Hey guys! Sorry for not updating early this morning; I know it's find of weird to update in like the middle of the day, but I'd promised I would have this chapter up today, so here it is! Just a little late. =) Thanks for all of your support guys! It means the world! Have a great weekend! =)
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Dp'ted, Daddy?
Sherlock had awoken at some point during the night, as Hamish shifted against his chest, whimpering in his sleep from the storm.
"Shh," he whispered quietly, running a soothing hand up and down the little boy's back. "It's okay. I'm right here." With another tiny moan, Hamish gripped onto the detective's shirt, clutching the fabric between his tiny fingers.
"Hamish," Sherlock whispered in a comforting voice, slowly rolling off of the couch. "Shh... It's all right." Hugging his son close to his chest, the detective began to slowly pace around the flat, gently bouncing Hamish up and down as he walked, rubbing a comforting hand over the little boy's smooth skin.
"Mmm," Hamish sighed in his sleep, body going limp as he relaxed once again, soothed by the gentle rocking and the sound of his father's voice.
"That's it," Sherlock murmured slowly upon feeling the little boy's weight lean against him as he relaxed. A small, loving smile pulling at his lips, the detective bent down, pressing a tender kiss to Hamish's auburn curls. "It's okay now."
Smiling as he felt Hamish's hand release his shirt, moving to rest in the gap at the base of his neck, Sherlock slowly meandered into his room, pulling the little boy close as he laid down on the bed.
"There we go," he murmured lovingly, rolling onto his side and gently placing Hamish's sleeping form next to him. The detective was about to try and sleep, himself, when he heard Hamish murmur something in his sleep. Pausing, Sherlock sat up, staring at his son's face, smiling fondly when he saw that Hamish was dreaming. Realizing it had never occurred to him that the little boy could be having a good dream, Sherlock decided to abandon the idea of sleeping, opting to stay up and watch his son as he slept. The detective couldn't help but feel that warm fluttering in his chest as he saw a tiny, content smile spread across Hamish's face. "Hmm," the little boy hummed, eyes fluttering as he slept.
Smiling wistfully, Sherlock watched in mild wonder as his son dreamt, gazing at the small smile gracing the little boy's lips. With incredibly gentle hands, the detective scooted closer to the little boy's sleeping form and started to run his fingertips over Hamish's face.
In response to his father's touch, the little boy sighed happily, murmuring to himself as he slept.
"Mmmda," he breathed, one hand reaching towards the detective.
"Shh," Sherlock murmured tenderly, wrapping his fingers around Hamish's tiny hand and pulling the chubby fingers to his lips. "Right here..."
"Mmm-hmm," Hamish sighed in response, hand curling in the detective's.
A delighted smile tugging at his lips, Sherlock pressed a gentle kiss to the little boy's fingers, relaxing into the bed as he stared fondly at Hamish.
Sherlock spent the rest of the night watching his son's sweet face as he dreamed, using his free hand to gently play with Hamish's curls as the the little boy's tiny hand was wrapped safely in his own.
It was nearly nine o'clock by the time Hamish shifted in his sleep, brows pulling together in tiredness as he awoke.
"Good morning, Hamish," Sherlock whispered, brushing his fingers over the little boy's forehead.
"Morn', Daddy," the little boy yawned, frowning as he tried to sit up.
"Tired?" the detective chuckled, sitting himself up in the bed as he pulled Hamish into his lap.
"Mmm-hmm," the little boy agreed, nodding his head as he pressed his face into the space at the base of Sherlock's neck.
"I know," the detective smiled, gently patting his son's bottom. "You were dreaming last night," he murmured, running a hand through the little boy's curls.
"What, Daddy? What 'eam?" Hamish asked quizzically, gazing up at his father from where he was resting.
"Dream," Sherlock corrected, chuckling down at the little boy. "And a dream is a series of images you see during your sleep. Whatever you were dreaming about, it made you giggle!" Grinning at his son, the detective quickly tickled Hamish's stomach, brushing his fingertips over his son's soft skin.
"Daddy," Hamish laughed, shoving his father's hands away as he giggled. "'Ease no tick, Daddy?" he asked sweetly, pressing his hands to Sherlock's chest as he sat back in the detective's lap.
"Oh, if you insist," Sherlock sighed dramatcially, throwing his hands up in mock 'surrender.'
"Good, Daddy," Hamish said contently, giving the detective a gentle pat of acknowledgement. "And Hame 'eam at T'mas!" he declared happily, bouncing in his father's lap.
