Hey readers! So this chapter is pretty short, so I decided to just post it today. Thanks for all your wonderful reviews and to all my followers and readers! Have a great rest of your weekend, guys! Enjoy! =)Thanks!

Chapter Twelve: Love

That was the last nightmare Sherlock had. Life returned to normal quickly after the scare of the orphanage case.

Ever since the nightmare, though, the detective had a new appreciation for Hamish; a new kind of love had formed the moment the little boy had tenderly brushed away his sadness.

It was several days later, as Hamish was sat on the floor, trying desperately to put together a puzzle, when Sherlock had this realization. His chest filled with warmth, and he couldn't help but smile at Hamish. This little boy—his son—had melted away his cold exterior.

"Amazing," he murmured out loud, not even noticing he had said it. Hamish turned away from the puzzle piece in his hand and looked at his father.

"Da?" he asked curiously upon seeing the almost dazed look on Sherlock's face.

"Hmm? Oh! Yes. Sorry, Hamish, I was just thinking. Here," he said, leaning over towards Hamish. He guided the little boy's hands until the large puzzle piece dropped into place.

"See?" he said, smiling warmly at Hamish, but the little boy barely noticed. His attention was now focused entirely on Sherlock.

"What's wrong, Hamish?" Sherlock asked, noticing how his son was staring at him intently.

"What?" Hamish asked, shoving the puzzle away with his chubby hands. He crawled over to Sherlock, and pulled himself up, trying to sit on his father's lap.

Chuckling under his breath at Hamish's efforts, Sherlock picked up the little boy, and moved him so he was resting on his legs.

"What was I thinking about? Is that what you're asking?" Sherlock questioned. The little boy nodded and began to twiddle one of Sherlock's buttons between his tiny fingers.

"I was thinking about you," the detective stated, staring at the little boy on his lap. Hamish's fingers froze at his father's words, and he pointed to himself, a shocked look on his face, as if he was amazed Sherlock could be thinking about him.

"Yes," Sherlock chuckled. He moved his hand, and playfully ran one of his fingers down Hamish's tiny nose, causing the little boy to giggle slightly. "I was thinking about you."

Hamish smiled widely, now very excited that he'd learned his father had been thinking of him.

Grinning, he reached his arms up at Sherlock, who was still chuckling at the little boy's amazement. Gently, Sherlock picked Hamish up and placed him so he was resting against his chest.

Without thinking, Hamish began to trace the gap at the base of Sherlock's neck with his tiny fingers as he situated himself in his father's arms. The detective smiled fondly at the sensation.

Still very excited, Hamish asked again, "What, Da?" He leaned into Sherlock, resting his head against his fathers' chest.

Sherlock looked down at Hamish, and couldn't help but smile at the excited look on the little boy's face. He moved his hand and placed it on Hamish's back as he stood up off the ground. He slowly began to walk around the room.

"I was just thinking about how much I love you, Hamish," he said to the little boy in his arms. Hamish nodded against Sherlock's chest, still smiling. But, thinking about his father's words, his face contorted with confusion. He tried to repeat the new word Sherlock had just said.

"'Ooo…'Ove, Da? What?"

"Well," Sherlock began, thinking about how he should explain love to Hamish. He began to bounce the little boy slightly in arms as he started to pace around the flat. He continued to talk, "Technically, love is release of chemicals in the body such as phenylethylamine (though it's better know as PEA), norepinephrine, dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins. The release of these chemicals brings about feelings of elation, happiness, comfort," Sherlock said, talking far too quickly for Hamish, who looked completely lost, though this went unnoticed by the detective and he continued speaking quickly, excited to be sharing information with his son.

"There are several different forms of love, technically speaking, although, really, the chemical releases are very similar in nature, with just a few minor differences. It's really quite interesting if you think about it. I mean—"

"Da?" Hamish whispered quietly, overwhelmed by flow of words from Sherlock.

