Chapter Thirty: Christmas Eve
"Hamish? What're you doing up?" Sherlock asked quietly, turning around on his stool to gaze at the little boy, who had just emerged from his room, hair ruffled from sleep and a tiny bunny rabbit clutched tightly in his hands. The detective's fingers were still poised over one of the knobs on his microscope as he took note of the way Hamish's cheeks were flushed a light pink and the small frown on his son's face. "What's wrong, Hamish?" he asked softly.
"Mmm," the little boy groaned unhappily, pressing a tired fist to his eyes in an attempt to rub the sleep away. "Ouch, Da'ey," he mumbled, gazing at Sherlock with sad eyes. "Owie..."
"What hurts?" the detective asked, quickly sliding off the stool and hurrying over to his son. "Do you feel like you might be sick?" he whispered, kneeling in front of the little boy.
"No, Daddy..." Frown deepening, Hamish pointed to his head as his face scrunched together in discomfort. "Daddy 'etter?" he whispered, eyes quickly filling with tears.
Sherlock smiled sadly at the little boy, running a gentle hand up and down his arm. "I can most certainly try," he whispered, pulling him close in a comforting hug. "Come on then. Let's go see if we have any medicine to help, hmm?"
"'Es 'ease, Daddy," Hamish mumbled sadly in reply, keeping one arm wrapped around the stuffed animal as he grabbed ahold of several of Sherlock's fingers.
"Good boy," the detective praised, giving his son's fingers a gentle squeeze. With a loving smile on his face, Sherlock stood up, gently guiding Hamish through the kitchen.
Keeping the little boy's hand wrapped safely in his own, Sherlock quickly sifted through the drawers and cabinets, trying to find some Tylenol for Hamish. "Finally!" he sighed in exasperation upon finding the bottle. "I'm sorry that took so long, Hamish," he added, quickly finding a spoon and twisting off the cap. "Here we are." With a reassuring smile, and medicine in hand, Sherlock quickly knelt down onto one knee.
"Uck, Daddy?" Hamish whispered quietly, eyeing the liquid in his father's hands.
"A little," the detective chuckled.
"Mmm... 'Kay."
"Very good, Hamish." Smiling reassuringly, Sherlock quickly shoved the spoon into the little boy's mouth, almost chuckling at the disgusted look on his son's face. "Sorry," he whispered, dropping the spoon into the sink as he stood up, keeping Hamish's hand between his fingers.
"Uky, Daddy!" the little boy exclaimed unhappily, frowning as he tried to rid the nasty taste from his mouth.
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. But that should help you feel better... I'm sorry you have a headache," Sherlock murmured quietly as he brushed some of the little boy's curly hair out of his eyes. A loving smile on his lips, the detective leaned forward to press a tender kiss to Hamish's forehead.
"'Kay, Daddy... Daddy?"
"Yes, Hamish?" the detective whispered, bending back down until he was eye-to-eye with the little boy. "What is it?"
"Daddy... Daddy stay at Hame?" the little boy asked quietly. With hopeful eyes, Hamish reached forward, grabbing onto the sleeve of Sherlock's shirt.
The detective paused, staring at his son with sad eyes. "Of course I'll stay with you, Hamish... Come on. It's Christmas Eve. What do you say we go and watch some Christmas movies?" he asked gently, brushing his thumb over Hamish's cheek.
"Hmm," the little boy sighed in response. A tiny smile forming on his lips, Hamish leaned forward, falling into his father's arms. "'Es 'ease, Daddy."
"Excellent." A loving smile on his lips, Sherlock reached forward, wrapping his arms around Hamish's small body as he glanced at the clock. 9:39. Hamish would probably be out before the first film was over. "My goodness," the detective sighed dramatically, moving his son to his hip as he slowly walked out of the kitchen. "You are getting to be such a big boy! Soon I won't be able to do this anymore." Sherlock couldn't help but pause as it occurred to him that one day he really wouldn't be able to hold Hamish like that... Saddened by the thought, the detective moved the little boy from his hip to his chest, cuddling his smaller form close.
"Daddy," Hamish sighed contently, snuggling into his father's tender touch. "'Kay, Daddy?" he whispered, closing his eyes.
"Yes, Hamish. I'm all right Thank you... I love you, you know," he added suddenly, grinning as he saw the little boy's lips curve up into a small smile.
