.

"Something special you wanna look at?" John asked him and saw how his eyes were locked on a great, black Seiler piano on the other side of the room crowded with instruments. "Come on." He pulled him by the hand closer to the majestic piece when Hamish came to a sudden stop. Just staring at his own reflection on the black paint that didn't have a single fingerprint. This was the first time Hamish saw a piano so close. "D'you wanna try it?" He shook his head quickly enough for his hat to crawl up over his ears. "Why not?"

The lid came up and showed the black and white keys and Hamish's mouth fell open when he saw them. Quickly forgetting the fear and giving up the the urge to 'taint' the the clean piano with his little fingers. Suddenly he was picked up from the floor and John put him on his lap as he fell down on the stool.

"I might not be as musical as your dad but..." He pressed down on three of the keys. The chord sang out in the room and he saw how his son observed his hand. "This is a C." He moved and pressed down again. "And that's an A. Try it." He took Hamish's hand and pressed his thumb down on the first key and realised that his hand was to small to reach the others. Get again he got disappointed at his motor. "Use your other hand too." The mittens hardly fit in the small pockets on his overall when he removed his from his other hand. He looked just as eager now as under show and tell at home. The chord sang in the shop again and a big smile appeared on his lips. Like he couldn't believe he'd done it by himself. He tried the other chord and a little laugh slipped over his lips.

"Look at that." John giggled and pulled the hat off his head. Dark brown hair popped up right under his nose and he got a whiff of his shampoo. "You did it. Want me to show you some more?"

They sat there for what seemed like hours, just played some simple notes. Just trying it out until Hamish felt pleased and happy with the results of his experiment, and frankly a bit tired. Not that he would ever admit that to John but his father could easily read him. He caught him in his embrace when he fell back against his chest. Glowing with pride of the fact that he'd overcome his fear twice today, and in John's eyes, he truly was a brave boy.

"You done?" Hamish nodded. "Wanna go home?" He nodded again.

He held him in his arms all way home, didn't care if his left shoulder ached. Today he wanted to keep Hamish as close to him as possible. He wanted to hear every little question, every little word that left his lips. And Hamish knew many words. Every time he opened his mouth, sentences just rolled over his tongue and he pointed with his mittens on everything he wanted to know something more of. Signs, posters, flyers, cars, shops. He needed to know everything about the neighbourhood.

But John noticed shortly that every time they passed someone, he silenced quickly. Just waiting for the stranger to be out of earshot before he continued.

A cab drove in by the curb and John would always recognise the silhouette of the woman in the backseat. The woman who would make London fall if she left, and today it almost had if little Hamish hadn't saved the day. It felt good to have the old woman back around these streets.

"Mrs Hudson!" he greeted her with a big smile and she giggled as she stepped out.

"It's not every day two little Holmes's meet me by the car. Hello!" She pinched Hamish's cheek and bundled up her face into a ridiculously playful face. "You look freezing, booth of you. Let's get you in for a nice cuppa!"

"Oh we would love to Mrs Hudson." he stated and followed her up the short stairs and into the warm corridor. "But we have to decline." Hamish squirmed out of his grip and slid down on the floor where he started to pull in his overall get free. "But, I have a Sherlock in flu." His landlady twitched when she heard the words and her hand flew up to play nervously with the neckless.

"Oh my goodness. Is he ill" Even she knew that he rarely went under the weather and that when he did it was bad. Hamish started to pull in John's arm to get him up the stairs, possibly eager to tell his other father about his discovery and John could understand him. But after all, mrs Hudson was a very good talker.

"Yes, sadly." John answered her and stood put in his shoes while his son kept pulling his arm. "It was a little panicky this morning, but it's better now. Yes, Hamish. We are going."

"I can always make tea upstairs. If you need any help" Mrs Hudson continued and pointed with her slender finger to the stairs and John sighed with a smile. Some tea would do him some good right now.

"Of course." he said and yielded to the tugging in his sleeve. He almost stumbled over the first step as Hamish suddenly let go and ran up the rest himself. John was only a second behind him but as he reached the hallway, he found all Hamish's outdoor clothes on the floor, like he'd just blown up into smoke. That boy was in a real hurry to get to his dad. While taking off his shoes and neatly placing them on the shoe rack, he heard the boy come running through the flat. He appeared in the door with the heart in his throat and he opened his mouth to speak when he suddenly choked. His blue-green eyes locked on the woman coming up the stairs and John started to understand. Hamish wasn't ready for mrs Hudson just yet.

"What is it?" he asked him calmly and reach out his hand for Hamish to grab it. "Show me."

The boy looked relieved by those words and grabbed his hand as hard as he could to pull him with him. As soon as they reached the corridor to the bedroom, and Mrs Hudson was out of earshot, he opened his mouth again.

"Dad's acting weird." he said and pushed the door open. On the bed laid a very disturbed Sherlock. Possible nightmares taring through his great mind and he tossed his head from side to side as he clawed the sheets. The cover had been thrown off him and his clothes was soaked by sweat, outlining every muscle on his chest as he was breathing heavily.

