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Chapter Twenty: Ouch, Daddy?
Running… Adrenaline… Fear…. Pain…
"Almost there, come on!" called John.
"Hamish," Sherlock breathed upon feeling the little boy squirm in his arms.
"Daddy! Daddy 'ease!" Hamish's cries were muffled against the detective's coat.
"Come on, come on, get in!" John said anxiously as the trio reached the flat. He ushered Mary in, carefully on the lookout for more shots as Sherlock hurried into the flat, right on Mary's heels.
Adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Sherlock ran up the stairs, followed closely by John, who hurried over to Mary, checking for any injuries.
Sherlock took a shaky breath in as he felt Hamish squirm in his arms, his tiny cries filling the quiet flat.
"Hamish," he breathed in relief, pressing his face into the little boy's hair.
"Daddy! 'Ease, Daddy!" Hamish sobbed, crying into his father's shirt.
"Shh, Hamish it's okay… It's okay, Daddy's here."
Sniffing as he fought back frightened tears, Sherlock quickly knelt down on the floor, letting go of Hamish so he could check him over.
"Hamish, are you hurt?" he asked frantically, running his hands across the little boy's head and arms and stomach and legs.
"Oh thank god," he sighed, leaning forward to press his head against Hamish's tiny chest. "You're okay."
"Da'ey! What?" the little boy sobbed, wrapping his arms around the detective's head, and shoving his face into Sherlock's curly hair.
"Is he okay?" John asked worriedly, hurrying over towards his flat mates.
"Yes," Sherlock sighed in relief. "He's fine. Just shaken. But he's not hurt."
"Thank goodness," John sighed, giving the little boy a quick look-over. "I'll call Lestrade; get him over here as soon as possible to find out what the bloody hell is happening."
Sherlock gave a small nod of his head in response, still holding a crying Hamish close. He moved back and felt a small jab of pain in his abdomen, but shrugged it off, assuming it was the stitch in his side from running.
"Hamish?" he asked gently when the little boy clung tightly to his neck. "Hamish can you please look at me? Shhhh. It's okay, love. You're safe." Still kneeling down, Sherlock placed a comforting hand on Hamish's back. "Hamish, it's all okay now. Please," he plead quietly.
Sobs still shaking his tiny body, Hamish loosened his grip around the detective's neck and stared at Sherlock with tears streaming down his face.
"Daddy," he cried, face scrunching up as he started to cry again.
"No, no, no," Sherlock said quickly, brushing his thumb across the little boy's cheek. "It's all okay, Hamish. Please don't cry." He gave the little boy a reassuring smile, running one of his hands up and down Hamish's chubby arm.
The little boy sniffled, his eyes scanning the ground. "'Kay, Daddy," he mumbled sadly, pulling his gaze back up to meet Sherlock's.
"That's it. Very good job, love." Smiling reassuringly, the detective wrapped his arms around Hamish, and stood up, pulling the little boy close to his chest.
"Ah!" he gasped suddenly, feeling a sharp pain in his side. Pressing Hamish's face further into his coat, he shot John a pained look.
"Umm, Mary? Do you think you'd be able to take Hamish for a moment so John and I can go talk in the kitchen?"
"Sure," he she answered warily, taking a shaky breath.
"Hamish? I need you to go with Mary for a second, okay? Do you think you can do that for me?" he asked gently.
The little boy pulled away from Sherlock's coat, an alarmed look on his tear-stained face. "Daddy? What?" he asked worriedly, gripping onto the detective's shirt. His breath started to come in quick, short breaths.
"Shhh, Hamish. It's okay, it's okay," he whispered quietly, rubbing his hand up and down the little boy's back. "I just need to go and talk to John for a moment right there in the kitchen, see? I'm not leaving, I promise." Giving his son what he hoped was a reassuring look, he slowly brushed his fingers over the top of Hamish's cheek. "Think you can do that for me?"
His grip tightening around Sherlock, Hamish sniffled. "Daddy Hame help?" he asked in a tiny voice.
"Yes. Yes, Daddy needs your help. Think you can help me out?"
The little boy contemplated for a moment, releasing his grip and staring at Sherlock's neck. "Mmm… 'Kay, Daddy," he said reluctantly.
"Good man," John whispered in a comforting voice.
"Thank you, Hamish. I'll be right back."
"'Kay, Daddy." Sniffling again, Hamish threw his arms around Sherlock's neck, giving the detective a wet kiss on his neck before reluctantly stretching his arms out towards Mary.
Smiling sadly, Sherlock gave Hamish a quick kiss on his cheek, passed the tiny boy to Mary, and then hurried away into the kitchen. Not completely understanding, John quickly followed, giving Mary an apologetic yet grateful look.
