AN - This one's parentlock. Thank you for the prompt!
Hobbit ~ anon
Sherlock sat bold upright, a cold shiver running down his spine. He gave John a shove and climbed out of bed, stumbling blindly to the door. John sat up groggily, brow furrowed. He sighed, glancing around the room, until his ears picked up the sound Sherlock's sensitive ears had found in his sleep. "Shit," he breathed, following Sherlock quickly.
Hamish was crying. It wasn't loud, not an I want your attention or I'm hungry or I'm bored cry, but a whimpering cry that said more plainly than words I'm afraid. Sherlock climbed the stairs to John's old bedroom, which their four-year-old son now occupied, John following quickly, stumbling a little over the stairs.
"Hamish?" John called, his stomach stirring. He ran into the room after Sherlock, who was already at their son's bedside. Hamish was sitting up, tears streaming down his face. Sherlock scooped him up, and the boy slipped his arms around his daddy's neck.
"Shh… it's alright," he murmured, stroking the back of his head. "It's alright. You're safe, we're here. It's alright." Hamish sobbed quietly onto Sherlock's shoulder.
John stood at a little distance, watching father and son, marvelling at his husbands unique and completely unexpected parenting skills as he quietened their son. He'd proposed the idea, originally, totally surprising John. He'd never had Sherlock marked down as a father, and had wiped the idea of parenthood off the board when he said 'I do,' but Sherlock showed remarkable skills. He had been afraid, wanting to withdraw his suggestion, but John had become determined. There had been a couple of incidents that were very nearly catastrophic, involving acid and scalpels, but they'd worked it out. Sherlock had become one of the best fathers John had ever known, with his deep voice and his soothing hands, he was able to quieten their son remarkably quickly. He smiled as Hamish stopped crying, still watching Sherlock.
"There we go," Sherlock sighed, kissing Hamish's cheek. "I told you. Just a dream. I've looked around the room, there's nothing here. You're just fine." Hamish relaxed his grip on Sherlock's neck, yawning. "Tiring, isn't it?" Sherlock chuckled. "All that crying? You're alright, Mish." He lowered Hamish back onto the bed and sat beside him, pulling the covers over his son. Hamish still sat up, looking between his dads with scared eyes.
"He's still scared, Sherlock," John commented, coming to the other side of the bed. "Do you think he should come to our room?"
"No," Sherlock replied, stroking Hamish's soft, blond curls. "He's alright, aren't you, Mish?" He offered his son a smile. "How about a story?" he offered, gazing at Hamish's face. He nodded slightly, a small smile ghosting his small lips.
John smiled, pulling open the draw in Hamish's bedside table, taking out the old and rather battered book. "Where did we get to, then?" he chuckled, sitting on one side of Hamish. Sherlock raised his glance to John, his eyes gleaming, as Hamish smiled and reached for the book. "Now, now, Mish," John sighed, shaking his head. "Daddy and I will read it, you just listen and try to go to sleep, okay?" Hamish nodded, resting his head on his daddy's shoulder as Sherlock slipped an arm around him.
"Smaug," he chirped, smiling a little.
"Oh, yes," John nodded, opening the book. "Bilbo just met Smaug, didn't he?"
"Daddy's Smaug," Hamish insisted.
"Yes," Sherlock chuckled. "And papa's Bilbo."
John found the page and held it in front of him, ready to start reading. "Your line, Sherlock," John announced, holding the book out to his husband.
"Smaug," Hamish corrected.
"Sorry - your line then, Smaug," John smirked.
Sherlock chuckled again, looking at the book. "'Well, thief!'" he read, glancing at Hamish, who was already dozing off on his shoulder. "'I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath. Come along! Help yourself again! There's plenty to spare!"
"'But Bilbo was not quite so unlearned in dragon-lore as all that, and if Smaug hoped to get him to come nearer so easily he was disappointed," John continued.
Hamish was asleep, head still resting on his daddy's shoulder, by the end of the chapter. Sherlock lowered him, gently as possible, so he was lying down. John stroked his hair gently, then slipped The Hobbit into the draw. He crossed to Sherlock and pressed a small kiss to his lips.
"Love you," he murmured.
"Love you, too," Sherlock replied.
The doctor and the detective glanced once more at their son before leaving. Hamish's dreams remained untroubled by fear for the rest of the night, full instead of dragons and dwarves and one, brave little hobbit.