Hey guys! I just wanted to thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback on the last chapter! You all are wonderful and so lovely! =) Sorry for the wait on this one, by the way! (This week has been absolutely crazy!) If all goes well, I plan to make up for it by updating (with a longer chapter) on Saturday. =) Thank you so much guys! Have a great rest of your week!
P.S. (As usual, please ignore the mistakes! I've had no time to go back and fix them! Will do as soon as possible. Thanks!)
Chapter Twenty-Six: Even Thunderstorms
"No," Sherlock warned, raising an eyebrow at Hamish. "Hamish, we don't splash in the—"
"Oops. Hame so'ey, Daddy," the little boy said feebly, look anywhere but his father's eyes as he quickly shoved his hands back under the water.
"Mmm-hmm," the detective hummed sarcastically, fixing the little boy with a stern stare. "It's okay. But no more splashing, all right?"
"'Es, Daddy!" Hamish exclaimed happily, a large grin spreading across his face. He continued to play with the bubbles, crashing his toys through them as if they were waves. Sherlock watched him with fond eyes, seated cross-legged on the floor of the bathroom, a towel already in hand.
"Daddy some?" the little boy asked happily, extending a chubby hands full of suds to the detective.
"Sure," Sherlock chuckled, leaning forward to allow his son to delicately place the bubbles on the tip of his nose.
"Good, Daddy," Hamish said proudly, giving a little nod of his head. "Turn." A small smile gracing his lips, the little boy leaned forward, gripping to the edge of the tub and squeezed his eyes shut in preparation.
"My turn, hmm?" Sherlock asked, scooping a small pile of foam into his hand. With a quiet exclamation, he quickly plopped the suds onto Hamish's own nose, playfully wiping the rest across his wet curls.
The little boy giggled, opening his eyes to grin at Sherlock.
The detective quickly finished washing his son's small body, taking extra time to tickle the little boy's wet stomach as he washed him off.
"No 'ease, Daddy!" Hamish laughed as he was gentle lifted out of the tub by his father.
"What? No tickling?" Sherlock exclaimed incredulously, wrapping the towel around his son's wet body. He quickly rubbed the fabric over Hamish's curly hair, soaking up most of the remaining water.
"No, Daddy," the little boy laughed, leaning forward to lean his head against Sherlock's shoulder as he snuggled deeply into both the towel and his father's arms.
"No? Well... I suppose, if you insist..." The detective smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Hamish's cheek as he quickly dried the little boy off.
"Ohh," he sighed, placing the little boy on the ground. "There we go. Hold on, let me grab a nappy." Smiling to himself, Sherlock turned around, making his way to the changing station that was now in his room. He quickly opened one of the drawers, pulling out a nappy and then turned back, facing Hamish once again. He paused, nappy still in hand as he saw the little boy, who was now seated on the floor, trying to tug his purple button-up on, brows pulled together in concentration, lip protruding as he tried to maneuver the fabric over his head.
Smiling lovingly, Sherlock stopped, silently placing the nappy on the bed. He slowly lowered himself to the ground, watching with fond eyes as his son managed to slip the fabric over his head.
"Daddy!" he cried triumphantly, throwing his arms into the air as he stood up. Sherlock's shirt fell loosely to the ground, swamping his entire body. The little boy stopped, freezing when he noticed his father was not in front of him, as he had thought.
"Daddy?" he called, trying to hurry forward, but tripping over the fabric of the detective's shirt.
"Hamish," Sherlock called gently, a warm smile playing on his lips.
"Oh," the little boy sighed in relief upon seeing his father. He turned around, rushing forward towards the detective.
"Look, Daddy!" he said proudly, trying to hold his arms out. "Hame Daddy!" He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. Unable to contain his excitement, the little boy surged forward, trying to wrap his arms around his father's neck.
Chuckling contently, Sherlock pulled the little boy into his arms, placing one hand on the back of his son's head, the other on his back.
"Why, you're just like me now, aren't you?" he chuckled, gently moving away some of the little boy's curls that had fallen in his face.
"'Es, Daddy!" Hamish giggled, as the shirt started to fall off of his tiny shoulders.
"Here," Sherlock chuckled, gently pulling his shirt off of Hamish's small body. "How about we get a nappy on, hmm?"
"'Kay, Daddy," the little boy replied happily, giving his father a quick nod of his head. Completely naked, he hurried back over to the discarded towel, attempting to wrap it around his body.
Sherlock chuckled after the little boy, standing back up off the floor. He silently hovered over his son, watching lovingly as Hamish finally managed to "wrap" the towel around his body, though it was only draped over one of his shoulders.
"Very good job, Hamish," the detective praised, bending down to pick the little boy up.
