It might be the wrong time for a christmas story, but who cares?
Christmas morning came. Snow falling in thick flakes, covering the streets and rooftops and the two fathers woke up with a bang. Door flew open hard enough to make the boxes of pinned bugs rattle on the shelf and Hamish tossed himself into the bed.
"Give me my gifts!" he shouted and crawled in between them. They should never had promised him one gift after breakfast if he slept in his own bed all nigh. "Now!" Sherlock started the day with a groan and turned his back to them both. He and John had been up late last night, putting gifts under the tree that one day showed up on their porch. Probably mrs Hudson's doing and not even Sherlock was cold hearted enough to decline the tree.
The lowest branches hung over the many boxes and bags and Hamish had noticed it on his way down, believing that Santa had actually been there since the floor had been empty when he went to bed.
"What tone is that?" John asked him and giggled and he pulled him into a hug. "Ask nicely."
"May I open my gift please?" Hamish asked with a new tone, trying to be as charming as he could. Of course he had inherited the talent in acting form his dad, and John fell just as easily for him as for Sherlock.
"Of course." he said. "Wake dad up and I'll make us some hot chocolate."
As he left the bed, Hamish tossed himself on top of Sherlock and shook his shoulder violently.
"Dad!" he shouted eagerly and pulled the cover, ready to do anything to get him up. "Come on! UP!" The detective groaned loudly and rolled over on his back to meet his sons big grin. "You need to get up!"
"I'm about to." he yawned and rubbed his eye, feeling Hamish jump up and down on his knees. "Calm it or christmas is canceled!" The bouncing stopped and he heard the quick footsteps out of the room, Hamish was now discussing his threat with his daddy.
"No, we're not cancelling christmas." said John laud enough for him to hear from the kitchen. "Get up Sherlock!"
He heaved himself out of bed, still a bit weak of the awful fever he and Hamish had shared just a couple of days ago, but he would never let the numbness in his limbs keep him off his usual day to day routine. The silk was cold around his skin as he swept the gown around his shoulders and so was the air. The winter weather found its way into the flat in every creak and had no mercy on any of them. As he left the room he heard sounds of china and and cutlers being placed on a tray.
"Why is it so damn cold?" he asked as he emerged in the kitchen and saw the two boys working hard to get breakfast ready. Hamish put his soul into it, getting everything that was needed to make a proper sandwich because he knew that as soon as everything was on place, he would be able to choose whatever gift he wanted from under the tree.
"I don't know. Something might be wrong with the heater." John guessed. "And watch your mouth." Hamish giggled when he heard John warning his father and ran over the floor to embrace him.
"I can warm you!" he shouted and jumped up in his arms. Sherlock pulled him up and above his head and took a good look at the boy wearing the dark blue pyjamas full of stars and moons.
"Please do." he smirked and felt the arms wrap around his neck and his warm body press against his chest. "You're almost as warming as a radiator, aren't you?"
"I'm on fire!" Hamish shouted happily and Sherlock tossed his head back in laughed. "Am I burning you dad?" Sherlock continued to laugh and hugged him a little harder.
"We better kick you out in the snow for a bit to cool you down."
"Don't be silly." he giggled and kissed his fathers cheek when John announced that breakfast was served.
"When is uncle Greg and Molly coming over?" Hamish asked as they moved to the sitting room and John pulled a face.
"Uncle Greg? Why are you calling him uncle?" he asked and fell down beside him in the sofa. This was the first time Hamish had talked about any other persons than his fathers and mrs Hudson, and neither Sherlock or John had ever called Greg uncle.
Now it was Hamish turn to pull a face, he frowned and looked up and Sherlock, whose lap he was comfortably placed in. Then he looked back at John, nibbling his bottom lip like he didn't understand what John was talking about.
"Isn't he?" he asked and crocked is head and his eyebrows knitted together. Sherlock snorted and shook his head but John opened his mouth to speak.
"Somewhat, he is." he told him and Hamish seemed to be quite happy with the simple explanation.
