Whatever bug Sherlock got, Hamish caught the same.

"So, a piano then?" Sherlock breathed close to John's neck as he snuggled close to steal his body heat. John, who was almost asleep, twitched and sank deeper into his soft pillow, took a deep breath of the detergent that brought back many memories about this room.

"What?" he groaned and squirmed around in his arms to find a more comfortable dip in the bed.

"Hamish's christmas present. A piano then?"

"What?" John asked again, to drowsy to understand and Sherlock growled at his unintelligence.

"Try to keep up, will you." John drew a shallow breath and cracked his eyes open. Staring into the darkness he tried do understand his husbanda words. "We're getting Hamish a piano." Mouth was dry and he tied to swirl his tongue around to be able to answer his husband who so eagerly snuggled closer to his neck.

"He's only tried it once. Let's not hurry this. Today it's the piano, tomorrow it's..." Imagination failed him this time of night and he gave up with a deep groan. "I don't know. Something else." But Sherlock smirked and felt a shiver travel down his spine, causing him to twitch. John sensed it and turned to press his chest against his and fold his arms around him. "You alright?"
"Oh forget about me." Sherlock moaned but welcomed his loving touch dearly. "We need to get Hamish a piano for christmas." Then they heard the familiar cracks and sneaking feet in the flat and John whispered to his husband to be quiet. They listened carefully as it came closer and closer, and soon the door swung open.

"And what might you want?" John asked the little boy standing on the doorstep without turning his head to look at him.

"I can't sleep." Hamish whispered and John looked over Sherlock shoulder to get a look of the time. Half past eleven, this was earlier than other nights.

"You mean you haven't slept at all, or did you wake up and couldn't go back?" he asked and untwined his arms around a whining Sherlock who missed the warmth of him once skin left skin.

"I woke up." Hamish explained and rubbed his eyes with the heals of his hands. John sat up and turned on the light, and saw the smeared tears across Hamish's face. A knot was quickly tied in his abdomen, it was unusual for Hamish to cry and the few times he did it was nearly heartbreaking to see him.

"What's wrong?" The question made Sherlock lift his head and look at his distressed son who broke into new tears and hid his face in his hands. "Hamish?" John tossed himself out of bed, pulled a t-shirt over his head and picked him up to hold him, cradled his head as he sobbed to his shoulder. "Hey? What happened? Was it a nightmare?" The small little hands found their way into his ashy blonde hair and tugged it lightly by the roots as he rocked him in his arms. Pressing his forehead closer to John's shoulder, Hamish shook his head and sniffled. "D'you wanna tell me?" He shook his head again and started hiccuping by the crying that forced its way up his throat. "Come on." As he turned to the bed, he saw Sherlock's worried face, half covered by the sheets. "Does it hurt anywhere?" He slid back under the cover with Hamish still glued to him and leaned to the bed frame.

"Hamish?" Sherlock whispered and reached out to touch his arm, hoping it gave him some sort of comfort. "Tell us what's wrong."

Hamish swallowed hard and the crying eased long enough for him to breath. With the nose buried to John's neck, he took a couple of deep breaths before he let go of his hair. His hands fell down to his father's shoulders and he lifted his heavy head to stare into the light of the lamp.

"It's... it's just been a weird day." he whispered and his eyelids fell, jaw dropped, leaving him with a tired expression and John wiped away the tears with his thumb.

"Indeed it has." he answered him calmly and pulled the cover over his shoulders, rubbed him to soothe his fears. "But it ended good, didn't it?" With a soft groan he nodded and pinned himself to John's t-shirt, planning to never let go. Tears was still flowing down his blushing cheeks and John placed a hand on his forehead, believing he'd found the problem of it all.

"Oh, Hamish. You're a bit warm." Sherlock shot up in bed with those words and forgot everything about the pain that was haunting his body. Sheets and blankets fell down his chest and he moved as close as he could to them both. With just one look, he could tell that Hamish wasn't himself. He could see the symptoms, because he had gone through it and he did not want Hamish to do the same. Without noticing, he circled his hand around his sons wrist and felt his heart beat quickly.