"Ahh," Sherlock sighed happily, giving his son a quick wink, which only resulted in more giggling. "Thomas the Train. I should have known."
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish agreed, smiling up at his father as he leaned forward, resting his head against Sherlock's chest.
"Quite right," the detective rumbled, chuckling down at the little boy.
Both father and son jumped as a loud clap of thunder shook the walls of the tiny flat.
"Daddy!" Hamish cried, pressing his tiny form into the detective's chest, gripping tightly onto his shirt.
"Shh," Sherlock chuckled, laughing at his own fright. "It's okay, Hamish. It's just thunder..."
"Hame no like mun'un'der," the little boy mumbled, frowning against his father's skin.
"I know you don't... Here. Try and think of it this way." Hoping to comfort his son in some way, Sherlock quickly scooted off the bed, grabbing his robe and wrapping it around him as he made his way into the sitting room, Hamish resting on his hip.
The little boy winced slightly at having been exposed suddenly to the bright light of the room, leaning his head against Sherlock's shoulder as the detective moved to the window.
"Hamish?" he murmured, pointing the glass as rain droplets quickly slid down the smooth surface.
"'Es, Daddy?" the little boy whispered, turning his attention to the window. He remained leaning against Sherlock's shoulder, gazing out at the dreary day.
"Remember how, a long time ago, we saw that streak of lightning in the sky, just by the flat, and you thought it was beautiful?" the detective asked slowly, swaying back and forth as he gazed down at Hamish.
The little boy thought for a moment, absentmindedly playing with his father's curls as he pondered. "'Es, Daddy," he whispered eventually, giving a firm nod of his head.
"Good," Sherlock whispered, giving Hamish an encouraging smile. "Well, the big flashes that you see... Those are just the pretty streaks of lightning. Understand?"
"Oh... 'Es, Daddy," the little boy sighed in realization, staring up at his father as he spoke with wide, eager eyes.
"Well, we know that light travels faster than... Do you remember, Hamish?"
"Mound!" the little boy cried triumphantly, throwing a chubby arm into the air.
Sherlock beamed down at his son, subconsciously pulling him closer. "Excellent! Sound," he praised, pressing a soft kiss to the little boy's forehead. "So we know that light travels faster than sound... That means when lightning strikes the ground, we won't hear it until much later, depending on how far away the bolt was and where it hit the ground, as well as several other factors including how—Oops! Sorry, Hamish. Rambling again," the detective murmured upon seeing how overwhelmed the little boy looked. He quickly brushed the back of his knuckles over Hamish's cheek. "What I'm trying to say is... Thunder... Is just the delayed sound of when a lightning bolt hits the ground... See? It's nothing to be afraid of; it can't hurt you. Thunder is merely sound traveling slower than the light that created it in the first place."
"Ohh," Hamish sighed, eyes widening in understanding as he stared out of the window. "So... No mun'un'der scared, Daddy?" he asked quietly, turning his attention back to the detective.
Sherlock couldn't help but smile. "No," he whispered, rubbing the palm of his hand up and down Hamish's bare back. "The thunder isn't scary... It's just sound."
"Hmm... Good, Daddy," Hamish sighed, leaning forward again to rest his head against Sherlock's shoulder. "Ta, Daddy."
"Of course," the detective murmured, pressing a kiss to the little boy's curls. "You're so clever..." he added wistfully, staring at his son's beautiful features.
"'Es, Daddy... Umm... Hame have anda'ba'nanana?" he asked distractedly, frowning down at his stomach.
Sherlock grinned down at the little boy in his arms, chuckling at his request. "Yes, of course. We can go get you a banana... Sorry I rambled again," he murmured, hurrying into the kitchen.
"'Kay, Daddy," Hamish giggled as the detective gently placed him on the ground. "Hame like. Daddy speak bat'ma'u'ful."
Sherlock paused, gazing down at his son. "You think it's beautiful when I speak?" he whispered incredulously, an overwhelming sensation of love swelling in his chest.
"...'Es, Daddy," Hamish answered curiously, staring at his father with a look that clearly said: Duh, Daddy.
Sherlock laughed out loud, kneeling down to wrap his arms around Hamish's small body. "Brilliant," he murmured into his son's curls. "You're just... Brilliant, Hamish... And I do love you so much for it."
