Hello readers! I figured I would just post this chapter today too, because Chapter Five was pretty short and this is kind of like a follow-up chapter. Next chapter will be up tomorrow. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! They encourage me to keep writing! Hope you enjoy! Thanks guys! =)
Chapter Six: Day One at 211B
Sherlock was awoken by a stirring by on his chest. Slowly he opened his eyes, still heavy with sleep. He looked at his clock next to him. 7:34 a.m. Then he turned his attention to the stirring child on his chest.
Sleepily, Hamish woke up, and peered up at Sherlock, his eyes droopy with sleep. A small smile spread on his lips as he scooted himself closer to his father's face.
"Mmm, good morning, Hamish," Sherlock said sleepily, a yawn escaping his lips. The sound made little Hamish giggle.
"Daa," he said, still giggling happily. He reached a tiny, chubby hand out and gently prodded at Sherlock's face.
"Hmm," Sherlock hummed contently.
Sherlock was pulled out of his sleepy state by the smell of coffee brewing. He remembered that John had come back late last night.
"Well," he said to Hamish, sitting up, "let's get ready, then, shall we? Oh." Realizing he'd slept in his clothes, Sherlock pulled Hamish into his arms, and walked over to his dresser. He grabbed a clean shirt and his signature pajama bottoms, and then walked back over to the bed. Carefully he laid Hamish on the bed, changed quickly, and scooped the little boy back up again.
"Morning, John," Sherlock said as he walked with Hamish into the kitchen where John had just finished pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Morning, you two," John said smiling at his flat mate and the cute little boy in his arms.
"Just a moment, John, I'm going to change his nappy and clothes." Sherlock looked around the kitchen, found everything he needed, left the kitchen, laid Hamish down on the ground, and changed his nappy quickly. Sherlock gave a nod and smiled at himself, proud that he'd successfully put on the nappy correctly this time. He grabbed the baby garments he'd set down. Finally, a practical outfit, Sherlock thought to himself as he lifted Hamish's little arms up to pull a plain, blue shirt over his arms. Hamish fussed slightly as Sherlock tried to pull the tiny pants over his legs, but once the trousers were on, he stopped fussing, and lifted his arms up to Sherlock.
Sherlock obliged, picking Hamish up and carrying him back into the kitchen where John was sitting at the table, a serious look on his face.
"What's wrong, John?' Sherlock asked asked, as he moved around the kitchen, beginning to prepare a bottle for Hamish.
In response, John lifted up a small pile of papers towards Sherlock. He peered at them, then realized John had been reading Hamish's file papers that had been left in the other room last night. Sherlock noticed John had also gotten the crumpled papers he had thrown across the room the last night.
"This… This is horrible!" John muttered darkly. He looked at Hamish who was currently examining the kitchen from his perch on Sherlock's hip, one tiny hand clutching Sherlock's. John smiled sadly at the little boy, who looked so innocent. He turned to Sherlock, whose face mirrored the dark expression on John's face.
"This—I mean how could they—"
"Yes, John," Sherlock interrupted, "I know. Trust me… I know." Both men turned their attention back to the little boy who now peered between the two men, sensing the change of mood. His eyes had become slightly watery. He peered warily at Sherlock as if to see if everything was okay.
In an effort to lighten the mood once again, John smiled at Hamish, gave the little boy a quick impromptu kiss on the cheek (which resulted in a smirk from Sherlock when John blushed profusely), then walked over to Hamish's file and threw the already-crumpled pages in the bin.
"There," John said with an air of finality, nodding at the trash bin. As he did so, Sherlock finished preparing Hamish's bottle. The little boy on his hip, and a bottle in the other hand, he moved to the chair across from the one John had previously occupied. He sat down at the table, moved Hamish to the crook of his arm, and slipped the bottle into his mouth. Almost exactly the way he had yesterday, the little boy tentatively sipped on the bottle, and then, realizing what is was, began hurriedly sucking the milk out of the bottle.
"Poor little guy," John said from across the table. Sherlock just gave a little nod of his head, watching Hamish with fond eyes.
The trio sat in silence as Hamish finished off the bottle, squealing slightly when he realized there was none left.
"Should I make him another one?" Sherlock asked John, taking the now-empty bottle out of Hamish's mouth.
"Let's wait just once more to make sure we're not giving him too much food, too fast, and then, yes, you can give him another."
"Alright. Thank you, John."
Sherlock moved to burp the little boy who grunted to show his displeasure at being moved from his comfy spot, but then relaxed once again.
