Chapter Twenty-Five: The Best Birthday Present
Sherlock was awoken by the sound of bustling outside of his door. Taking a deep breath, the detective slowly opened his eyes, his acute senses coming to life. Upon trying to move, though, he realized that there was a small mass wrapped tightly in his arms. Smiling, Sherlock closed his eyes, pressing Hamish's small form even closer to his chest. He bent down, letting his cheek rest on top of the little boy's head and took a deep breath.
"Mmm... Daddy?" Hamish asked groggily, squirming in his father's grasp as he was awoken by the sudden movement.
"Yes," Sherlock chuckled, pulling back and releasing his son's body. "Sorry."
"'Kay, Daddy..." Frowning at having been woken up, Hamish yawned, his tiny fist clenching and unclenching as he pressed his face into Sherlock's shirt. "Uhh," he groaned, grabbing a handful of the fabric. "No up 'ease, Daddy?"
Sherlock laughed, bending down to press a soft kiss to the little boy's curls. "Sorry, Hamish," he chuckled, placing one hand on his son's back. "But we've got to get up, I'm afraid... But," he added cheerfully, hoping it would help wake Hamish up. "It smells like Mrs. Hudson's been cooking, hmm?" He quickly rubbed his palm up and down Hamish's back.
"'Es, Daddy... Daddy up 'ease Hame?" the little boy whispered, peering up at the detective with wide, tired eyes.
"Of course. I'll help you get up. Ohh," Sherlock sighed, pulling Hamish into his arms and onto his hip as he left the bed. "You're getting too big for this," he joked, gently tickling the little boy's stomach.
"Daddy," Hamish sighed, giggling half-heartedly into the detective's shoulder. A small smile on his lips, he closed his eyes, resting comfortably in his father's arms.
Smiling fondly at his son, Sherlock quickly ran a hand through his own hair, returning it to its usual tousled look, and then opened the door to his room, walking out into the hallway. He paused upon hearing what sounded like John and Mrs. Hudson whispering in the kitchen, followed closely by the sound of paper rustling. Brows pulled together in confusion, the detective rounded the corner, stopping completely as he saw a large cake on the kitchen table, surrounded by several presents wrapped in colorful paper, and Mrs. Hudson and John gathered around the table, large grins on their faces.
"Oh, Sherlock!" the landlady cheered happily, hurrying around the table. She scurried up to the detective, going on tiptoe to give him a motherly kiss on the cheek. "Happy Birthday, dear." She smiled up at him, and gave him a quick pat on the cheek.
"Nana?" came the quiet voice of Hamish, who had woken up upon hearing her excited cries.
"Yes, Hamish," Sherlock answered slowly, remaining still in the doorway as he stared questioningly at John. "It would seem Mrs. Hudson and John have taken it upon themselves to celebrate my birthday... Despite all of my previous protests," he added, muttering under his breath as he glared at John. The detective jumped slightly upon feeling Hamish bounce suddenly in his arms. He turned his attention to the little boy, who was tugging excitedly at his collar, all tiredness clearly gone.
"Oh! 'Pride, 'pride!" he cried triumphantly, wrapping his chubby arms around Sherlock's neck. "Bi'f'hay at Daddy!"
"Very good, Hamish," John praised, smiling at the excited little boy. "It is a surprise for Daddy's birthday, isn't it? You did a very good job keeping the secret, Hame."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, giving the doctor a dithering look. "You know I don't like celebrating such things, John," he said anxiously, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation.
"You were fine celebrating Hamish's birthday," John countered, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, becasue he's my son and I enjoy making him happy and giving him something to celebrate, but this is different, its—" The detective stopped, blushing at his own words. "I—It's—Oh, you know what I mean," he cried, exasperated.
"Daddy?" Hamish said quietly, tapping the detective on the neck and staring up at Sherlock with worried eyes. "No baf'ay at Daddy?" he asked sadly.
"Oh, umm..." Sherlock paused, taking a moment to stare into the little boy's sea-green eyes. He smiled sadly, running his fingertips over Hamish's back. "Okay," he murmured eventually. "I suppose... Just this once, mind you... I suppose it wouldn't be too horrible to celebrate my birthday... If you want to." Though still unhappy with the situation, the detective couldn't help but soften as he saw Hamish's eyes light up, a wide grin spreading across chubby face.