"Hmm... An' Hame 'ove Daddy," the little boy whispered back, going on tiptoe so he could wrap his chubby arms around the detective's neck. Sherlock smiled against Hamish's silky hair, taking a deep breath as he gave the little boy a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, Hamish," he breathed, placing his hand to the back of the little boy's neck as he pressed a tender kiss to his son's brow. "Mmm..." Giving Hamish a warm smile, Sherlock quickly pressed the little boy closer before leaning back and releasing him. "Banana... Right. Good." Smiling fondly as he watched his son toddle away into the living room, the detective turned around, quickly preparing breakfast for the little boy.
"Very good, Hamish! Now can you tell me where... My eyes are?"
Sherlock was lying on his back in the sitting room, Hamish hovering over him as they practiced naming and finding body parts.
"Eyes, Daddy?" the little boy asked, bending over his father's face as he toddled around on his chubby legs.
"Yes, Hamish. Can you show me where my eyes are?"
Hamish thought for a moment, bending close to the detective's face; the tips of his curly hair brushed against Sherlock's cheek as he gazed at his father's face. "Eyes!" he called eventually, pressing both of his chubby hands over the detective's eyes.
"Very good," Sherlock chuckled, reaching up to give the little boy an affectionate pat on the back. He blinked under Hamish's fingers smiling as he felt his son bend down to press a tiny kiss to his forehead. "Mmm... Thank you, Hamish," he hummed.
"N'xt, Daddy!"
"All right... How about my tummy? Show me where my tummy is."
"Tum'ny, Daddy?"
"Yes."
"Mmm... 'Kay, Daddy." A determined look in his eyes, Hamish pulled away from Sherlock's face, removing his hands from the detective's eyes. With a tiny gasp, he grinned and toddled down to Sherlock's middle. "Tum'ny!" he called excitedly, gently collapsing onto the detective's stomach.
"Oh! Yes," Sherlock chuckled, gazing down as the little boy curled up on his middle. Smiling at his son, the detective placed a gentle hand on the little boy's back. Though Hamish was nearly seventeen months old, he was still very tiny for his age and could fit comfortably on Sherlock's chest and stomach.
"Daddy?" Hamish asked quietly as he slowly slid off the detective's stomach.
"Yes?" Sherlock chuckled, reaching up to brush some of the little boy's curly hair off of his forehead.
"Hame toes?" he asked, smiling sweetly at his father.
"You want me to find your toes?"
"'Es 'ease, Daddy. Daddy Hame toes."
"All right," Sherlock chuckled, grinning at his son as he sat up. "Hmm... Toes... Where would Hamish's toes be?"
Hamish giggled, pressing his chubby fingers to his mouth in an effort to muffle his laughs. "Daddy," he sighed, smiling at his father.
Suppressing his own smile, Sherlock pulled Hamish into his arms and then, in one swift move, gently laid him on the floor. "Well," he sighed, sitting on his knees as he leaned forward, hovering over his son's small body. He playfully wrapped his fingers around each of the little boy's hands, pulling them to his face as he 'thought.' "Toes... Toes... Are they... Right here?" Grinning, Sherlock bent down, pressing a ticklish kiss to Hamish's bare stomach.
"No, Daddy!" he laughed, squirming as the detective tickled his stomach.
"No?" Sherlock asked incredulously, gazing down at the little boy with an amazed expression. "Well... If your toes aren't there... I conclude they're down here!" Releasing Hamish's fingers, the detective quickly scooted back, wrapping his hands around the little boy's feet. "Here?" he asked playfully, as his thumb quickly skimmed over the smooth skin.
"'Es, Daddy! Hame toes! No 'ease tick?"
"No tickling? Are you sure?" Grinning lovingly at his son, Sherlock quickly bent down, pressing his lips to Hamish's tiny toes, pretending to 'eat' them.
"No! No 'ease, Daddy! Hame ask!" the little boy laughed, pressing his chubby hands to the detective's face in an effort to shove him away.
"Well I know you asked," Sherlock sighed, stopping his stream of kisses to smile up at Hamish. "But I just couldn't resist."
"Hmm," the little boy sighed, toes curling in his father's fingers as he caught his breath. "Silly, Daddy."
"Absolutely," he hummed, pressing one last, tender kiss to the bottom of Hamish's tiny feet.
"N'xt, Daddy?"
Sherlock smiled down at the little boy with an affectionate gaze. "Of course," he murmured, leaning forward to press another quick kiss to Hamish's hair.
