Wishing everyone a very Merry Christmas!
Beta-ed by: TheRimmerConnection
Hamish hated school. He had hated school ever since Mum and Dad first brought him here. Well, he had hated it ever since Mum first brought him to school: Dad didn't exactly agree with Mum's firm belief that he needed a place to start developing connections. Dad wanted him to be homeschooled instead, but with both parents always on the job, it was hard to actually make time to teach their five-year-old Criminal Law and the Laws of Chemistry. Sherlock would always cringe when he saw Hamish doing his Art "homework" on the coffee table, the stuff that the school usually taught his son was a complete insult to his intelligence and Sherlock absolutely abhorred it.
Today Hamish's class was making pictures of what they wanted for Christmas. Hamish was making a picture of his own real microscope. The present Uncle Greg had given him was a total waste of money, and was now neatly stored in the top cabinets, only to be taken out and scattered around the house when Uncle Greg decided to visit.
"Watcha makin' there, Hamish?" Jody, Hamish's annoying little classmate asked him.
"Look, Hamish, I made a picture of us and Santa together at the North Pole!" Jody's twin sister, Jenna, piped up.
Uncle John used to tease him that Jody and Jenna had some sort of crush on him, to which he replied with a very straight, incisive face, "What is a crush?" John had had a hard time explaining it to him.
"Do you want me to make your picture prettier?" Jody pulled out her red crayon, trying to out-win her sister.
It was bad enough that he had to sit in the middle of these two. He wanted to be with Mummy and Daddy solving crimes and being there where the action was. At least that was a better way to pass the time. He didn't even understand the purpose of making him draw things. He didn't imagine himself as a sketch artist, so what was the point?
"No," he said simply.
"Is that a doggy?" Jenna asked, scooting closer and closer to Hamish.
"It's a microscope," he said without looking at either of them.
"What's that?" Jody mimicked her sister's movements.
"What I use to see the cells."
The other kids wanted to see what had Jenna and Jody so intrigued and crowded in around Hamish.
"What's that?" Tyler poked his head through the small crowd.
"Is that what you asked for from Santa?" another boy, Paul, asked.
"Santa doesn't exist," Hamish muttered, still working on his microscope.
All the kids gasped.
"O'course Santa exists!" Jenna exclaimed, "Who do you think puts the presents under your tree and the treats in your stocking?"
"Your parents."
"Mummy and Daddy are s'pposed to be asleep or else Santa won't come down the chimney," Tyler challenged.
Hamish had had enough; it was bad enough that he had to suffer every weekday in the company of these dull people, asking him irrelevant and annoying questions. He put his crayon down and looked them straight in the eye.
"Your mummy and daddy just wanted you to go to sleep so you wouldn't see them putting all the treats in your stocking and presents under your tree. They wanted you to think Santa exists so you would go to sleep early and not bother them during Christmas Eve because they have lots of preparing to do for the next day."
"That's not true!" Jody exclaimed, almost in tears, "Mummy takes me and Jenna to Santa every Christmas and he asks us what we want."
"And did Santa look the same every Christmas?"
~o~
It was a very lazy day indeed for Sherlock Holmes. He was currently making John wrap Hamish's Christmas present for him whilst he attempted to win a staring contest with the happy face on the wall. Dressed in just his dressing gown and pajamas, you'd never have guessed he was considered to be the world's best consulting detective.
"Why exactly did you buy Hamish a microscope, again?" John asked Sherlock while trying to fold the wrapping paper perfectly.
"Have you seen Lestrade's gift for him? It is absolutely abhorrent," Sherlock replied in a very bored tone, "Besides, he gets irritated by things intended for children. Except for that huge bear that Mycroft gave him."
"Why not let him borrow yours, then? Children should not be given something as expensive and fragile as this."
Sherlock didn't reply and continued to stare at the wall as the home phone rang.
"Aren't you going to get that?" John asked as the phone continued to ring.
He pointedly didn't reply and just sank lower into his chair.
"Alright," John said as he got up, "Where is Irene anyway? Isn't she supposed to answer the phone calls in this house?"
A small smile tugged on Sherlock's lips. If Irene could only have heard what John was saying, which he was sure she could, as she was just in their bedroom, doing god-knows-what, John's ego would have to absorb another snarky remark.
"Hello, yes? Yes, he is here. I don't think he is capable of talking right now, could you leave a message?" John's face morphed from shock to confusion. "I'll let him know. They'll be right there. Thank you."