"Hap' bif'a'hay, Daddy!" the little boy cried happily, throwing his arms around his father's neck. "Ta, Daddy," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of the detective's lips.
Sherlock laughed, placing his hand on the back of Hamish's head. "You're welcome," he chuckled, pulling back to gaze lovingly at the little boy. "Okay," he sighed dramatically, turning his attention back to the room. "Come on then. What's first?"
John grinned, giving Hamish a wide smile. "Well, I suppose we could—"
"Tres'tent!" the little boy exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands together.
"All right, then! Sounds good to me," John chuckled, moving to the other side of the table.
"Very well," Sherlock sighed. "Hamish, do you want down or do you want to stay with me?"
The little boy thought for a moment, one hand gripping onto his father's shirt, face scrunching up as he thought. "Daddy," he answered, with a firm nod of his head.
Sherlock smiled, giving Hamish a gentle pat on the back. "Excellent," he said, making his way to the other side of the table, by John.
"How about you pick, Hamish?" Mrs. Hudson asked gently, smiling at the little boy.
Grinning, Hamish leaned forward in Sherlock's arms, keeping a fistful of the detective's shirt in his hand as he gazed at the few presents on the table. Sherlock smiled fondly at his son, instinctively leaning forward with the little boy so as to make sure he wouldn't fall.
"John," he stated finally, pointing at a small present with a small nod of his head.
Chuckling, the doctor leaned forward, grabbing the tiny gift and passing it to Sherlock. "There you go."
"Mmm," Sherlock thanked in reply, moving Hamish to his hip as he took the present. He placed it on the table, clearing his throat as he started to open it. He paused, turning to the little boy, who was practically vibrating with excitement in his arms. "Would you like to help?" he asked quietly, the corner of his lips quirking up as he saw Hamish's eyes widen.
"Real, Daddy?"
"Yes," the detective chuckled, pulling up a chair and sitting down. "Really. I would love to have your help." He smiled, setting Hamish in his lap and scooting closer to the table.
A small smile on his lips, the little boy leaned forward, wrapping his chubby hands around the present, and pulled it onto his lap. He frowned slightly, trying to figure out how to go about opening the wrapped gift. "Daddy?" he asked, turning the present over in his hands.
Sherlock chuckled, wrapping one hand around Hamish's middle, and pulling him closer to his torso. "Here," he murmured, leaning around his son's body and taking the gift in his free hand. Sharing a smile with John, the detective gently pried away a piece of tape holding the wrapping together. "There you go. Start there." Smiling, Sherlock gently tapped the torn paper.
"Oh. 'Kay, Daddy." Face pulled together in concentration, Hamish started to pull at the present, slowly tearing away the wrapping.
"Thank you for the mug, John," Sherlock whispered out of the corner of his mouth, giving the doctor a smug smile.
Pressing his lips together, John heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the detective. "You know what every single one is, don't you?"
Staring fondly as Hamish continued to open the present, Sherlock merely smiled in reply, lips turned up in a sly smile.
Mrs. Hudson giggled to herself, grinning at the two flat mates.
"You just can't—Ugh!" John cried, running a hand through his short hair. "You're impossible."
Sherlock chuckled, turning to the doctor. "I'm hardly impossible, John," he drawled, giving his friend a knowing look. "I'm merely occasionally difficult."
John chuckled humorlessly. "Right. Of course. Occasionally difficult. That's what it is."
"Tres'tent!" came the triumphant cry of Hamish, interrupting the two flat mates' bickering.
"Oh, very good, Hamish," Sherlock praised, taking the blue coffee mug from his son's chubby hands. He quickly kissed the little boy on the cheek, chuckling at his excitement.
"Help, Daddy?"
"You want to help with another?" the detective asked lovingly, keeping his hand wrapped around the little boy's middle.
Hamish paused, staring up at his father with wide eyes. "'Es, Daddy?" he asked, almost as if he was afraid he was not allowed to help with more than one present.
"Of course," Sherlock encouraged quietly, giving Hamish's stomach a gentle squeeze.
"Oh," the little boy sighed, relaxing in the detective's grasp. The content smile returning to his face, Hamish turned back to the table and quickly pointed to a box-shaped gift. "Daddy?" he asked, turning back to his father to make sure that it was okay to choose said present.