"Do you feel dizzy? Weak?" John shot him a sharp look, silently warning him from being to much of a detective and shook his head. This what not the time for deductions and conclusions and Sherlock closed his mouth. Instead of keeping the tip of his fingers to his wrist, he sneaked his them in to Hamish's weak grip of the t-shirt and took his little hand.

"Let's get you some water and some paracetamol." said John and swaddled them both in a big blanket. "You too Sherlock. We need to keep that fever down." The playful tone in his voice was hateful and Sherlock groaned as he got out of bed to follow him. But first he took all the blankets he could fins and wound himself tightly before leaving the room. The flat was cold this time of night, his own fault since the AC had a timer. According to his studies, he slept and thought better when the air was cooler after dark. He followed his husband into the kitchen and saw how he started to search amongst boxes of medicine, Hamish still pinned to his chest.

"Well, let's see. Aha!" Sherlock looked over his shoulder and observed. He needed to learn how John took care of the boy in these situations incase he had to do it by himself some day. He needed to master the ways of talking care of little Hamish, he couldn't afford to be bad at this. "I'm afraid you'll have to take to medications today." Hamish winced by his words and sulked agains his chest. "First you'll have to take this." He showed his the little pill between his fingertips and the boy pursed his lips. "And then this." John continued and held up the two pieces of the fudge that mrs Hudson had made them as a friendly gesture and Hamish mood switched quickly. "Think you can manage that?" He nodded and John put him down on the counter amongst beakers, pots and papers, it didn't take long before he started to shiver again.

Sherlock hated to see him like this, to see the sickness tare through him and he pulled one of the blankets off his shoulders to place it around him. Just by placing a hand on his back, he could feel his whole little body trembling in and he wanted, no, needed to help. Pulling him into his embrace he hugged him tightly and tried to transfer as much body heat as possible to him. Just like Hamish did when he was a baby, he pressed his cheek to his chest and pinned himself to the blanket around his shoulders, leaving Sherlock with a quick beating heart as memories flew through his mind.

"I'm sorry." The boy lifted his head and stared at him with exhausted eyes, filled to the brim with tears that glittered in his lashes.

"About what?" he asked hoarsely and Sherlock played with the strands overlapping his forehead, damp by sweat.

"For giving you whatever I've got." he answered with shame in his voice. He didn't want to see Hamish sick, he never wanted that.

John fuzzed around them, trying to keep up the mood with small jokes and teasing them, and he succeeded to get a laugh or two from Hamish even if he was feeding them pills. They chased them down with cold water and pieces of chocolate fudge and soon neither of them could keep their eyes open. John swept his arms around them both, hugging them tightly and kissing their burning cheeks. It wasn't very often he got to hold both his boys at once. After all, Sherlock had never really been a man longing for human touch accept when he was shivering by cold. It was rare to see Sherlock so lovingly caring for Hamish and his wellbeing. Possibly the fevers doing, but of course he would care when their little boy was sick, only John didn't expect it to be this intimate.

Sherlock's head fell to his shoulder and a short, painful grunt slipped over his parted lips. Between them, little Hamish was pressed against both of their chest, enjoying the warmth of both their bodies as he was about ti fell asleep while listening to Sherlock's heartbeats.

"Daddy." he whimpered and John stroke his hand through his hair. "My head feels heavy."

"I know love." John whispered and saw how Sherlock was about to drop him. Arms was to weak and John took him before he hit the floor with a bang. "Let's get you two back in the bed and rest that head on a pillow. Come on Sherlock." The man groaned and lifted his head only to feel dizzy again. Eyes tried to focus on the only thing in the room that seemed familiar, John, whom placed a firm hand on his shoulder blade, giving him that smile that always sent a calming feeling through his body. He would follow that man anywhere, and this time as many other night, straight back into bed. The warming covers and sheets had never been this welcoming as he fell into them. "And in you go." he heard John say as the bed dipped. As he opened his eyes again he saw only the dark hair on Hamish's head and he took a whiff of the minty shampoo. "You two will probably end up on the naughty list because of this." John snickered and crawled down beside Hamish, wrapping them all up in the big cover and moving as close as he could to his son and husband. "Making me take care of you both so close to christmas. Do you realise what I'll have to do now when you're not healthy enough to help? All the shopping, wrapping, cooking."