"Remember, Sherlock, I have to work today, so you'll be alone with Hamish for a while," John reminded the detective.
"Yes, I remember, John, but thank you for reminding me," Sherlock replied sarcastically.
"Okay, okay, no need to be rude, I was just trying to helpful," John said quickly as he got up and reached for his coat.
"Wait, John," Sherlock said, remembering something. "What should we do all day?" He gestured to Hamish, who was now moved back into the crook of Sherlock's arm.
"I don't know. Talk to him, play with him, let him watch TV, maybe take him outside; God knows he probably hasn't seen much of the outside," he added, sadly. "You'll think of something. You're supposed to be a genius, remember," he said with a smile.
"Right," Sherlock said, his eyebrows drawn together. "Thank you, John. Have a good day at surgery. We'll see you when you get home."
"Right. See you." With that, John disappeared down the stairs, and out the front door.
Sherlock turned his head away from the stairs and back at Hamish. Hamish stared back expectantly.
"Well then," Sherlock said, standing up, keeping Hamish in his cradled position. "I say we go outside, then. How's that sound?" he said excitedly. Hamish's sea-green eyes lit up, and the little boy smiled slightly.
"I'll take that as a yes," Sherlock said with a smile. He turned around, looking through the many shopping bags scattered across the kitchen for a jacket for Hamish, as it was rather chilly outside. When he found what he needed, he walked into his room, and made to set Hamish down on the bed so he could change into proper clothes. But he was stopped as Hamish made a little whimpering noise. Instantly Sherlock pulled the little boy back to his chest.
"What? What, Hamish?" he said, frantically, afraid the little boy was hurt.
Hamish shifted around slightly in his father's arms and pointed a chubby finger at the bed.
"No, Da," the little boy said, still pointing at the bed.
"Oh," Sherlock sighed in relief, "you don't want me to leave you alone on the bed, is that it?"
"Mmm," Hamish replied, giving a tiny nod of his head.
Sherlock sat down on the bed, and moved Hamish so he was sitting on his lap, his chubby little legs spread apart slightly.
"Hamish, I'm just going to leave you here for a moment so that I can get dressed. I'm not going to leave, or go anywhere, all right?" Sherlock reassured the little boy in a calming voice. Hamish's eyes had begun to fill with tears, and one silently spilled over.
Sherlock smiled sadly, and lightly brushed away the tear with his thumb. "It's okay, Hamish."
Hamish reached his little hand up and grasped tightly onto Sherlock's thumb; his whole hand could just fit around Sherlock's finger. As if coming to the conclusion that it was okay for Sherlock to get himself dressed, Hamish leaned his head forward so it was resting against Sherlock's chest and sighed, "'Kay, Da."
Sherlock smiled and moved his hand to the back of the little boys head, smoothing down the auburn curls. "Good boy, Hamish. I'll just be a moment." He planted a quick kiss atop the boy's head, then gently moved the boy off his lap and onto the bed next to him. He was careful to scoot Hamish back far enough so that he wouldn't fall of the edge.
Sherlock then quickly got up, smiling at Hamish once again, and changed out of his pajamas and into his signature suit. All the while, Hamish just sat on Sherlock's bed, watching Sherlock intently, making sure he kept his promise to stay.
When Sherlock walked back over, now fully dressed, and picked up Hamish, the little boy smiled widely, apparently at peace now that he was safely back in his father's arms.
"All right," Sherlock said as he put Hamish in his coat and slipped his own on. "I think we're ready. Let's go." Sherlock moved the little boy to his hip, and walked out the front door into the chilly air.
Upon feeling the chilly breeze, Hamish audibly gasped, and turned around quickly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck and collarbone. He shivered in Sherlock's arms.
"Oh, sorry, Hamish," Sherlock said. He quickly moved his own coat around Hamish, giving the boy extra protection from the cold.
Now much warmer, Hamish turned back around, and began taking in his surroundings as Sherlock continued walking down the street, Hamish bobbing slightly in his arms.
Shortly after the walk had begun, the two passed a young woman walking down the street. She had light brown hair, was of medium build and average height. Hamish's gaze shifted to her, and his eyes widened. He let out a small squeal, and quickly turned in Sherlock's arms, pressing his face into Sherlock's chest.
"Daa," he whimpered.
Sherlock stopped in his tracks. "What? What is it, Hamish?"
In response, the little boy pointed haphazardly at the passing woman while simultaneously pressing further into Sherlock.