Sherlock stood, smiling at Hamish, and waited until the two moved out of view as Mary went to sit on the couch. He turned to John, trying to ignore the burning pain in his side.
"John," he stated, quickly pulling of his coat.
"Sherlock, what's happen—" The doctor stopped speaking as Sherlock pulled off his suit jacket to reveal a large pool of blood staining his white shirt.
"God, Sherlock!" John cried, instantly switching into doctor mode. He rushed forward, shoving Sherlock down into a chair. "Take your shirt off; I need to see if you've been shot."
Wincing in pain, Sherlock quickly undid his shirt, tossing the blood-stained fabric towards the bin. He looked down at his abdomen to see a large spot of blood quickly forming around his waist.
"Agh!" he sighed in pain as John quickly pressed his fingers to the skin.
"Sorry!" the doctor apologized quickly. "Hold on." A determined look on face, John quickly ran around the kitchen, grabbing everything he might need and then hurried back to Sherlock, who was waiting patiently in the chair.
"Okay. Here we go." Placing all of the items he had gathered on the ground, John knelt down, grabbing a cloth he had wet down with cool water. "This is going to sting a little," he informed Sherlock.
"Fine." The detective waited calmly as John began to clean away the blood, making the damage appear muss less substantial. A small hiss escaped the detective's lips as John rubbed the rough cloth over the wound, making it twinge with pain.
"Sorry," John murmured quietly, carefully cleaning away the last of the blood. He stared at the gash on Sherlock's waist and sighed in relief. "It just grazed you," he said, smiling up at his flat mate. "Nothing too serious… The cut is rather deep, but it's nothing a little bit of bandaging won't fix up." He gently tapped Sherlock on the knee, and stood up, going over to the sink to wash the blood-covered towel.
"Daddy 'kay?" came Hamish's small voice from the other room. Sherlock smiled to himself, before calling back. "Yes, Hamish. I'm fine. Thank you. I should be out in just a few moments."
"Oh. 'Kay, Daddy. Soon?"
Sherlock chuckled. "Yes, Hamish. Very soon." He grinned as he heard Hamish mutter something unintelligible to himself.
"He's quite worried about you," John chuckled, coming back over to Sherlock, a bottle of rubbing alcohol in his hands.
"Mmm," the detective murmured, staring warily at the bottle in John's hand.
"I know, I know. But we need to make sure it doesn't get infected. Better this than having to go to hospital, hmm?" he asked, kneeling back down on the ground.
"Ugh. Please, John," he said with an eye roll. "Just—just get it over with." Frowning slightly, Sherlock shifted in his chair, stretching his torso towards John in preparation.
"Don't be such a child," John chuckled, pouring some of the alcohol onto a clean cloth. "Ready?"
"Mmm."
With expert fingers, John tenderly pressed the cloth to the rather large cut on Sherlock's abdomen.
The detective inhaled sharply, giving John an icy glare as he saw the doctor chuckle to himself. "You know, you could be enjoying this a little less, Jo—"
"John! NO! What doing at Daddy?!"
Sherlock and John both turned towards the doorway to see an absolutely petrified Hamish staring at the bleeding wound on his father's side.
"No, no, no, no, Hamish, listen to me," Sherlock began calmly, trying to stand up off the chair.
"No, Sherlock," John tried, but his friend was already hurrying towards Hamish.
"I'm so sorry!" Mary called, quickly running up behind the little boy. "He just sort of—"
"Daddy!" Hamish cried, running forward as fast as his chubby legs would allow. He desperately wrapped his arms around Sherlock's leg, clinging to the fabric and attempting to scramble upwards into his father's arms.
"Shh, Hamish. It's okay," the detective said gently, lifting the little boy into his arms. He tried to turn Hamish's head away from the cut on his side, not wanting to upset the little boy even more. Mary quickly hurried out of the kitchen, clearly still shaken.
"No, Daddy," the little boy said firmly, fighting against Sherlock's hands. His eyes fell upon the small gash across his father's middle, which had now started to bleed again.
"Daddy!" the little boy gasped, staring at his father's skin. Eyes quickly filling with tears, he looked back at Sherlock, his breath already becoming quick and uneven.
"Hamish, look at me," Sherlock said gently, sitting back down in the chair. He quickly brushed his fingertips across Hamish's cheek, wanting to console the tiny boy. "Hamish, I'm okay. Really. Daddy's not hurt. John is just helping me to fix an ouch," he continued quietly, giving his son a sad smile as a tear quickly slid free from Hamish's eyes. "It's okay," he murmured once more, leaning forward. Tenderly, he kissed Hamish's cheek, clearing away the tear with his lips.
The little boy closed his eyes, causing more tears to slide free, and gently pressed one of his hands to Sherlock's cheekbone.