"Oh shut up, John." grunted Sherlock and swept his arms around the little boy to get him to stop shivering. John just smirked and took a last look at them both before turning off the lights.

"How are you feeling Hamish?" he asked and placed a hand on his chest, feeling his elevated pulse and uneven breaths.
"My head hurts." he whined and made a lousy try to blink away the fresh tears that was soon to fall down his face, and then there was a cry in panic. He pulled his arms free from under the duvet and stared at his hands as he screamed.

"My fingers are gonna fall off!" he shriek with a voice so far from his own, so full of fear and panic both Sherlock and John was wide awake again.

By the looks of it, there was nothing wrong with his fingers. Just normal, chubby hands with short fingers with nibbled nails. Not a mark, no discolouration, no wounds or scrapes. "Daddy! Do something!"

John had never heard something like it. For the first time in years his knowledge in medicine didn't help him. He searched every corner of his head to find some solution to this problem as he turned on the light again, only to see Hamish's panicked stare and shaking hands. Fever was stubbornly steady, but not to high to cause him to hallucinate. This was something else, and John had no idea what.

"It's okay." Sherlock suddenly whispered without opening his tired eyes and he lifted his arm, grabbed both his hands and placed them back on the cover. He stroke his big thumb back and forth over his fingers and squeezed his hands while John watched them in surprise. "Don't worry." Crying started to ease but he winced when he tried to wiggle them. He bundled his face up into a painful grimace and groaned in agony as the weird feeling got worser and more real by the second. "Keep them still. Don't move them." The wiggling stopped and Sherlock kept up the light massage while Hamish sobbed in silence and John wiped his tears with the cover. "They're not gonna fall off, it just feels like it."

"How can you know?" Hamish asked him with a shaky voice that made John's heart ache and he started to stroke his hair again, seeing his face relax as he did so. His mouth fell open and a sigh slipped over his lips.

"I just know." Sherlock answered him hoarsely and sighed just as loud as him. "Sleep."

And he did. In less than two seconds Hamish drifted away between them and as he did, the weird feeling in his fingers came to an end. With a little snore he rolled over to his side and snuggled himself close to Sherlock's chest and Sherlock welcomed him by wounding his arms around his little body.
The flabbergasted John couldn't believe what just happened before him. He'd never seen Sherlock comfort Hamish so amazingly before. Usually when Hamish felt scared or sad, Sherlock'd just call for John and push a crying boy into his arms.

"How did you know?" John asked him and reached for the lamp. Darkness fell over them but John didn't need to see to find Sherlock's hand on their son's back. He entwined their fingers and kissed the knuckles, still smelling fudge on him. But Sherlock was already asleep and unable to answer his question. The black curls was still damp by sweat but John kept playing with them, Sherlock loved when he did that.

And then he laid in the dark. Keeping himself awake just a bit longer to watch over them both, listening to their calm breathing and little whimpers and he couldn't help the smile twitching the corner of his mouth. In five days time it would be christmas. Probably the most odd christmas ever celebrated on Baker Street. The excitement made him feel just as old as Hamish. This christmas he would be able to tell them about the thought and feelings about the gifts when he opened them. Last year had been celebrated in silence. The only thing Hamish had given them was small smiles and laughs. This year would be different.

Then John slept.

So the thing about the finger, it happened to me every time I had a fever as a kid. It literary felt like my fingers was about to fall off, some weird numbness.

Anyway, thank you for previous reviews. As always they brighten my day so keep 'em coming!

Next chapter will be christmas! So lot's of characters will show up