"Hmm? Oh! Right… Sorry, Hamish. I just got a little carried away." Sherlock looked down at Hamish, and couldn't' help but laugh at the utterly confused and overwhelmed look on the little boy's face.

"Sorry," he laughed again, brushing some curls away from Hamish's face. The detective stopped pacing, and opted to sway back and forth. He bounced the little boy lightly in arms as he thought of how to phrase his words.

"Love… Well… When you love someone, it means you care very deeply about them; you would do anything for them. You can find comfort in the ones you love, Hamish. Sometimes, it can result in things a warmth in your chest, or something like a fluttering in your belly," Sherlock murmured. To help him understand, he reached down and gently tickled Hamish's stomach.

Smiling, the detective continued speaking. "Love can be shown in many different ways; from just giving a hug or kiss, to saying it out loud, to giving someone a compliment."

"Oh," Hamish said quietly. Thinking, he stuck out his bottom lip, and continued to play with the gap at his father's neck.

Seeing how hard Hamish was thinking, Sherlock asked, "Do you understand what I told you, Hamish?" In response, the little leaned forward, resting his head against his fathers' chest. He nodded slowly, and then closed his eyes. His eyebrows pulled together as he thought.

Sherlock waited patiently for Hamish. Smiling fondly, he began to twirl a lock of the little boy's auburn hair between his fingers.

Eventually, Hamish opened his eyes, but it was clear he was still thinking.

"Da?" he asked, gazing up at Sherlock.

"Yes, Hamish? What is it?" the detective asked quietly, hoping not to disturb Hamish's train of thought.

"'Ove…" he began slowly.

"Yes? What about it?"

Not knowing how to put what he was wanting to say into words, Hamish leaned back in Sherlock's arms, hoping to show his father what he meant. He took one of his tiny hands, and placed it on his chest. Then, looking up at Sherlock, he moved his other small hand and placed it against Sherlock's chest, right over his heart.

"'Ove, Da?" he asked, his eyebrows still pulled together.

"Oh…" Sherlock sighed, surprised at how much Hamish had understood.

"Yes, Hamish," Sherlock whispered excitedly. Slowly, he took one of his hands and moved it so it was resting on top of Hamish's tiny chest, covering his son's hand with his own. "Love," he whispered happily, nodding encouragingly at the little boy.

"'Ove!" Hamish cried happily, excited that he had understood his father's explanation. He threw his arms up and wrapped them as tightly as he could around Sherlock's neck. "'Ove!" he laughed again, snuggling into the detective's neck.

"Yes!" Sherlock chuckled, happy at Hamish's excitement. "Very good, Hamish! So clever!" he leaned down and planted a quick kiss to Hamish's cheek, smiling brightly as he did so. "I'm very proud of you," he chuckled.

"'Ove?" the little boy asked excitedly.

"Yes, yes! I love you, Hamish." Sherlock beamed as he saw Hamish's smile widen and felt the little boy's grip around his neck tighten.

Playfully, Sherlock tickled Hamish's neck, asking, "And do you love me, Hamish? Hmm?" He chuckled as the little boy squirmed happily in his arms.

"'Es! Yes!" Hamish giggled happily, trying to escape the stream of tickles. "Yes, 'ove Da!"

Sherlock, still smiling, stopped tickling Hamish. "Good!" he sighed, over-exaggerating greatly, "I was worried there for a moment."

"Daa," Hamish giggled.

"Hmm," Sherlock replied happily, squeezing his arms around Hamish in a hug.

"'Ove!" the little boy repeated again, talking happily into Sherlock's neck.

"Ohhh, we're going to be hearing that for a while, aren't we?" the detective chuckled happily.

"Yes! 'Ove!"

In fact, it took several weeks for little Hamish to grow tired of using the new word, and though Sherlock grew tired of the word itself, he never grew tired of all of the hugs and kisses Hamish would give him, the way his face would light every time he used the new word, and he never grew tired of being reminded what the word 'love' entailed…