In the next second, with no interest for the breakfast on the table, he was off to search amongst the presents under the tree and neither Sherlock or John tried to stop him. They just watched while the eager boy looked for his name on every label on the christmas-themed wrappers and card.
"Dad? Have you been making me puzzles?" he asked suddenly and held up one of the gifts, sloppy wrapped and you could clearly see what it contained. A crocked smile started to twitch the corners of Sherlock's mouth and he lifted an eyebrow.
"Maybe." he said and Hamish ran across the room, holding the gift with his two hands.
"Can I open this first?" he asked, sending John a questioning glance since he was the one more strict when it came to the rules. He knew very well that the deal was no presents before breakfast.
"Of course." John answered him and spared him the feeling of curiosity before it got out of hand.
The paper was torn off in the blink of an eye and John turned to Sherlock, no idea of what was going on. Hamish stared at the doorknob in his hand and so did John. It was the knob to their wardrobe, why on earth had Sherlock wrapped it up. In the next second Hamish was off, and Sherlock uncrossed his legs and pulled John with him to follow Hamish.
"What did you do?" John asked him in a whisper and Sherlock pursed his lips, gave him a mysterious look without giving him an answer.
As they reached their bedroom and Hamish twisted the knob back in the door. The door opened with the usual squeak and his parents stood put in the door. They boy stared into the wardrobe, observed every garment on the hangers and every drawer in the left compartment. He suddenly twitched and leaned further in, taking a deep breath with his nose pressed against one of John's jumpers and John frowned, feeling his eyebrows knit together and then Hamish was off again. Sherlock pushed John aside so that he was out of the way when the boy passed them and Sherlock was quickly behind him. They followed him up the stairs, into the upstairs bathroom where Hamish jumped up on the stool to reach the mirror and pulled the small cabinet open. The blue-green eyes scanned the shelfs and he reached for the kids-toothpaste, popped up the lid and took a whiff. Then he saw something that didn't belong there. A little chip of porcelain and he observed it between his fingertips.
Sherlock was still quiet and John started to understand. This was a game, Sherlock had made a gift-hunt full of clues. Sherlock was training Hamish.
They followed him down the stairs, all the way down to the first floor where Hamish stopped in front of mrs Hudson's door and he knocked it urgently. Then they waited, and John took the opportunity to turn to Sherlock.
"Did you ruin one of my jumpers with toothpaste because of this?" he asked, not feeling any sort of anger against it but he had to ask. He was given the same look Sherlock always had when a case was intriguing and John started to understand how much he enjoyed seeing Hamish making deductions.
"Hello!" mrs Hudson sang when she opened the door, still dressed in her nightgown, and made herself ready for a christmas-hug, but Hamish dodged and flew into her flat, leaving her looking surprised in the doorway.
"Don't worry, mrs Hudson." Sherlock smiled and cupped her shoulders, kissed her cheek and walked into her flat as well. "Just solving a mystery." And mrs Hudson looked quite pleased with just those words. John was close behind, but wanted to pay more respect to the old woman who was unwillingly pulled into the "mystery solving".
"Merry Christmas, mrs Hudson." he greeted her lovingly and pulled her into a warm hug. "Feel welcome for a cup of chocolate upstairs when this is over."
"Oh don't worry about little me." she started and followed the family into her sitting room where Hamish was searching her glass cabinet full of her wedding china. "I'll just enjoy a cuppa and watch the morning shows."
"Oh, please." John laughed. "Let us treat you breakfast."
Hamish took one of the cups, observed the little chip on the edge and matched it with the piece in his hand. It was a perfect match and he looked down in the cup and saw the grey spots. He put his nose down the china and took a whiff, putting it back on the shelf and then he was off again. Taking Sherlock's hand and pulled him out of the flat, seizing John's arm as well on his way out and there was no time for good byes. The boy pulled them up the stairs again, into the sitting room where he released them both to get to the fireplace. He pinched the aches and smelled it between hid fingers, figuring it was the same thing that had tainted mrs Hudson's cup. Pieces of newspapers and old letters that had somehow escaped the flames from last nights fire and they ended up in his hands. He stared at them with focused eyes and Sherlock had never looked so proud. He crossed his arms when Hamish jumped on his feet and held up the small scrap that looked like a reseat.