After spending the rest of the day lounging around the house, Sherlock and Hamish were curled up on the couch, watching a type of documentary on fish, which were, undoubtedly, Hamish's favorite animals.
Sherlock was absentmindedly rubbing circles over his son's hand as he held the little boy close, barely taking notice as the light quickly slipped away outside.
The program quickly ended with the narrator telling the audience: "And so, in the end, the dolphin was returned safely to her family." Hamish smiled for a moment, humming contently with the happy ending of the program.
Eyelids drooping slightly, he leaned into Sherlock's arm, staring at the screen as he watched the various types of sea animals scrolling through the credits. Suddenly, though, as if remembering something, the little boy's eyebrows pulled together, and he frowned.
"Daddy?" he asked quietly, tugging at the detective's fingers.
"Yes, Hamish?"
"Umm... Daddy, what fam'ry?"
Sherlock paused, not expecting his son to ask this question. Taking a deep breath, he shifted on the couch, pulling Hamish onto his lap and leaning back so he could see his face.
"Hamish," he began softly, gazing into the little boy's deep green eyes. "A family is a group of people who love each other very much... A family is also anyone who is related by blood, but the word really implies the presence of love. Think you understand?"
Hamish paused for a moment, leaning forward to rest his head against Sherlock's shoulder as he thought. "'Es, Daddy... Daddy fam'wrly?"
"Do I have a family?" the detective murmured, gently twirling some of his son's hair between his fingers.
"'Es, Daddy..."
"You're my family," Sherlock murmured simply, placing a tender hand on the little boy's back.
"Daddy no Mummy an' Daddy fam'wrly?"
Sherlock gazed down at Hamish, a sad smile on his lips. "No, Hamish... My Mummy and Daddy are not quite like us. They were never very kind or loving towards me... So we don't really love each other in the same way that you and I love each other. Understand?"
"Sad, Daddy?" Hamish whispered, pulling away from the detective's shoulder. Bottom lip quivering, he placed both of his chubby hands to Sherlock's collarbone, pulling himself into a standing position.
"Oh, Hamish," the detective sighed sadly as he stared into his son's watery eyes. "No... I'm not sad anymore. Because now I have a family. I have you. And I wouldn't trade that for the world... Please don't cry." With gentle fingers, Sherlock brushed his knuckles just under Hamish's eyes, wiping away a tear that had slid free. "I don't want you to be sad for me..." he murmured, allowing his thumb to rest against the little boy's smooth cheek.
"No sad, Daddy?" Hamish whispered, leaning into his father's gentle touch.
"No," Sherlock whispered, giving his son a reassuring smile. "I'm not sad anymore, Hamish."
Staring into his father's grey eyes, Hamish leaned forward, resting his head against Sherlock's cheek. "'Kay, Daddy," he whispered quietly, grabbing onto the collar of the detective's shirt. "Daddy sad, Hame sad."
Sherlock stared down at Hamish, the burning feeling of tears stinging his eyes. "Hamish," he whispered, leaning down to lay his head on top of his son's. "Listen... I don't ever want you to be sad for me, all right? I want you to be happy, and I never want you to feel sadness just because I do... Can you promise me that?"
"... 'Kay, Daddy," Hamish whispered against Sherlock's skin. "Prom'kiss."
Despite the sadness he felt, the detective couldn't help but smile. "Thank you," he murmured, pressing his lips to Hamish's curls in a loving kiss. "I love you very much."
"Mmm-hmm," Hamish sighed, nodding against his father's cheek. "Hame 'ove Daddy... Much. So Hame fam'wrly, Daddy?"
"Of course," Sherlock said, leaning back so he could see the little boy's face. "You have lots of people who love you... There's me, and John... Mycroft, Mary, Uncle Lestrade, Aunt Molly... So you kind of have a big family because there's so many people who love you." Hamish managed a small smile at this. He leaned forward, wrapping his chubby arms around the detective's neck. "Hame 'ove fam'wrly," he whispered, nuzzling into Sherlock's skin. "So... All fam'wrly 'ove... An' Daddy fam'wrly mud?"
"You mean by blood?" Sherlock laughed, running a hand up and down the little boy's back. He froze, however, upon remembering that he and Hamish were not technically related by blood... Suddenly unable to breath, the detective felt a constricting weight crushing down on his chest with the utter sadness of the thought.