"No 'ease, Daddy," Hamish said firmly, tapping at the hand Sherlock had wrapped around his middle. "Hame do. 'Es 'ease. Hame do." Smiling, as if to reassure his father, and desperately trying not to let the towel slip off of his shoulders, Hamish made his way to the bed. With a tiny grunt of effort, he managed to climb onto the strip of wood, though the towel quickly fell from his tiny body.
Chuckling at his son, Sherlock bent down, picking up the fallen fabric and, with a loving smile, placed his hand under Hamish's bare bottom, giving him a gentle push onto the bed.
Upon realizing he had actually gotten onto the bed himself, the little boy gasped, and quickly turned, grinning at his father, hands thrown up in a triumphant pose.
"Hame do!" he called, reaching towards the detective.
"Yes you did!" Sherlock praised, hurrying forward to give Hamish another tight hug. "You're becoming such a big boy!" Grinning warmly at his son, the detective quickly leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to the little boy's nose.
Giggling sweetly, and keeping one hand on Sherlock's arm, Hamish opened his eyes, and started to lean in, about to mimic his father. He stopped though, face pulling together into a tiny frown as he saw that there were still some suds on the detective's nose.
"Daddy?" he asked quietly, pointing to the towel in his father's hand.
Confused as to his son's intentions, Sherlock slowly lifted his hand, placing the soft fabric in the little boy's tiny hands.
"Hamish," he began, mimicking his son's almost confused expression. "What are you want—" The detective stopped, freezing as Hamish gently took the towel between his chubby hands, pressing the fabric to his nose. Understanding, Sherlock stopped, allowing his son to tenderly wipe away the bubbles on his nose. He couldn't help but smile at the absolutely serious look on Hamish's face, watching with a tender gaze as the little boy slowly moved the towel across his skin, the fabric clutched between his chubby fingers.
Deciding that the towel was not working well enough for him, Hamish hummed to himself and gently placed the fabric on the bed. A tender look on his face, the little boy turned back to his father, and started to gently brush his chubby fingers over the detective's skin, wiping away all of the tiny, dried circles of suds that were scattered across his skin.
Sherlock smiled lovingly, staring intently at Hamish as the little boy gently brushed his tiny fingers across his skin.
A content smile pulling up the corners of his lips, Sherlock took a moment to study his son's beautiful features, suddenly feeling breathless as he stared into Hamish's impossibly deep green eyes, felt his chubby fingers against his cheeks. The detective couldn't help but feel his heart skip a beat in his chest as he realized Hamish had the same look on his face, that he had whenever he was focusing intently on a case.
"Oh," he sighed, so quietly it went unnoticed by Hamish. He felt a strange mixture of pride and bittersweet sadness swell in his chest. "Hamish," he whispered quietly, brushing the back of his knuckles across the little boy's cheek.
"'Es, Daddy?" Hamish whispered back, his hand pausing, in the hollow below Sherlock's cheekbone. His other hand slowly slid down, resting against the detective's neck.
Sherlock smiled, eyes filled with love as he stared at the little boy in front of him. "Nothing," he murmured warmly, running the tips of his fingers up and down his son's smooth back.
"'Kay, Daddy?" Hamish asked, seeing the look on his father's face.
Sherlock smiled, leaning in to place a tender kiss to the little boy's cheek. "Yes, Hamish," he murmured, smiling even more as he felt Hamish's fingers curl against his skin. "I'm okay... I just love you... That's all."
"Oh," the little boy sighed, leaning forward to rest his head against his father's cheek. "Good, Daddy... Hame 'ove."
"I'm glad you love me, too," the detective murmured, placing his hand to the back as he smiled against Hamish's curls. "Come on then," he chuckled, taking a deep breath as he tried to regain his breathing. "Let's get ready for bed."
"Good, Daddy. Seepy."
"You're sleepy?" Sherlock chuckled, laying Hamish's tiny form on the bed.
"'Es, Daddy. Da'ey seepy?" he yawned, pressing a tiny fist to his eyes.
"Not as tired as you seem to be," the detective laughed, quickly finishing the nappy. "Ohh," he sighed dramatically, lifting his son's tired form into his arms. He gently bounced the little boy in his arms. "Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?" he murmured.
Hamish thought for a moment, pressing his face into Sherlock's shoulder as contemplated. "Daddy bed," he said finally, yawning again against the detective's skin.
"All right... There we go," he sighed, slowly lowering Hamish's tired form onto his bed. He gently pulled the covers up around his son's tiny body, making sure to grab the little boy's blanket out of his cot. "All set?" he murmured, tucking the blanket under the sheets as he placed a tender hand to Hamish's cheek.
