Hello readers! Thank you all for the wonderful feedback I've been getting on this, it really means a lot! So, the other chapters have been kind of short, so I decided to make this one longer for you. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much guys, have a great week! =)
Chapter Seven: TV
"Come on then, Hamish! Let's go play, shall we?" Sherlock said happily, pulling a giggling Hamish onto his hip, the sadness now forgotten.
The detective walked over to the equipment made for very young children. It consisted of some swings with seats, a very tiny slide, and a really tiny playset. Sherlock stopped in front and looked at Hamish. A small smile played on his lips, as he watched Hamish's eyes widen at the items in front of him. He followed Hamish's gaze to see that he was staring at the swings.
"Swings it is then," Sherlock said with a slight nod of his head. He made his way to the closest swing. He moved Hamish out of his grip and placed the little boy in the swing. As he began to back away, though, Hamish called out frantically, "Da!" He reached his chubby arms out for Sherlock, grabbing hold of the sleeve of Sherlock's coat.
Sherlock turned around and chuckled slightly. "All right, then. I'll stay right here. You can take my hands." He moved back so he was close to Hamish, and stuck his hands out. Hamish eagerly reached out and grabbed ahold of his father's hands. Each tiny hand clutched onto one of Sherlock's fingers.
Wrapping his hands around his sons incredibly small ones, Sherlock began to very gently rock Hamish back and forth, noting that he was still quite small, though Hamish didn't seem to mind the gently rocking, in fact he seemed to be enjoying himself, a large smile on his face as he giggled happily.
Sherlock couldn't help but join in his son's happiness, and a quiet laugh escaped his lips as he continued rocking Hamish back and forth.
Hamish's eyes began to wander around the playground, and when he saw the tiny slide, he shook Sherlock's hands slightly and pulled one free to point at the slide. Understanding, Sherlock stopped the swing, and pulled Hamish out.
He carried Hamish over to the incredibly small slide and set Hamish at the top. Seeing the very alarmed look on his face at being so high up, Sherlock firmly wrapped his hands around Hamish's middle, and smiled reassuringly, as he moved to the bottom of the slide; it was so small, Sherlock could squat at the bottom and keep a firm hold of Hamish simultaneously.
When Hamish didn't move, Sherlock pulled slightly on his stomach, and gently slid the little boy down the slide, Hamish squealing the whole way down, a terrified look on his face.
Once at the bottom, Hamish immediately clung to his father, shaking slightly. Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle lightly under his breath. Grasping fistfuls of Sherlock's shirt, Hamish looked back and scowled at the slide, while shaking his head.
"No. No, Da'," he said firmly.
Sherlock's smile widened. "Okay. No more slide. Got it." Still scowling at the slide, Hamish looked back at the swing, and, forgetting his anger at the slide, pointed towards it enthusiastically.
Obliging, Sherlock walked back towards the swings, and gently placed Hamish back in. Again, the little boy reached out for Sherlock's hands. A warm smile on his face, the detective reached out, and Hamish grasped each hand on a finger again. Sherlock subconsciously wrapped his fingers around his son's tiny hands and began gently rocking once more.
Now that his excitement had worn off slightly, Hamish's eyes began to loll around as the rhythmic rocking continued. Seeing this, Sherlock realized that they'd been gone for about 35 minutes, and that Hamish would need a nap and then a bottle when he woke up.
"Alright, Hamish, let's head home, hmm?" Sherlock asked rhetorically. He gently lifted the now-almost-limp Hamish out of the swing, and cradled him close to his chest. Hamish let out a tiny shiver as he began to drift off into sleep. Sherlock buttoned Hamish's coat, tucked his tiny legs into his own coat, and cradled the little boy's head in the crook of his arm as he made to leave the park and head home.
"I love you, Hamish," Sherlock whispered quietly as he moved a stray curl off of the little boy's head. The boy's eyes fluttered slightly as he sighed a content, "Mmm," before drifting off into sleep.