"It's all right," Sherlock murmured, giving the little boy a reassuring smile. Making sure he wasn't squeezing Hamish against the table, the detective leaned forward, grabbing the object in his hand. "Here you go." Smiling lovingly at his son, Sherlock gently placed the heavy book on his thigh, opting to have the weight on his own lap, rather than in Hamish's much smaller one.
"Ta, Daddy," the little boy thanked quietly, giving his father a happy smile before turning his attention back to the gift. Bottom lip protruding in concentration, he started to gently peel away the wrapping, trying not to rip it too much.
"Surely you can't know what this one—"
"A book on outer space, meant to be used as a joke, due to my lack of knowledge of the solar system. Hardly difficult."
John huffed, shaking his head back and forth at his friend. "Come on, then. How'd you know?" he asked, smiling in spite of himself.
"Obvious, John," the detective replied, absentmindedly brushing away some of Hamish's curls from his forehead. "You happened to be staring at that particular gift when I entered the kitchen, smiling in a way that suggested the object would probably be used as some sort of joke or prank. Knowing you, such an object would have to be about something that accentuates my lack of knowledge on a certain subject. And, seeing as there's very little I am not knowledgable about, the most possible subjects would be either my lack of knowledge on the solar system or spray paint (due that incident with the smuggling case several years ago). However, seeing as the spray paint was never brought up again, yet my little knowledge of the solar system has been brought up numerous times in the past, that would mean a book (clear from the shape) would be on information about the solar system. Simple, John."
The room was suddenly silent, with Mrs. Hudson glancing between the two flat mates, John staring at Sherlock with a confused expression on his face, said detective gazing back at John in a very "matter-of-fact" way, and Hamish, who, upon hearing his father's rapid speaking, had forgotten the present and was staring up the detective, mouthing hanging open in a small smile.
"Wow, Daddy," the little boy sighed in amazement, breaking the awkward silence of the flat. All eyes turned to him, and then, suddenly everyone was laughing, the loud noise filling the otherwise-quiet flat.
"Ohh," John sighed, chuckling as he tried to catch his breath. "Okay. Fair enough. Point made... Brilliant," he added under his breath.
"Daddy?" Hamish asked quietly, having completely unwrapped the book while the adults were laughing. He grunted quietly, trying to hand the thick book to Sherlock, but unable to lift it with his own tiny arms..
"Oh! Sorry, Hamish," the detective chuckled, taking the gift from his son's chubby hands. "Thank you for opening that for me. You're a wonderful helper," he praised lovingly, pulling Hamish's hands to his lips to give the little boy's fingers a gentle kiss. "How about another one?"
"Oh! 'Es 'ease, Daddy!"
Several presents later (all of which were opened by Hamish, who, each time had been careful not rip the wrapping too much), Sherlock had received a few more gifts, consisting of a new watch from Mrs. Hudson, as well as some sheet music for his violin and a card with money from John.
"All right," John declared happily, giving Hamish a secretive smile. He reached down the table, grabbing the last present. "Here you go, Hame. This is the one you chose for Daddy, remember? How about you let him open it?"
Suddenly, upon seeing his present, the little boy looked very worried. He turned in Sherlock's lap, placing both of his hands to either side of his father's collarbone as he stood up on the detective's thighs. He stretched up, trying to whisper in Sherlock's ear.
A small smile playing on his lips, the detective bent down, allowing easier access for the little boy. "Yes, Hamish?" he murmured, splaying his fingers across his son's back so he wouldn't fall backwards, seeing as the little boy was wobbling considerably. He paused, listening intently as Hamish whispered in his ear. Upon hearing his son's request, Sherlock felt a warmth run across his chest. "Of course," he whispered, pulling back to gaze fondly at the little boy.
The corner of his lips twitching up into a smile, the detective stood up, placing Hamish on the ground. That familiar fluttering in his chest, he bent down, taking the little boy's chubby hand in his own, before turning back to John, eyebrows raised as he took a breath. "Hamish has requested that we open his gift later tonight, but he would prefer I open it alone with him." Despite usually becoming embarrassed at showing affection around others, Sherlock couldn't help but smile down at the little boy holding his hand, not minding whether John or Mrs. Hudson saw.
"Ah," the doctor sighed quietly, gazing fondly at his flat mates. "Of course." Smiling, he knelt down on one knee so he was eye level with Hamish. "Here you go," he whispered, passing the small gift to the little boy.