"Sherlock," John said uncomfortably, "That was head of Hamish's school…"
"Has he received an award which will let him go up a year or two and allow him to leave the confines of that insulting school and its pupils?" he asked, still staring at the wall.
"Um, no. Hamish got sent to the headmaster's office."
"Why?" he asked, still calm.
"He made the other kids cry by telling them that Santa doesn't exist."
Sherlock leapt from his seat and hurried to the bedroom to tell Irene and get changed.
"Well, I guess I'll just carry on wrapping presents then," John said as Sherlock closed the bedroom door.
A minute later, a fully dressed Sherlock and, of course, a perfectly dressed, manicured, and hair-styled Irene departed the bedroom.
"John, be a dear and come with us." From Irene Adler, this was not a request.
~o~
Hamish was sitting quietly in the head's office, still holding his picture of his microscope. He wanted to give it to Mummy and Daddy once they got there. He could still hear the teachers trying desperately to console his four classmates whom he, according to his teacher's report to the headmaster, had made cry. He didn't feel guilty, not one bit. He didn't feel scared of the headmaster's office, either. Daddy said the Headmaster, Mr. Harris was just an intimidating-looking old man, whose degree had only got him as far as being headmaster of an infant school. The said headmaster was actually trying to stare him down at that moment. Hamish didn't mind, he just kept on chewing the biscuits that were offered in the reception area while waiting for his parents.
Three curt knocks and Sherlock Holmes didn't bother to wait for Mr. Harris to ask them to come in.
"Mr. and Mrs. Holmes." He stood up to shake their hands
"I still use my maiden name, Headmaster. Please address me as Miss Adler," Irene said curtly, complete with her naturally seductive smile and intense stare.
Neither of the Holmeses seemed to want to shake the headmaster's hand, so John extended his own to save Mr. Harris from being embarrassed.
"John Watson. Nice to meet you."
"Please, sit," he said as he motioned towards the chairs.
Irene and Sherlock sat next to Hamish, and Irene instinctively held Hamish close and smoothed his dark curly locks.
"So, I'm sure you have been informed why we are all here today?" Mr. Harris clasped his hands and placed them on the table.
"Yes," Sherlock said, "You're faulting my son on his urge to expose the truth when parents voluntarily make their children believe lies."
"Well that's not why—"
"Isn't the first thing you teach in pre-school never to tell lies, Headmaster? Well then I don't see the problem with Hamish trying to make the other children see his views on why they are made to believe that a man who shows up every Christmas, riding a flying deer actually exists." Sherlock stared him down with his usual unyielding demeanor.
"Yes, well—"
"My son is a very bright boy, Headmaster. And he doesn't need to be fed with all these lies children are made to believe, like superheroes or the tooth fairy, or even Santa Claus. One day these children will eventually find out that their childhood heroes don't exist and will forever carry that animosity about the fact that their shattered hopes and dreams will never become a reality."
"Mr. Holmes, he emotionally bullied these four children—"
"By telling them the truth?"
"Either way, he needs to be disciplined for making four of his classmates cry."
"He didn't make them cry, Headmaster. Is it his fault that children nowadays are being fed with rubbish that is supposed to somehow make their views on life a little more positive?"
"Mr. Holmes, are you saying that you are happy to tolerate your child's objectionable behavior?"
"Headmaster," Irene's clipped but alluring voice cut in, "I don't think that it's fair for Hamish to sit in this room and be talked about."
The Headmaster looked embarrassed and instructed Hamish to wait in the reception area, John went with him.
~o~
Hamish was contentedly munching on another biscuit, which the receptionist had given him.
"Did you draw that, Hamish?" John asked, breaking the silence that filled the room.
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"A microscope," answered the boy, "I'm giving it to Mummy and Daddy so they can buy one for me."
John smiled, Sherlock had picked the right gift after all.
A moment later, a bored-looking Sherlock and a smirking Irene exited the office, followed by a pale-faced Headmaster.
"Hamish," the Head cleared his throat, "you are free to leave early and I apologize for my rash behaviour earlier."
John helped Hamish get down from the chair.
"Mr. Holmes, Ms. Adler." He nodded at both of them.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Headmaster." Irene's smirk widened.
As John and the Holmeses walked out of the school, Hamish showed them the picture he was holding.
"I want a real one," he said.
Irene smiled at her son's frankness. So much like his father.
"We have a surprise for you at home." She smiled at him.