"We need to get to Angelo's!" he shouted and Sherlock beamed of happiness, bitting his bottom lip as he smiled at his eager son.
"If you believe that's the best, then we should." he said and John held back his giggling. He had never been more proud of his boys.
They took a cab since the winter weather had chosen this day to be coldest one of the year. Hamish was dressed from head to toe in his thick overall and John wished he'd been a bit more strict when it came to Sherlock's clothing. Still the same coat, a scarfs around his neck, and that was it for him. John did not look forward to the day when Sherlock laid in bed with pneumonia.
Hamish swayed his legs over the edge of his car seat, almost shaking with anticipation, and it wasn't very far from John to do the same. He had no clue what would be waiting for them at Angelo's and Sherlock kept his secrets.
Getting Hamish through breakfast before they left was hellish, he had no interest in eating when there was something at Angelo's that needed to be solved. But after a half and hour of nagging from both his parents, he gulped his chocolate and swallowed a sandwich with cucumber and ham.
"Tell me how you solved it." Sherlock demanded and turned his head from the window. There was nothing more he wanted to know than how Hamish's mind worked during their little game.
"Yes, please." John agreed. "You didn't make one single move wrong." Their son lifted his gaze after being hypnotised by the cabdrivers photos stuck to the dashboard and looked between them both.
"The toothpaste was easy." he said and started to nibble his nails. "Your's minty, mine is more sweet. Pretty obvious." John saw how Sherlock beamed by the pride he felt. "And the chip had a golden edge. None of our china has a golden edge, so I figured it had to be granny's."
"What about the ashes?" Sherlock asked and took his gloves off. "Mrs Hudson's got a fireplace but you never bothered to look in hers."
"We use a different kind of fluid to get her fire going. Hers smell more like alcohol, ours is more chemical, and non-poisonous because you are afraid I might try to drink it." He turned to John by his last words and gave him a look telling him his daddy was stupid. "Why would I ever try to drink it?" A loud snort was heard from Sherlock and he ruffled Hamish's hair.
"Well, your dad likes to do stupid things sometimes, I guess I thought that one day you might do the same." John answered him with a teasing smile and his son pulled a face.
"Now you're the stupid one, daddy." he joked and Sherlock giggled happily. "I would never do such an experiment."
"Good." John cheered and pulled him to his side. "I have to say, I'm very impressed of your deductions-skills this morning. You're just like your dad."
"Nah.." Hamish muttered and shrugged. "More like you. I'm not as good as dad yet."
John sucked in his bottom lip and looked up at Sherlock whose face had never looked more radiant. Their son, the boy who'd only spoken for five days had already proven that he'd inherited his dad's sass and smugness. This was what John had to live with now, and he could not complain.
They arrived at Angelo's after a ten minute ride, for Hamish it felt like hours of course and he pushed his dad out of the car. Clinging to his coat they stepped up on the sidewalk and John took a look at the restaurant that was closed for the holiday.
"How did you know we needed to get to Angelo's?" John asked and Hamish started to search in his pockets after the little scrap of paper he'd found in the ashes.
"Because of this." he said and John fell to squat beside him. "There a watermark on his reseat-paper." There was not much left of he grey spot, and John had never cared to notice the backside of every reseat he'd received from this restaurant. "And then there was this." He turned it over and pointed with his short fingers. "I might not be able to read, but after all these times I've ordered pavlova at this place, I recognise the word." Sherlock picked him up from the ground and placed his lips on his nose.
"Good boy." he praised him and Hamish tossed his arms around his neck. "Now, let's knock at the door." The grip around his tightened with those words and the boy pressed his forehead to his shoulder.
Of course, this was the first time since the music store that Hamish had left home. The shyness was still strong and this wasn't one of the "usual things".