"Ta, John," Hamish replied quietly, releasing Sherlock's hand to take the gift from the doctor. Smiling, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to John's cheek. "Ta," he thanked again.
"You're most certainly welcome," John murmured in reply, gently ruffling the small boy's curls. "Now why don't you go put that somewhere safe, hmm?"
Hamish thought for a moment, looking up at Sherlock with questioning eyes as he carefully held the gift between both of his chubby hands. The detective peered back down, giving his son a reassuring smile. "Maybe on my bed?" he suggested quietly, gently placing his hand on the little boy's back.
"Oh! 'Es, Daddy." Grinning widely, Hamish clutched the present close to his chest, and hurried forward, toddling out of the kitchen.
Sherlock chuckled, gazing after the little boy. He took a deep breath, smiling as he heard Hamish start to mutter unhappily to himself in the other room, clearly displeased with something.
"Do you need help, Hamish?" he called.
"No, Daddy?" the little boy called back, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.
"I've got it," Mrs. Hudson chuckled, quickly hurrying out of the kitchen.
Knowing what was coming, Sherlock took a deep breath, turning his attention to John.
"All right, all right," he said hurriedly upon seeing the smug look on the doctor's face. "Yes, yes, I know. It was not as horrible as I had originally anticipated... Although," added hurriedly, "I did not appreciate the book."
John laughed, pleased his gift had had the desired affect. "Good," he chuckled, smiling at his friend. "Well, I'm glad it wasn't as bad as you'd expected... It's sweet Hame wants to open his present alone with you. Of course you already know what it is, so that kind of takes away the—"
"I don't know what his gift is," Sherlock interrupted quietly, staring at the doctor as though he was confused as to how he could think such a thing. "Your presents were obvious, John, and easy to guess because I've know you for so long. However, Hamish is too young to really pick a gift based on past opinions and thoughts. Therefore, I have no idea what he's given me."
John paused, taking a moment to smile at his flat mate. "Right. Of course," he whispered, chuckling to himself. "Well... I think you'll like it."
The detective raised an eyebrow in reply, a small, curious smile playing on his lips.
"'Kay, Daddy!" Hamish called happily, hurrying back into the kitchen with Mrs. Hudson close behind, his hands now free of the tiny gift. He hurried towards Sherlock, but stopped as he saw the small pile of wrapping paper on the ground. Suddenly, a pained expression on his face, the little boy bent down, hurriedly trying to pull all of the discarded paper into his tiny arms.
Confused by his son's efforts, Sherlock quickly glanced at John and Mrs. Hudson before bending down, and picking up the few pieces Hamish had missed. "Hamish?" he asked gently, placing his hand on the little boy's back. "What's wrong? What're you doing with the wrapping paper?"
The little boy froze, staring at his father with wide eyes. Suddenly, as if he was embarrassed, Hamish's eyes fell to the ground, and a sad frown pulled down his features. "No ouch," he replied sadly, gazing down at the paper in his arms.
Understanding, Sherlock paused, gazing with a sad smile at his son. "Hamish, he whispered gently, turning the little boy so they were face to face. "It's okay, Hamish. The wrapping paper isn't hurt. I promise. It doesn't feel things like you and I do. It's not living, so it can't get an ouch like us. It's perfectly fine the way it is... You don't need to feel sad." The detective paused, gazing with fond eyes at the little boy. "But I'll tell you what... It would be lovely if you could make something for me with this," he murmured, rubbing his thumb across Hamish's cheek as he held up the pieces in his hand.
With a quiet sniffle, the little boy gazed up at Sherlock, his mouth pressing together into a sweet smile. "Real, Daddy?" he asked quietly.
"Really. In fact, I'm sure Mrs. Hudson and John would love something as well," he added, giving Hamish a warm smile.
Upon hearing this, the little boy seemed to perk up, the small smile spreading across his face. "'Kay, Daddy, "he said contently, gaze falling upon the large pile of paper in his arms.
"Here," Sherlock said, placing the pieces of wrapping paper back on the floor before. "How about we have a little bit of cake first, and then you can go and make us something, hmm?"
"'Es, Daddy." Hamish replied quietly, bending down to delicately place the pile of papers on the ground in front of him.
"Very good," the detective whispered, pulling the little boy into his arms.