Sherlock spent the rest of the walk home reveling in the small being he had in his arms. As Hamish sighed in his arms, Sherlock felt that same warmth spread through his chest.
Sherlock smiled as he walked up the steps to 221B. He unlocked the door and walked in, allowing the warmth to envelope his body. Carefully, he walked up the steps to the flat, and then shrugged off his coat, trying not to wake up the still-sleeping Hamish against his chest.
After his coat was successfully discarded, Sherlock made his way towards his room, swung open the door, and moved to place Hamish on his bed, still having forgotten to put the cot together.
Very gently, he laid Hamish down on his bed, and pulled the covers up over his tiny body. He pulled the pillows back over, making two walls on either side of the baby's sleeping form.
Once he was done, Sherlock placed his hand on Hamish's head, amazed that his entire hand was bigger than his son's head. He smiled fondly at the thought, and leaned in to place a light kiss to Hamish's temple. As he did so, he noticed something he hadn't yet – Hamish's sweet smell. He smelled oddly new and lightly of baby formula. Sherlock inhaled lightly, the warmth once again spreading to his chest. His lips turned upward as he brushed the curls away from Hamish's head and a small sigh escaped from his small lips.
"I love you, Hamish," the detective murmured.
Leaving his hand lightly on Hamish's auburn curls, Sherlock just stood and listened to the gentle breathing of his son before silently slipping through the door, his lips still turned up in a smile, leaving his son to sleep peacefully.
While Hamish was taking a nap in his room, Sherlock decided to finally put the cot together. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Sherlock pulled the box over to him, and dumped it open, scattering pieces all over the floor.
He raked through all of the contents, discarding the instructions along the way. He randomly picked up a piece, and began to try and build the cot.
Thirty-two minutes later, a very frustrated and flushed-looking Sherlock sat on the floor, the discarded instructions now clutched in his hand.
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. "No! That piece does not fit there, trust me I've tried!" he hissed at the crumpled paper in his hand.
He threw the paper down, then looked at it, the instructions now at a different angle, and flushed red again. "Oh," he muttered, picking up the paper, and turning the piece in his right hand slightly. It popped into place.
Ten minutes later the cot was successfully finished. Sherlock moved it by the window, and gave a proud nod at his work.
He was just about to pull out his phone to tell John of his achievement when a small whimper came from his room. Realizing Hamish was probably having another nightmare, Sherlock dashed towards his room, already talking, hoping the sound of his voice would calm to frightened boy.
"Shh, Hamish, I'm here, I'm here," he murmured as he entered the room, and quickly picked up Hamish. A single tear escaped the little boy's scrunched eyes as his breath quickened.
"No, no, no, Hamish, it's just a dream, wake up." Sherlock bounced the little boy slightly as he let out another whimper.
Hamish started awake, eyes wide with fear. Upon realizing he was safely in his father's arms, the little boy leaned forward, trying to calm himself. His head gently bumped against Sherlock's chest.
Relieved that Hamish had calmed down so quickly this time, Sherlock gently bounced the little boy, his hand subconsciously rubbing circles on Hamish's back as the little boy clutched onto Sherlock's arm.
"Daa," he sighed into Sherlock's shirt.
"Yes, Hamish," Sherlock whispered quietly, his deep baritone voice filling the silent room, "I'm here."
He walked out of his room, still bouncing Hamish as the little boy's breathing slowly returned to normal.
Sherlock quickly changed Hamish's nappy, and pulled up his trousers, but seeing how warm he was, decided to leave his shirt off until he cooled down a little.
After discarding the soiled nappy, Sherlock picked Hamish up again, and sat down in his chair. Sherlock had never noticed how truly smooth and soft Hamish's skin was. As he sat Hamish down on his lap, and placed his hands around his son's middle, he noticed how rough, and marred by life his hands seemed against Hamish's stomach, which was smooth, soft, and untouched by life. Sherlock couldn't help but smile to himself.
He noticed Hamish curiously eyeing the remote control that was sitting on the arm of the chair.