"It's okay Hamish." John calmed him and stroke his back. "You know Angelo. He's nothing to be afraid of." Sherlock didn't need to ask his son or John any questions to know what was going on and he tightened his grip around little Hamish before he took a step closer to the door.
"There is absolutely no need for you to speak in there." he assured him and shifted him from one arm to the other so he could take John's hand. "Angelo is always to busy to listen to anyone anyway." He stopped in front of the glass door and John could see the silhouette of the big man moving around in the dark. "Now, shall you knock? Or shall I?" He didn't answer him, just turned his head and shot John a nervous look.
"This is your case, Hamish." his daddy told him. "Don't make your dad solve this one for you." He tried to sound as encouraging as he possibly could, Hamish had brought them this far and he would probably regret it if he didn't finnish it on his own.
"Come on." Sherlock murmured close to his ear and the arms around him eased their grip. "What's the worst that could happen?" After a moment of thinking, Hamish lifted his head, sucking his bottom lip and eyed his father. "You gonna knock?" He nodded shyly and Sherlock stepped closer to the glass door. Three knocks, and the shadow started to move in the darkened restaurant. Angelo opened with a wide smile and crossed his arms over his big belly.
"Well good morning Watson-Holmes's!" he greeted them and Hamish hid his face under Sherlocks chin. "Merry christmas! Hello Hamish! You've grown big, look at you!" The boy pressed himself even tighter to Sherlock who pulled the hat off his head.
"Come on handsome." his dad begged him. "I think Angelo might have something for you." It took some seconds, but eventually Hamish squirmed out of his arms and down on the ground. Facing Angelo, he managed to give him a weak smile and he reached out for John's hand to have some kind of support.
"Now where did I put that..." Angelo started a search in all his pockets and finally brought forward a small envelope. "Here you go, your father told me to give you this."
Hamish stared at the yellowish letter in his hand and turned it over. There were no letters or marks and on the inside he only found a long metal string, rolled up to a loop. He picked it up and the stiff string uncurled itself. Then he realised what this meant and he spun around to look at Sherlock who shrugged.
"Well?" the detective smirked. "Where are we off to next?"
In the blink of an eye, Hamish slunk around Angelo and ran into the restaurant. They followed him quickly and amongst the many tables and chairs Hamish reach the end of his search.
The big, black Steinway that had been in the restaurant for ages was what he'd been working his way here for and he stopped and stared at the instrument. John bit his lip not to smile ridiculously and seized Sherlock's arms.
"Oh, love. What did you do?" he asked happily as he shivered and Sherlock chuckled darkly.
Hamish popped up the lid and saw the note taped to the keys. He couldn't read, but he knew the letters of his name and John and Sherlock would never forget the smile on his lips as he turned to look at them.
"It's yours." Sherlock answered to the questions he didn't dare to ask and Hamish ran across the room and jumped up in his arms. John wish he could say that he didn't believe that Sherlock had bought a piano without telling him, but he did. That was his Sherlock and he watched with love how Hamish kissed his father's face over and over again to thank him.
"Merry christmas handsome. And don't forget to thank your daddy as well. It's from him too." The boy crawled over to John's embrace and he hugged him hard, kissed his face as well before he squirmed down in the floor to get back to his gift.
"How are we going to get it home?" John asked as Hamish started to press the keys in a random order and he fell into Sherlock's arms.
"Already taken care of." he smirked and kissed the temple of his husband. "Lestrade is bringing it by later."
Angelo grinned from where he stood and watched the little boy.
"I've been trying to get rid of that piano for ages." he smirked." I would throw it away if it wasn't such a majestic piece. I never really had the heart to do it though. I guess it's in proper hands now."
They stayed for the next hour, letting Hamish play the piano while Angelo made him a pavlova as a christmas-treat. This time it was Sherlock's turn to have Hamish in his lap while he tested out his new instrument and John came to realise that his husband wasn't as good as he thought at this. Just as him, he knew the chords but his violin fingers wasn't used to this kind of playing.