Grinning at the situation, Mrs. Hudson hurried forward, and began to cut several pieces of the cake.
"Oh, uh... No thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock declined politely, taking Hamish's piece of cake in his hand as he sat down, placing the little boy on his knee. "Okay," he sighed, grabbing the fork John had just passed him. Wrapping his arm around his son's middle, the detective offered the utensil to Hamish, who eagerly grabbed it from his father's hand.
"Ah. What do we say?" Sherlock prompted.
"Oh! Ta, Nana," Hamish said happily, giving the landlady a small smile. He turned to his father for reassurance before turning back to the cake.
Chucking at the little boy, both John and Mrs. Hudson sat down with their own pieces of cake, munching happily on the sweet treat.
"Daddy," Hamish stated firmly, turning in the detective's lap to offer him a piece of the pastry.
"No, Hamish. Really, I'm okay," Sherlock told him, giving the little boy a reassuring smile, though he knew it wouldn't work.
"No, Daddy. Have."
Chuckling at the persistence of his son, the detective leaned forward, taking the bite Hamish had offered. "Thank you, Hamish," he whispered. "That was lovely."
Now content that his father had at least eaten some of his own birthday cake, the little boy turned back to the treat, careful to scoop each bite onto the fork before delicately placing it in his mouth.
The rest of the day went by normally. After having placed each sheet of wrapping paper in a very particular spot around the sitting room (all of which were not to be moved), Hamish had created several art projects for both John and Mrs. Hudson as well as many for Sherlock in addition to several drawings as a sort of birthday bonus.
They had eaten Mrs. Hudson's delicious cooking for dinner, during which Hamish had refused to eat his own food unless and until Sherlock had not only gotten, but completely eaten his own serving.
"I swear," John chuckled as they left the kitchen. "If it weren't for him, I'm not sure you would eat at all." The doctor smiled at his flat mate, groaning slightly as he sat down in his chair.
"Please, John, that's ridiculous. Of course I would eat... I just wouldn't eat as frequently." Despite his sarcastic tone, the detective smiled lovingly, pressing a quick kiss to Hamish's temple.
After Mrs. Hudson had retired for the night, the flat mates of 221B were all sat in the living room, staring tiredly into the fire they had started. Sherlock was sitting on the couch, Hamish resting peacefully in his lap, while John was sat in his chair, gazing at the burning fire.
"Come on," Sherlock murmured quietly upon glancing at his watch. Draping Hamish's tired form over his shoulder, the detective slowly stood up off of the couch and began walking to his room. He paused, giving the little boy a moment to say goodnight to John. "Say goodnight," he prompted quietly.
"Nigh' nigh', John," Hamish whispered tiredly, giving a tiny wave of his hand, eyes drooping slightly at the effort.
"G'night, little man," the doctor replied quietly, giving the little boy a warm smile. "Sleep tight, Hame."
Trying to keep his eyes open, Hamish smiled in return, tiredly wrapping his arms around his father's neck. "I'll be back in a moment," the detective added, turning back to glance at his flatmate.
Turning back to his room, and sensing his son's tiredness, Sherlock placed his hand on the little boy's back, bouncing slightly as he continued to make his way back to his room.
Shutting the door behind him, the detective glided over to his bed, pausing as he saw a tiny gift sitting in the middle of the sheets.
"Oh. Right... Hamish?" he asked quietly, sitting down on the bed, and moving the little boy onto his lap. "Your present is still here. Do you want to open it now or just wait until tomorrow?"
"Oh," Hamish said, eyebrows pulling together as he remembered the gift. "'Ow 'ease, Daddy?"
"Of course," Sherlock replied fondly, brushing the back of his fingers across Hamish's forehead. Moving so he was leaning against the headboard, the detective reached down, grabbing the gift in his slender fingers. "Okay," he sighed, wrapping his arm around around the little boy's body.
Sighing contently, and now more alert with the small amount of excitement coursing through his body, Hamish settled himself closer to Sherlock's body, leaning against the detective's torso. "'Kay, Daddy," he whispered contently, giving his father a small nod of his head.
Sherlock smiled back before turning his attention to the small gift in his hand. Careful not to tear too much of the wrapping paper, as it still upset Hamish, the detective slowly peeled away the dark blue paper, stopping as he finally saw what it was for the first.