Hamish, who had shifted in Sherlock's arms, having sensed his change in demeanor, leaned back, staring worriedly up at his father. "Daddy?" he cried fearfully upon seeing the stricken look on his father's face.
Trying desperately to catch his breath, Sherlock turned his attention to Hamish's face, focusing on his son's beautiful, comforting features. "Yes," he managed to breath eventually. "I'm sorry, Hamish... I just... Had a bit of a fright. I'm all right, though, I promise."
"... 'Kay, Daddy," Hamish said skeptically, staring worriedly at the detective. "So Daddy an' Hame mud?" he continued quietly, gazing warily at his father.
Sherlock paused, staring sadly at the little boy in his arms. Deciding it would be best not to deny the inevitable, the detective took a deep breath to steady himself and stood up off the couch, moving Hamish to his hip.
"Hamish?" he began gently, pulling the little boy closer. "Have you ever heard of the word 'adopted?'" he asked slowly, gently swaying back and forth as he watched Hamish's face, gauging his expressions for a specific reaction.
"Dp'ted, Daddy?" he asked confusedly, one hand clutching onto Sherlock's shirt, the other resting on his shoulder blade, hovering just over the concealed scar. "No, Daddy," he whispered.
Sherlock stared at his son's precious face, and heaved a mournful sigh. "Hamish... Do you remember when I told you that babies grow up their Mummy's tummies before they're born?" A nod. "And do you remember how the baby has a little bit of their Mummy and a little bit of their Daddy in them?" Another nod. "Good," Sherlock whispered, taking a moment to press his lips to his son's temple, bracing himself for what was to come. Taking a shaky breath, he continued. "Well... Sometimes... There are some Mummies and Daddies that either can't have kids or don't want to go through the process... There are lots of factors. Umm... Anyway. Well when that happens, the Mummy and Daddy can go to something called an orphanage. Do you understand so far?"
Hamish nodded slowly, mind working vigorously to try and figure out where this conversation was going. Instinct telling him something bad was coming, his eyes were already beginning to fill with tears and his grip around the detective had tightened.
"Shh," Sherlock soothed, sensing his son's fear. "It's all right," he murmured, pressing Hamish close in a tender hug. "Do you want me to continue?"
After a long paused, Hamish nodded against his father's chest. "Es 'ease, Daddy."
"All right... Orphanages. Well, an orphanage is where children live who don't have any parents... So Mummies and Daddies wanting to be parents can go to an orphanage, and find out which child they wish to take home. When this happens, it's called adopting. So then the Mummy and Daddy will take their new son or daughter home. And they become a family... They love the child just as much as any other family, and they're no different, except that the Mummy and Daddy the child lives with didn't make them... So children who are adopted live with parents who love them... But they're not related by blood. They're connected through their love of each other... Hamish? Are you all right?"
The little boy had started to cry, silently sobbing into Sherlock's shoulder.
"Hamish?" Sherlock cried, now frantic. He urged the little boy to look at him. "Hamish, please tell me what's wrong! Why're you crying?"
Sniffling and with tears streaming down his sweet face, Hamish pulled away from the detective's shoulder, knuckles turning white as he gripped into his father's shirt. "Daddy," he sighed sadly, staring at Sherlock with watery eyes. "Hame dp'ted?" he whispered, bottom lip quivering as he waited for his father's answer.
Suddenly, the detective couldn't stop his own stream of tears. "Yes," he managed to whisper, heart constricting in his chest as Hamish started to cry once again. "I'm so sorry, Hamish," he sobbed, pressing the little boy close. Feeling lightheaded, he quickly sat down on the couch, clutching the little boy close. "I'm so... So sorry... Please, please... Don't cry... I love you, Hamish. I still love you very much. And nothing in the world is ever going to change that."
Suddenly, though he was still sniffling madly, Hamish stopped crying. A confused look on his tear-stained face, he gazed up at Sherlock, mouth drawn in a sad frown. "Daddy 'till 'ove Hame?" he asked incredulously, watery eyes wide with hope.
For a moment, Sherlock was frozen, unable to breath as he heard his son's question. "Oh, Hamish," he sighed sadly, understanding now that Hamish was not crying because he was adopted... The little boy was crying because he thought his father would no longer love him anymore. "Hamish, look at me," Sherlock whispered gently, unable to help himself as a few more tears slid free.
"'Ove, Daddy?" was all the little boy asked as he clung desperately to the detective.