John enjoyed a cup of coffee as he observed them and Hamish made sure to thank them both when Angelo turned to the kitchen to make him the desert. The doctor took one of the chairs and joined them as the two murmured to each other.
"So what do you think Hamish?" he asked.
"It's the best gift ever." he answered him without taking his eyes of the keys.
Back home Hamish was all over the place, to eager to wait the three short hours for the piano to arrive. He spent the time with looking through all the books because John was sure he'd save a note book from his time in school and the boy wanted, no, needed to learn how to play the instrument properly.
"Make sure to put everything back when you're done." John told him and moved all the magazines from the table to the crocked rack by the the telly. "We don't want the place to be a mess when our guests arrives." A nod was all that came from the boy, mrs Hudson was sitting in Sherlock's armchair and he still didn't speak in front of her.
It was like he had forgotten all the other presents under the tree, the piano was the only thing that was on his mind. He would look through Sherlock's notes, but that man had his rules when it came to that folder. Sherlock was going to show it to him someday, he promised, but he didn't want his works to pass down one generation until Hamish was trained enough, like he needed to earn them.
Sherlock himself was standing by the window, plucking the strings on his violin as he watched the snowy street.
"Clara's here." he said loudly and Hamish flew down the stairs without picking up the books. Joyful cheering and helloing was soon to be heard from the first floor and Sherlock groan irritably from his spot.
"Now be nice." John pleaded and snuck up behind him to wrap his arms around his waist. "Christmas comes once a year. Tomorrow it will just be us again."
"She's met someone new." he deducted and entwined their hands over his ribs. "Quite recently, you know what that means." It was now John's turn to groan.
"She's gonna talk about it all night." he hissed and Sherlock nodded.
"Oh, you two should be happy for her." mrs Hudson giggled, already blushing by the alcohol in the punch. "You never know, this might be the one."
"It's not." Sherlock smirked and turned to kiss his husband. "I'll give it them two months."
"Bet you three." John grinned. "Fifty quid?" Sherlock agreed and mrs Hudson gave them the evil eye from the armchair.
"I don't believe in God, but you two will be punished by some higher power some day." she said and reached out the glass to John for a refill.
Some hours later, the people were gathered in the flat and food was served. Molly, Greg and John was happily discussing anything that came to mind. Clara discussed her latest love life with mrs Hudson, and Sherlock and Hamish was sitting quietly on the edge, poking their food. Sherlock wanted to leave, and Hamish wanted to get back to the piano that was perfectly placed by the wall on the right side of the entrance door. Neither of them were particularly fond of big crowds, but they did their best to learn the ways of a social life. Sherlock gulped his wine as Clara turned to him and started to tell him the same story she'd told mrs Hudson and John clenched his jaw when he saw Sherlock getting ready for awful deductions.
".. and then we went to that spa outside Dublin and it was marvellous and they had this big room with aquarium-walls, oh, it was amazing..." Sherlock pursed his lips and just nodded, giving her his crazy eyes and be couldn't be happier when the woman finally turned to John. "You would love her John, she's great, she's a midwife. She's wanted to come, but she's celebrating with her parents today."
"No, she's not." Sherlock mumbled and took another gulp of the wine. John held his breath, begging to some supernatural power that Clara didn't hear him. His pray seemed to be heard, because Clara kept going about how this woman, who's name he'd already forgotten, had changed her life.
"So Hamish?" Greg interrupted over the table and the boy's eyes grew as he looked up from the cold food. "Have you opened any other presents yet?" This was what Hamish hated the most. He swallowed hard and shook his head, all eyes was directed at him and he sighed loudly, making himself ready to do something unexpected. He sank in the chair and disappeared under the table without a noise and Sherlock envied him, wished he could do the same in this situation. Then he felt Hamish wrap his arms around his leg and he reached under the table to ruffle his hair.
"I wish I could join you, Hamish." he whispered and looked down between his legs and was met by a big smile from the boy. "Here." He took the basket of garlic bread that was on the table for the sake of Hamish and the little sneaky boy accepted two or three before Sherlock put them back.