"Bu—bu," he sniffled as the detective leaned back. "Bu' John ouch Daddy," he cried, a new wave of sadness washing over him. He began to sob and pressed himself forward, snuffling into Sherlock's neck as he cried.
Hoping to comfort his son, Sherlock wrapped his arms around Hamish, enveloping him in a safe embrace.
"Hamish," he began gently. "John wasn't hurting me; he's helping to make the ouch go away, see?" Sherlock slowly rubbed his hand up and down against Hamish's back, frowning as the little boy sobbed against him.
"Please don't cry," he murmured sadly, pressing his nose into Hamish's silky hair.
The little boy sniffled, placing both of his hands against Sherlock's collarbone as he pulled away from the detective, face stained with tears.
"So… So John no ouch Daddy?" he sniffled quietly, staring with wide eyes at his father. "John 'ix Daddy?"
"Yes," breathed Sherlock. "John's fixing Daddy's ouch. See? Everything's okay." He gave Hamish a reassuring smile, brushing his thumb across the little boy's cheek to wipe away the tears. "Please don't cry…" He smiled again, letting his hand remain on the side of Hamish's head.
"'Kay, Daddy," the little boy said quietly, pressing one of his chubby hands to Sherlock's lips as he leaned into the detective's touch. "Daddy?"
"Yes, Hamish?" Sherlock murmured against his son's fingers.
"Hame help Daddy ouch?"
Sherlock smiled warmly, glancing at John.
"I would be delighted to have your help, Hamish." The little boy smiled half-heartedly, his fingers curling against Sherlock's skin.
"'Kay, Daddy," he said quietly. "What do? Help John at ouch?"
"Well," the doctor started quietly. "I'm not sure there's a whole lot you can help me with, but," he paused and leaned in close to Hamish's ear, whispering loudly. "I think Daddy could use some help being brave, hmm?" The doctor grinned as he saw the corner of Hamish's mouth turn upward in a small smile.
"What do, John?" the little boy asked earnestly.
"Well," the doctor said, leaning back. "What I'm about to do might sting a little so how about you let Daddy hold your hand while I patch him up?"
"Oh," the little boy said, suddenly very serious. "'Kay, John." He turned to Sherlock, completely unaware that the detective had heard the entire conversation.
"John say Hame 'old Daddy hand," the little boy said sweetly, giving Sherlock a comforting smile. "So no ouch."
"Thank you, Hamish," Sherlock said earnestly, smiling at the little boy in his lap.
"'Es, Daddy. Here. Hame hand." Keeping one of his chubby hands pressed against his father's collarbone, Hamish reached down and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's thumb. "'Old, Daddy," he said expectantly.
"Of course. Sorry." Smiling at his son, Sherlock closed his hand, wrapping his slender fingers around Hamish's chubby hand.
"'Kay, Daddy?" he asked worriedly, noticing how John was dumping more liquid onto the cloth. He gave Sherlock a fearful look, having noticed how earlier the cloth with the liquid had caused his father pain.
"It's okay, Hamish," Sherlock murmured softly, giving Hamish's hand a reassuring squeeze.
"'Kay, Daddy… 'Eady?"
The detective smiled. "I'm ready if you are."
"'Es. 'Kay, John. Daddy 'eady."
The doctor chuckled. "Good. Okay, here we go."
Hamish watched with wide, fearful eyes as John moved the cloth closer and closer to Sherlock's skin.
"No, Daddy!" he whimpered, turning around in the detective's lap. Squeezing his father's thumb with all of his might, Hamish pressed his face into Sherlock's jaw and clenched his eyes shut.
Both John and Sherlock chuckled to themselves. The detective winced slightly as John pressed the wet cloth to his skin, but he continued to smile down at Hamish.
"Hamish," he chuckled, squeezing the little boy's hand. "It's all right. Look. John's all done." Gently, Sherlock placed his free hand to the back of Hamish's head and coaxed the little boy away from his jaw, hoping he would see that all was fine.
Cautiously, Hamish opened his eyes. "Oh," he sighed in relief upon seeing his father's skin, clear of all blood and now almost properly bandaged.
"There," John said, giving a small nod of his head and smiling happily at his work as he taped the last bit of gauze to Sherlock's skin.
"All done, Daddy?" Hamish asked quietly, gazing at the detective with worried eyes.
Sherlock smiled, running his fingertips up and down Hamish's back. "Yes, Hamish. It's all done. No more ouch. And thank you very much for all of your help." The detective gave the little boy a quick wink, brushing his finger across his son's chin. He leaned in, whispering in Hamish's ear. "I'm not sure I could have done it without you."
Hamish grinned at Sherlock, covering his mouth as he giggled.
"But don't tell John. We can't have him feeling left out, now can we?" The detective smiled against Hamish's hair as he felt the little boy laughing in his lap.