In Sherlock's hands was a small magnifying glass, almost identical to the one he had now, just a little bigger, and instead of the lens popping out to the side, with the click of a button, it would shoot out the top. A smile turning up the corners of his lips, the detective clicked the button on the side the reveal the lens. Unable to contain his happiness, Sherlock grinned, turning to gaze down at his son with a loving gaze.
"You picked this for me?" he whispered, thumb absentmindedly running across the smooth glass.
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish replied quietly, staring up at the detective with wide, happy eyes. "Like?"
Sherlock uttered something between a sob and a chuckle. "I love it," he whispered, eyes stinging with the feel of tears. He bent down, clutching the magnifying glass in his hand, and wrapped his arms around Hamish's small body, pressing him close to his chest.
"Thank you," he murmured, pressing an incredibly tender kiss to the little boy's head. "Thank you very much, Hamish... This is wonderful. You're wonderful."
Clearly pleased Sherlock liked his gift so much, Hamish relaxed in his father's arms, eyes fluttering shut. "'Ove, Daddy," he whispered against the detective's shirt, clutching a fistful of the fabric in his chubby hand.
"I love you, too, Hamish," Sherlock murmured, pressing another loving kiss to Hamish's curls. "Very much. And this," he paused, leaning back so he could see his son's face and held up the gift, "means more to me than you can possibly know."
"Best?" Hamish asked tiredly, blinking slowly as he heard his father's deep, baritone laugh.
"No..." Sherlock whispered quietly, gazing down at his son with loving eyes. Taking a deep breath, he slowly rolled off of the bed, turning back to gently set Hamish, who looked thoroughly confused, under the covers. Placing one hand to the side of his son's head, Sherlock leaned down towards the bed, hovering over his son's small form. "Though I do love this," he murmured, "it's certainly not the best birthday gift." Upon hearing this, Hamish frowned, tears welling in his eyes. "What, Daddy?" he asked sadly. "No Daddy like..."
"No," Sherlock chuckled gently, brushing his fingertips over the little boy's cheek. "It's just, the best birthday gift anyone could have ever given me... Is you, Hamish..."
The little boy paused, staring up at his father with wide eyes.
"Hame best?" he whispered in amazement.
"Yes... Always," Sherlock replied gently, lips turned up in a small, loving smile. "You're the best thing that's happened to me, Hamish. And I want you to know that. You're the best thing I could have ever gotten."
Hamish smiled, staring up at his father. "Daddy," he sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned into Sherlock's touch. "Daddy best," he whispered, keeping his eyes closed.
"I'm the best for you, too?" the detective murmured, brushing his thumb over Hamish's cheek.
"'Es, Daddy... Best Daddy Hame." A tired smile on his face, Hamish opened his eyes to stare contently at his father. "'Ove, Daddy," he whispered, reaching up to press one of his hands to the detective's cheek.
Feeling an uncontrollable amount of happiness, Sherlock closed his eyes, smiling into his son's touch. He took little notice as a single, warm tear slid free, gliding down his cheek.
"Thank you, Hamish," he murmured, reaching up to wrap his slender fingers around his son's chubby hand. Keeping his eyes closed, he pressed a tender kiss to Hamish's fingers, allowing them to rest against his lips. "Goodnight," he whispered eventually, keeping Hamish's hand wrapped safely in his own.
"'Ove, Daddy," Hamish replied, his hand already beginning to go limp in the detective's grasp.
"Sleep well," the detective added, watching with a loving gaze as Hamish's eyes slowly slid shut, the weight of his head completely resting in his hand.
Smiling lovingly, Sherlock slowly lowered his hand, moving so the little boy's head was resting against the bed. Then, after pressing another gentle kiss to his son's fingers, the detective placed Hamish's arm back on the bed, tucking it under the duvet. He looked around, finding the little boy's gift, though he couldn't recall having ever set it down, and turned back to the sleeping boy. Magnifying glass in hand, he bent down, pressing a soft, loving kiss to Hamish's temple and then turned back to the doorway. He paused upon seeing his coat hanging on the hook.
Smiling to himself, with one swift move, Sherlock pulled his old magnifying glass out of one of the pockets. Hand resting on the doorknob, the detective turned back, smiling lovingly at Hamish's sleeping form. "Goodnight," he whispered, slipping the new magnifying glass into the pocket, before hurrying out the door.