Sherlock didn't understand what was wrong with Hamish, and he couldn't understand what about the passing woman had alarmed him so much. Unable to figure out what was wrong, Sherlock resorted to trying to calm the boy. He bounced gently up and down, and moved a soothing hand up and down Hamish's tiny back. "Shh, it's all right, Hamish. Shh," he soothed as he began walking again.
Hamish just shook his head against Sherlock's chest, and let out a small whimper again. Sherlock, becoming quite worried, turned the little boy around in his arms, and showed him the street.
"See? She's gone. There's no one there, Hamish. It's all okay." Seeing that the woman had disappeared, Hamish relaxed, and leaned his back against Sherlock's chest, but he kept one chubby hand clutching Sherlock's shirt.
The two kept walking down the street again, Sherlock trying to make his way to a nearby park. Soon, though, another woman with light brown hair, of medium build and average height walked past them again. Hamish whimpered, and pointed immediately with his free hand, and then turned back at Sherlock as if to say, "Do you understand now?"
Sherlock still didn't understand what his son was trying to tell him, though, so he wrapped his arms tighter around Hamish, and quickly walked past the woman. Sherlock took notice of how Hamish flinched slightly when she nodded at the two.
This same thing happened two more times; women with brown hair and of average height and build passed by, and Hamish would whimper and point. Suddenly the realization hit him. Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.
"Hamish," he asked hurriedly, "do those women look like people who hurt you?"
Hearing his name, Hamish turned his head back to look up at his father, his eyebrows drawn together in a confused look.
They had just reached the park. Sherlock hurried over to a nearby bench, and sat down. He turned Hamish in his lap, and held his hands under his armpits so that Hamish was in a standing position. Hamish's hands rested against Sherlock's chest.
"Hamish, did someone who looked like those women," he pointed back at the woman they had just passed, " hurt you?" He pointed at Hamish to help him understand what he was talking about.
Hamish still looked confused. "Ouch?" he said, and pointed to himself. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly. "Yes, yes, Hamish. Ouch?" he pointed at Hamish again.
Hamish nodded; the dark curls on his head bounced slightly. "Ouch. Ouch, Da'." He point at himself again.
"Oh, Hamish, I'm so sorry!" Sherlock cried, clutching the little boy to his chest. He felt horribly guilty; he'd terrified Hamish several times making him fearful that he was going to get hurt again and he didn't even know he was doing! He had just subjected his son to fear, and felt such a level of guilt; he didn't know when it would subside.
Tears threatened to fall from his eyes. He felt a single, hot bead of water fall from his eye and onto his cheek.
Hamish, though surprised by the sudden embrace, and not understanding why he had received it, leaned into to Sherlock's hug, enjoying the contact. Sherlock sniffled, trying to hide the fact that he was crying. Hearing the strange noise his father had just made, Hamish pulled his head away from Sherlock's chest, and looked up at his face.
The little boy's eyes widened as he saw the tear sliding down his father's face.
"Da?" he asked worriedly. "Da 'kay?" Sherlock looked back down at Hamish whose green eyes were filled with concern. He chuckled slightly, sniffling again. "Yes, Hamish, I'm okay, I promise. Thank you."
Not convinced, Hamish moved his hands onto Sherlock's shoulders and pulled himself up further so the top of his head just reached above Sherlock's jaw. Satisfied with his position, he took his right hand, and slowly moved it to his father's face. Very gently, Hamish took his small fingers, and brushed them over his father's face, wiping away the tear, just as Sherlock had done to him earlier. He looked into Sherlock's steele-grey eyes, and gave a small smile. He brushed his hand again over the wet spot on Sherlock's face where the tear had fallen. He let his hand stop in the hollow just below his father's cheekbone. His fingers curled slightly as he tried to hold himself up. He looked back into Sherlock's eyes.
"'Kay, Da'," smiled Hamish, proud he'd fixed his father's sadness.
Sherlock chuckled, and smiled widely. He moved his hand to cover Hamish's, and gently kissed the little fingers that had wiped away his tear.
"Yes, Hamish," he whispered, "I'm all better now."
"Da' 'etter!" Hamish repeated triumphantly.
Sherlock nodded his head, before realizing that Hamish had just said another word. He jumped up, swinging Hamish around in the air.
"Oh, Hamish! You just said a new word, very, very good! You're so clever!" he praised. Hamish giggled happily; proud of the praise he was receiving.
"Come on then, Hamish! Let's go play, shall we?" Sherlock said happily, pulling a giggling Hamish onto his hip, the sadness now forgotten.