"Hamish, get him some water and I'll try to wake him up." John said with the calmest voice he could find as he sank to his sons eye level, showing him that this was nothing to be scared of. "Dad's fine. It's just nightmares." Hamish gave him a quick nod and ran to the kitchen while John turned to the bed. "Sherlock?" The temperature was up again, his whole body produced heat and he was trembling, face bundled up like he was in pain. "Sherlock?" he tried again and took his pulse. Every breath that leaved him came out in painful sobs through clenched teeth and John cupped his face. "Come on, love. Don't do this. It's just a fever." Dramatic, it was the perfect word to describe Sherlock when he was sick, and this time was no different. John muttered to himself and walked over to the window to let the cold winter weather cool down the room and Sherlock twitched as the cold air caressed his skin. A loud moan left him and John sat down beside him to stoke his damp hair. His breathing started to ease, still trembling but decreasing.

"Sherlock?" he tried again and saw his arm move. The slender fingers wound around his wrist and held it weakly. "Are you with me?" His eyes fluttered and finally came open to lock themselves on John who smiled. "Hello. What do you think you're up to? Taking a turn for the worse?" Sherlock, still breathing heavily, blinked a couple of times and tried to shake of the fears from the dream.

"There... there was a..." he stuttered and swallowed the rest of his words. "I was dreaming?" He wasn't sure of himself anymore. His mind wasn't clear enough to deduce what had happened around him.

"Yes, it was a nightmare." John explained and reached for the thermometer on the side table when Hamish showed up beside him with the glass of water in his hands. He thanked him and Hamish put it aside to crawl up in bed beside his father. John checked his fever and sighed when he saw the numbers. "You're up again. I'll get something to get it down."

Hamish stayed by his side while John fetched the medical bag in the bathroom and Sherlock's eyes roamed the room, trapped with a bottomless fear.

"Dad?" Hamish whispered and took his hand, stroke his forehead to wipe the cold sweat away. "Look." He pointed to the bureau by the window and made sure that he was really looking. The skull was placed by the cactus and Sherlock shot it a quick look before his head fell back on the pillow. Letting go of a deep breath and feeling some sort of calmness surround him, making him relax. The skull suddenly had the the same soothing affect as it had thirty years ago. "He's got a good look out. Nothing bad will happen to you as long as he's close." The exact same words that Sherlock used to tell him and he flinched as they reached his ear. He never knew why he told Hamish that lie when he never believed it himself as a child. But the skull had always been a friend and therefore he brought a feeling of being safe by just being around.

Sherlock reached out, pulled his son down by the neck and Hamish landed on his heaving chest. Sherlock tangled him in his arms and hugged the breath out of them both as the nightmare started to show itself again. Suddenly, he remembered every horrible act that had been played in his head.

"Stay with me for a while, will you?" he breathed and buried his nose in his hair. The strands tickled his face when Hamish nodded. "Good."

"Here we go." said John as he stepped out from the bathroom. "Let's get you better." He sneaked his arm around his thin shoulders and hoisted him up in the bed. Hamish was still in his arms, listening to his fast beating heart as he swallowed the pills with the cold water. "Have Hamish told you what we did while we were out?" John continued to gradually get Sherlock back into reality from his feverish state. The detective fell back with a loud groan and shook his head.

"Tell me Hamish. What kind of adventure did your daddy take you on?" The boys face lit up, just as it did back at the store and John giggled happily.

"We went to the music store." he explained and turned his head to look at his sick father who opened his eyes again. "I played the piano."

"Did you now?" Sherlock grinned tiredly and swept his fingers through his hair. "Any good?"

"Very good." said John and saw how a shiver run through his husbands body.

"It was fantastic. You should have heard it dad. The sound of it was beautiful." A smile twitched the corners of Sherlock mouth but he was to tired to keep it there. "Daddy says I've got an ear for music. Just like you." A terrible cough tore through Sherlock throat and his body twitched painfully. Luckily, it wasn't even close to the fit he'd had this morning.

"You okay?" John asked and offered him some more water which he gladly accepted.

"Of course." he sighed and cleared his sore throat. "So, the piano you say? Did you try anything else?" Hamish shook his head and sneaked his little hand into his curls. "Well, as soon as I'm out of this damned bed I'm taking you there again. You need to show me what your daddy showed you."

"I'm gonna write to Santa that I wish for a piano." Hamish told them both and Sherlock groaned with pursed lips. His son lifted his head and looked at him with sharp eyes. "You don't believe in Santa?"

"How can I? How can he visit every house in the world during twenty-four hours. It's impossible." Imagination was ruined, and John sighed angrily as he lowered his gaze.

"Sherlock." he murmured but Hamish stopped him before he could say anything.
"It's magic, dad. Just because you can't do something doesn't mean Santa can't." And with those words, John bursted into laughter.

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