"'Kay, Daddy," Hamish whispered loudly, leaning up to wrap his chubby arms around his father's neck, pulling the detective into a tight hug.
"Hame g'ad Daddy 'etter. Ta, John. Make Daddy 'etter."
John chuckled to himself as he quickly discarded Sherlock's bloodied shirt, knowing it would upset Hamish if he saw it. "You're very welcome, Hamish," he said, smiling at the little boy. "I'm happy that you're glad Daddy's better."
"Thank you, John," Sherlock said, giving the doctor a warm smile as he stood up, pulling Hamish into his arms.
"Daddy?" the little boy asked quietly, talking into Sherlock's jaw as he kept his arms wrapped around the detective's neck.
"Yes, Hamish?" Sherlock asked gently, gazing down at Hamish.
"Umm… Hame kiss ouch?" Hamish asked quietly, peering up at Sherlock with wide eyes.
The detective paused to gaze at his son, a small smile playing on his lips.
"So make 'etter," Hamish added quickly, worried that his father was laughing at his proposition.
"That would be lovely," Sherlock said quietly, giving Hamish a reassuring smile. "Here." Moving carefully the detective slowly squatted down and placed Hamish on the ground, turning his body so as to give the little boy easier access.
A sweet smile on his face, Hamish placed both of his hands on either side of his father's bandage. Moving slowly, he leaned forward and pressed an incredibly light kiss Sherlock's waist. His fingers curled gently against the detective's skin as he pulled away, gazing happily at his father.
"Daddy 'etter now John an' Hame help."
The detective laughed, pulling his son into a tight hug. "Mmm! You're just wonderful, Hamish," he said, pressing a kiss to Hamish's auburn curls. "Yes. I am much better now that both you and John have helped. Thank you very much." He placed his hand to the back of the little boy's curls, taking a deep breath. "I love you very much."
"'Ove, Daddy," Hamish whispered into his father's chest. He took a deep breath, resting his head against the detective's skin.
The adrenaline leaving his tiny body, and now wrapped in the comforting embrace of his father, Hamish leaned forward, resting his weight against Sherlock's chest.
"Daddy," he said quietly, tapping a chubby finger against the detective's shoulder. "Tired, Daddy… 'Eep?" He yawned widely, pressing his face into Sherlock's bare skin.
"Of course," the detective murmured, pulling Hamish's sleepy form into his arms as he stood up. He began to gently sway back and forth, giving John a quick smile as he left the kitchen to tend to Mary.
"You've had a big day," he continued softly, whispering against Hamish's hair as he continued to sway back and forth. "I'm sorry about… All of it… I'll find out what happened, I promise. But for now, just sleep… You've earned it."
Hamish sighed quietly, soothed by the deep, rumbling voice of his father and leaned forward, his head gently bumping against Sherlock's collarbone.
"You were very brave today. And I am very proud of you."
"Mmm," Hamish hummed, his eyes fluttering shut as Sherlock began to rub soothing circles on his back.
Mumbling tiredly to himself, Hamish snuggled deeper into Sherlock's hold, shifting slightly as he turned his head, pressing his cheek against the detective's neck. Fingers curling against his father's skin, Hamish took a deep breath and quickly slipped away into sleep.
Gazing lovingly at his son, Sherlock slowly meandered out of the kitchen.
"Hey, Sherlock," John said, turning away from where he had been kneeling in front of Mary. He paused upon seeing the sleeping Hamish in his flat mate's arms. "Oh! Sorry." He quickly dropped his voice to a whisper. "Look, Mary's pretty shaken up. I'm going to take her home and stay with her tonight. Lestrade should be on his way soon, so when he gets here tell him what happened and see if he can't get to the bottom of what's going on." John sighed deeply, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he gazed at Hamish, who had started mumbling to himself in his sleep.
"All right," Sherlock answered quietly, absentmindedly rubbing his hand up and down Hamish's back. "We should be allright here. I'll keep an eye out and talk to Lestrade when he gets here."
"Thanks," John breathed, giving his friend a thankful smile. "I should be back early tomorrow." He turned around, helping Mary up off the couch. "See you," he said, hurrying out the flat.
Smiling after John, Sherlock took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Hamish's breath against his chest.
"Ohh," he sighed, slowly meandering into his room.
Sherlock slid onto the bed and gently moved Hamish downwards on his chest, hoping he had not jostled the little boy.
Trying to clear his head, and push away the mild sense of panic he still felt coursing through his veins, Sherlock closed his eyes, and sunk deeper into the bed, squeezing his eyes shut.
"We're okay," he murmured out loud, rubbing his thumb up and down against Hamish's back.
Smiling to himself as he felt Hamish sigh against his skin, Sherlock closed his eyes, soothed by the soft light streaming in through his window and the feel of Hamish sleeping against his chest.