"Mmm," Hamish hummed in response, eyes already sliding shut as he settled into the warmth and comfort of his touch, with blanket in hand.
"Good," Sherlock murmured, bending down to press a quick kiss to the little boy's brow. "Goodnight."
John returned home late from a date with Mary to find Sherlock in the sitting room, wearing his blue dressing gown, his chest bare, with the doctor's laptop resting in his lap, still dripping from the thunderstorm raging outside.
"Is that my—"
"Yes, John. It's your computer." The detective stopped what he was doing, taking a moment to give his flat mate a smug look. "You should just expect it by now."
"Of course," John sighed, squaring his jaw as he tossed his coat over his chair. "Can't say that I'm truly surprised that—"
"Daddy?" came a tiny sniffle. Case instantly forgotten, Sherlock glanced to his doorway to see Hamish, face red from crying, with his blanket clutched tightly to his bare chest. "Hamish?" he exclaimed, hurrying towards the little boy. "What's wrong?" he asked frantically, pulling the crying boy into his arms.
"L-loud stormy," Hamish cried, pressing his face into his father's robed shoulder. "Hame had scared."
"Shh," Sherlock soothed, running a soothing hand up and down the little boy's back. "Would you like to stay out here with me and John until the storm passes?"
"'Es 'ease, Daddy. Hame wan-want Da'ey make stormy nigh' nigh'," Hamish cried sadly, jumping as a loud clap of thunder shook the decorations on the walls. "Daddy," he groaned, dropping the blanket so he could wrap his arms around Sherlock's neck.
"Hamish," the detective soothed, moving down to sit on the couch. "It's okay," he whispered, gently rocking back and forth. "It's just thunder... It can't hurt you, I promise."
"Mun'un'der loud and scared," the little boy whispered, pressing his face against Sherlock's collarbone.
"Yes... I know," the detective whispered sadly. "It's loud and scary, isn't it?" He felt Hamish nod feebly against his chest, whimpering as another loud crack echoed outside.
"Shh, it's okay, Hamish... I'm right here," Sherlock murmured, pressing his son's tiny body close to his bare chest. "How about we try to lay down, hmm?"
"'Es 'ease, Daddy."
With Hamish's chubby arms still wrapped firmly around his neck, Sherlock leaned back on the couch, carefully moving the little boy with him, and stretched out along the couch. He glanced at John, who shot him a sympathetic look.
"See?" Sherlock murmured, running his fingers over Hamish's auburn curls. "It's okay... I've got you now... Shh."
"Make nigh' nigh'?" Hamish asked hopefully, sniffling as a few tears slid down his face. With a sad smile, Sherlock reached down, tenderly rubbing away the tears. He let his hand remain on the side of the little boy's face. "I'm sorry," he apologized gently. "But I'm afraid I can't make the storm go night night... I wish I could... But it's okay now, Hamish... You have nothing to worry about. I've got you."
Relaxing a little at Sherlock's words and now that he was safe in his father's embrace, Hamish closed his eyes, cuddling against the detective's bare skin. He shivered slightly as another clap of thunder shook the walls.
"Are you cold?" Sherlock asked, already pulling his robe up over Hamish's bare body, subconsciously pressing the tiny boy closer to his warmer skin.
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish answered sadly, nodding against the detective's chest. "An' had scared..."
"I'm sorry, Hamish... I'll try to make the 'scared' go away as best I can, okay?"
"'Kay, Daddy... Keep Hame safe?" the little boy asked hopefully, pulling away from Sherlock's chest so he could gaze at his father.
The detective paused for a moment, running his thumb over Hamish's eyebrow. The little boy blinked slowly with the gentle movement, hands curling against his father's skin. "Always," Sherlock murmured eventually, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his son's forehead. "I'll always keep you safe, Hamish... Even from the thunderstorms." The detective smiled sadly at the little boy, desperately wanting to take away his fear.
With a sad sigh, Hamish scooted himself forward, draping his arms over the detective's shoulders as he snuggled against Sherlock's neck. "Daddy safe," he whispered, absentmindedly twirling a lock of his father's hair between his fingers as his eyes began to flutter shut. "Daddy have Hame safe."
Sherlock smiled, tucking Hamish's head under his chin as the little boy started to fall asleep again, his breaths becoming deeper and quick as he fought to stay away. "Always..." he murmured. "Daddy will always keep you safe, Hamish."
"Mmm," Hamish sighed in response, eye sliding shut. With a lock of his father's hair still clutched in his hand, the little boy fell asleep, not even flinching with the next clap of thunder.
Sherlock smiled, running the tips of his fingers over Hamish's silky curls. "Thunderstorms," he chuckled lovingly, watching the gentle rise and fall of his son's breaths. "Even from thunderstorms, Hamish."