"Hamish," Sherlock murmured, placing an incredibly tender hand to the side of the little boy's face. "I need you to listen to me... I will never—never—love you any less just because you're adopted. Whether we're related by blood or by love, you are my son. And I love with with all my heart... And nothing is ever going to change that... Please don't cry, Hamish. I love you so much... And you need to know that... I have always loved you and I will always be here to love and protect you. No matter what... So please just... Don't cry," he murmured, unable to help how broken he sounded.
"Daddy?" Hamish whispered sadly, staring at his father's sad, tear-stained face... "No Daddy sad 'ease... Hame 'ove. No care dp'ted. Hame 'ove." With tender hands, the little boy carefully grabbed Sherlock's fingers. "'Isten, Daddy." The detective watched with gentle eyes as Hamish moved his hand, placing it on his tiny chest.
"Heart, Daddy," the little boy whispered, reaching forward to let his own hand rest over his father's heart. "'Ove, Daddy... Have 'ove here..."
Amazed by his son once again, Sherlock closed his eyes, moving his other hand to cover the fingers Hamish had pressed against his chest. He focused on the feeling of his hand resting against the little boy's skin... On the feeling of Hamish's head covering his heart... The feeling of connection between their hearts.
"You're right, Hamish," he finally managed to whisper, opening his eyes to gaze down at the little boy. "We have love in our hearts... I'm so proud of you, Hamish... And I love you very much. With all of my heart." He gave Hamish a reassuring smile, and gently closed his hand around the little boy's fingers, giving them a squeeze. "Come here," he murmured, as another tear quickly slid free... Though this time, it was a tear of happiness.
Eager for his father's embrace, Hamish quickly rushed forward, pressing himself as close to the detective as he could. "Hame 'ove, Daddy... 'Ease no sad?" he whispered against Sherlock's chest, voice muffled by the fabric.
Despite his conflicting emotions, the detective couldn't help but smile. He bent down, pressing an incredibly gentle kiss to Hamish's soft curls. "No, Hamish," he whispered, pulling the little boy even closer. "I'm not sad... And I love you, too. Very much... Thank you, Hamish... Are you all right?" he asked gently, keeping his arms wrapped around his son's tiny body as he leaned back, gazing down into the little boy's face. He felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw that Hamish was no longer crying anymore, but rather that a small smile had graced his lips.
"'Es, Daddy. Hame good ah'c'se Daddy 'ove."
"You're good because I still love you?" Sherlock murmured, a small smile playing on his lips.
"'Es, Daddy... Hame help Daddy good?" It took the detective a moment to realize that Hamish was referring to the tears still resting on his face. "I would love that, Hamish," he whispered, giving the little boy's hand a gentle squeeze.
"'Kay, Daddy..." Smiling reassuringly at his father, Hamish slowly leaned forward, using Sherlock's shoulders to pull himself into a standing position. "'Ove," he whispered, brushing away some of the tears on one of his father's cheeks. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the detective's cheekbone. "'Ove, Daddy," he whispered again.
"Hmm," Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes as he felt Hamish's chubby fingers brushing against his skin.
"'Ove, Daddy," the little boy whispered again once he was done with his father's other cheek. Just as before, he leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to the detective's sharp cheekbone. One of his chubby hands was resting over Sherlock's lips.
The detective smiled against his son's gentle touch, feeling a warmth spread through his body as Hamish pressed a gentle kiss to each of his eyelids and then one last kiss to his lips.
"'Etter, Daddy?" he whispered hopefully, each hand now resting on one of Sherlock's cheekbones.
"Yes," the detective whispered quietly. He slowly opened his eyes, finding comfort as he stared into his son's precious face. "I'm much better now... Thank you so much, Hamish. I love you." A loving smile tugging at his lips, Sherlock leaned down, mimicking his son, and pressed a gentle kiss to each of Hamish's eyelids, that same fluttering dancing through his chest as he felt the little boy's fingers curl against his skin. "I love you," he murmured again, pressing one last kiss to Hamish's lips.
"Good, Daddy," the little boy thanked, keeping his hands against his father's cheeks. Sherlock grinned down at his son, another feeling of relief washing over him. "We're going to be okay..." he whispered, brushing his fingertips over Hamish's cheek.
"'Es, Daddy." And with one last final kiss to the hand his father had over his heart, Hamish quickly fell asleep, resting peacefully in Sherlock's arms with all of the love the detective could have possibly given him.
"Goodnight, Hamish... I love you."