"So he's still..." Greg mumbled and looked at John.
"Yeah." he answered simply. Neither he or Sherlock had told anyone that Hamish had started talking to them. They were afraid that people would start to nag the boy if that information reached them. "It will come."
The dinner continued, once and a while Hamish would pull Sherlock's leg to get his attention and he was given something to snack on from the table. Clara kept going about her lover and mrs Hudson was getting more tipsy by the alcohol entering her system. Sherlock observed how Greg and Molly seemed to be hitting it off and he frowned by the weird situation in the room. He didn't like it.
"Anyone up for a cup of some coffee?" John asked when everyone seemed to be done with the dinner and Sherlock felt his stomach turn when everyone answered him at the same time. There was to many voices in the room, and Clara had lowered the IQ to a dangerous level by now.
"I'll help you get this away." mrs Hudson said and collected all the plates and dishes around the table when John closed in on Sherlock. All the other were busy talking to pay attention to their conversation.
"Why don't you take Hamish and do something different for a while?" he asked him with a low voice and kissed his cheek. "I know you don't wanna be here." Hamish heard him and crawled up in Sherlock's arms and they fled the kitchen before John could tell them differently.
"So, he doesn't talk at all?" Clara asked and refiled her glass with wine.
"Not yet." John answered and started the coffee-maker. "He's not ready for it just yet."
"Does he even have a voice?" He turned to her, sucking his lips.
"Yeah, of course he does. He made sounds as a baby, he just doesn't like that kind of communication."
"Isn't there anything you can do about it?" It was now Greg that asked the questions.
"He will speak when he's ready for it." John repeated and pulled out the fruitcake from the cabinet. These questions started to annoy him, he didn't like it when Hamish condition was the main topic.
"Do you think he ever will?" He sighed loudly and turned to the group sitting around the table.
"Hamish will speak when he wants to. The more people try to encourage him to do it, the more scared he gets. Just keep up talking to him like you talk to other kids and eventually he will talk as well." He expected them to continue their curiosity but they seemed happy with his answer and returned to the earlier topic. From the sitting room the piano was heard and John came to the conclusion that his boys had fled to the instrument as soon as he'd given them the permission.
Hamish pressed the keys while sitting in Sherlock's lap and enjoyed when his father did the same.
"Do we know someone who plays the piano?" he asked in a whisper, afraid that someone in the kitchen would hear him.
Sherlock clenched his jaw by the question, he wanted to say no but he didn't want to lie to Hamish.
"Mycroft does." he said and his mouth tasted foul by the name.
"He does?" Hamish beamed and looked up at him under his dark stands of hair falling over his eyes.
"I'm afraid so. He's no expert, but he knows how to handle it properly."
"Do you think he would want to teach me?" he asked and turned in his lap, unbuttoned his blazer and stuck his hands inside the garment to find the warmth of him. Sherlock pursed his lips.
"I don't know if that's such a good idea." he said and the smile on his sons lips faded. "But there are other's who can teach you." Hamish swallowed nervously. "I'll find you a teacher."
"But I know Mycroft. I might be able to talk to him. He treats me just like you do. Like a grown up."
"Yes but.." Sherlock started but he couldn't finnish the sentence. To find a teacher for Hamish would mean that they would bring in an unknown person into his life, and Hamish hated to get to know new people. It had taken him four years to talk to his parents, how long wouldn't it take for him to talk to a person he'd known for less? Mycroft had always been there, Hamish knew him always as well as he knew Greg and Molly. It would be easier for him to learn to talk to Mycroft. This was madness, did he even consider to let his devil of a brother become his son's teacher? This meant he would need to leave them in the same room for a couple of hours a week. Who knew what ideas his brother would put in his son's head when he wasn't around.
"I'll have to think about that." he finally answered. "Okay?" Hamish pressed his nose to his chest and smelled the soap and aftershave. The smile reappeared on his lips and Sherlock stroke his hair lovingly.
"Okay."
Please, leave a review and tell me what you think. They'll always make me so happy.