A Father's Compromise

by Accidental-Ducky

Now, everyone knows that there's no real way to look intimidating when you appear to be a normal dad taking his daughter for a swimming lesson, that's just a fact and there's really no changing it, but if anyone can make a Soccer Dad intimidating without scaring his child, then it's James Moriarty. He hopes so, at least.

9. Did you Miss me 2: Hamish Watson-Holmes

Something was different, of that much Hamish was absolutely certain. There was something not quite normal happening in 221b Baker Street and it involved his dad and a man that looked mysteriously like Hamish himself. Since the man shares several of the seven year old's features, from his unruly curls to his height, the man could only be one person.

As it is, Hamish's dad was throwing kitchen utensils at the other man's head, shouting obscenities and curses, the likes of which Hamish has only heard a few times, once when Thalia Moran's papa nearly shot John in the foot and the other time when Thalia's other father threatened to kill Hamish if Thalia's science project was ruined since the pair were partners at the time.

One phrase that caught Hamish's attention was shouted not long after he entered the kitchen, confirming what he already knew. "Who wouldn't be angry," John shouted, throwing a wooden spoon and nailing the other man in the thigh with it," you ate all of my cereal and faked your death for two years!"

"You're Sherlock Holmes," Hamish states, stepping between the two men before any other utensils could be thrown, John's fingers wrapped around the handle of a spatula. More specifically, the one Hamish and Mrs. Hudson had bought him just a few months ago for making pancakes on Friday mornings. The strange man lowers his arms from a defensive position, looking Hamish over intently from the top of his head to the worn shoes on his feet and back again.

"And you..." He trails off, brows knitting together before he rolls his eyes and throws his arms up. "Of course, Irene is behind this." Irene Adler, Hamish recalls, my biological mother. "You're my son. What did she name the boy, John?"

"The boy can speak for himself." Hamish's stern tone matches John's to a tee, obviously giving Sherlock a small shock as he looks at the child in a new light. "And my name is Hamish." He stuffs his hands in his pockets, unaware of the fact that he stood just a tad straighter to make up for the height difference between himself and Sherlock. He'd only ever seen this man in photographs his mother provided until now. "You're also late, I've been here for two years and I've only ever had Dad to help me with my homework. It's advanced stuff and he doesn't always understand, but he tries."

"Now, hold on," John says indignantly, well aware of how smart his adoptive son was. "Not all of us have genius, not to mention arsehole, fathers." Hamish and Sherlock both give John the same smirk, just a lifting of the same corner of their mouths, and neither of them were aware of how similar they were in that moment. "Fine, that's fantastic, you help Hamish with his homework and I'll be downstairs with Mrs. Hudson." John turned and walked out of the messy kitchen. "My show's on anyway," he mutters as he shuts the door to the flat and stomps downstairs where his landlady was waiting for him.

Meanwhile, in a large house in the country, James Moriarty was having a pillow thrown at his head by a very angry seven year old girl whose movie his fat head had just interrupted.