"Would you like to see this?" he asked Hamish, who turned his attention to his father, still looking curious.
"I'll take that as a yes," Sherlock chuckled, grabbing the remote and handing it gently to Hamish. When Sherlock let go of the remote, though, it fell down immediately, Hamish's little arms not strong enough to hold it up. As the remote fell on the baby's legs, he let out a grunt of displeasure, his bottom lip sticking out slightly.
He turned around to his father, an expectant look on his face. Sherlock grabbed the remote and handed it to Hamish. This time, though, he kept hold of it.
With his bottom lip sticking out the way it had been when Sherlock first met him, Hamish carefully examined the remote in his hands. He spun it around and turned it upside down. Carefully, he touched his hand to the smooth surface on the back, spreading his chubby fingers out, and moving them up and down. He smiled slightly, and turned briefly to Sherlock, who smiled encouragingly, then the little boy turned his attention back to the remote.
He flipped it over (with the help of Sherlock) and noticed the many buttons for the first time. His eyes widened at all of them. He turned back to Sherlock.
"Da?" he asked, pointing at the buttons.
"You click them, Hamish," Sherlock replied happily. "See? Let me show you." Sherlock took one of Hamish's tiny hands in his own, and, much like they had on their first day together, Sherlock guided Hamish's chubby fingers until they pushed down one of the keys.
Hamish's eyes widened in wonder as his finger pressed down the button. He looked excitedly between his father and the remote. Smiling, Sherlock moved the little boy's hand to another button and pressed down.
Hamish began pressing down every button he could, gigging and smiling widely as he did so. He pressed down quickly on the power button, and jumped slightly as something popped to life that he had not seen yet – the television. Hamish started at the loud noise the TV started making, squeezing his eyes shut. Quickly he scooted away from it, backing up into Sherlock's stomach, turning around, and standing up, draping his chubby arms over Sherlock's shoulders.
Sherlock laughed lightly, pulling the remote from Hamish's hands, and wrapping his free hand protectively around Hamish's bare back.
"Shh," he chuckled, "Hamish, it's all right, it's just the television." Sherlock quickly changed the channel to a children's network and turned the volume down. He stood up, walked over the television, and turned Hamish around in his arms.
Cautiously, Hamish opened his eyes. With the loud, frightening noise now gone, and friendly-looking, animated characters now on the screen, Hamish became entranced by the television. His eyes widened, and he leaned slightly away from Sherlock towards the screen.
Seeing Hamish's wonder at the screen, Sherlock moved slightly closer so Hamish could touch it. Cautiously, Hamish reached forward with one hand. His other chubby hand moved to Sherlock's face, resting against the detective's lips. Sherlock smiled under Hamish's touch, his lips turning up under Hamish's tiny fingers.
Amazement in his eyes, the little boy turned around to his father, his hand sliding down the screen slightly as he did so.
"Da'," Hamish declared quietly. He tapped the television with his tiny fingers, his fingernails making a light 'tapping' noise against the surface. Silently, Sherlock moved his hand onto the screen. Smiling, Hamish turned his attention back to the TV. Slowly, he moved his hand towards it, gently placing it on top of Sherlock's.
Sherlock felt his breath catch in his throat again, as Hamish lightly pressed his small hand against the back of his much larger one. His face now serious, and tender, Sherlock turned and gazed at Hamish, whose attention was still on the television, his eyes wide and bright with utter wonder. Sherlock looked fondly at Hamish's incredibly small hand resting on his own. This tiny being in his arms – whose impossibly small hand was on his own right now – was his son. The realization still made Sherlock's chest flood with warmth as he smiled tenderly at Hamish.
Gently, Sherlock pulled his hand off the TV screen, taking Hamish's along with it, though the little boy was so entranced by the show, he barely noticed. Sherlock backed up to his chair, and sat Hamish down on his lap, pulling him back so that Hamish was resting against his stomach. As he turned his attention to the television, he barely noticed as his hand wrapped around Hamish's bare stomach.