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish whispered quietly, keeping his eyes closed. "An' Hame 'ove."
Unable to help himself, the detective leaned forward, pressing an incredibly tender kiss to the top of his son's head. "I know," he whispered softly, letting his lips brush against the little boy's curls as he spoke.
A small smile playing on his lips, Sherlock slowly moved to the couch, and sat down, opting to keep Hamish on his lap rather than place him next to him. "There we are," he murmured, running a quick hand over the little boy's back. "Ready?"
"Mmm-hmm," Hamish hummed sleepily, temple rubbing against his father's chest as he nodded up and down.
"Good." Gazing down at his son with warm eyes, Sherlock quickly grabbed the remote and clicked to what had become Hamish's favorite Christmas movie: Miracle on 34th Street. The detective couldn't help but grin as he heard the little boy gasp in his arms upon hearing the opening.
With wide, excited eyes, Hamish turned in his father's arms, groaning quietly as the movement only furthered the pain in his head. "Daddy," he whined, pressing a few fingers to his forehead as he frowned.
"Here. I'll get it," Sherlock chuckled, gently turning the little boy on his legs until he was facing the television. "Would you like some water to help with your head?" he asked gently, running his fingertips over Hamish's stomach.
"Mmm-hmm. 'Es 'ease, Daddy," the little boy whispered, smiling contently as he gazed at the television.
"All right." Smiling lovingly at his son, Sherlock gently moved Hamish's small body to the right, careful to use slow movements so as not to upset his head even further.
The detective quickly moved around the kitchen, making a cup for the little boy and chuckled to himself as he heard Hamish start to squeal with happiness.
"Here you are," he laughed, moving back into the sitting room and handing Hamish the cup.
"Hmm? Oh! Ta, Daddy." Grinning at he movie on the screen, Hamish hopped off the couch waiting patiently while his father got situated again. "Up 'ease?"
Smiling at his son's happiness, Sherlock bent over and pulled Hamish onto his lap. "Better?" he asked quietly, placing a gentle hand on the little boy's back.
"Mmm," he hummed in reply, quickly snuggling into the detective's chest. "Good, Daddy."
"Good."
Throughout the movie, Sherlock watched with fond eyes as Hamish started to trace the gap of his collarbone, the little boy's chubby fingers incredibly gentle. The lights on the Christmas tree they had put up were dancing off of Hamish's face, illuminating his deep green eyes.
"You're so beautiful, Hamish," Sherlock murmured aloud, not even realizing he had done it."I love you." A tiny, wistful smile on his lips, the detective quickly brushed his fingertips over his son's forehead. Hamish blinked slowly at the contact, eyes slipping shut and then open again. The movie was nearly over and it was a wonder the little boy had made it this far.
"Daddy?" he whispered quietly, hand now resting in the gap he had previously been tracing.
"Yes, Hamish?" Sherlock asked softly, grabbing the remote and turning down the volume on the telly. "What is it? Does your head still hurt?"
"No, Daddy. Ask?"
"Of course. You can ask me anything you'd like."
"Uhh..." The little boy hesitated and he shifted slightly in Sherlock's lap, moving until he was in an almost-standing position, hands gripping onto the collar of his father's shirt. "What... What Daddy 'ove Hame?" he asked quietly, gazing into the detective's pale-blue eyes. "What 'ove?" he whispered again, face pulling into a worried expression.
"Why do I love you?" Sherlock asked gently, moving his hand until he was cradling the little boy's head in his palm.
"Mmm-hmm... W... Wh-ay?"
Sherlock thought for a moment, gazing into Hamish's deep sea-green irises and reveling in how they seemed to brighten with the lights from the tree. "Well," he murmured, his deep voice filling the quiet flat. "I love you for many reasons, Hamish... I love you because you're my son, and I wouldn't change that for the world. I love you because I think you're sweet and beautiful. I love you because of your beautiful green eyes; your curly hair... I love your smile and the way you giggle. I love you because... Because you're you. And you're positively perfect, Hamish," Sherlock finished softly, giving his son a warm smile. He quickly brushed his thumb over the little boy's cheek, before leaning in. "I love you, Hamish," he whispered gently before pressing an incredibly tender kiss to the little boy's forehead. "You're perfect."
"Oh... Daddy," Hamish signed in amazement, eyes sliding shut the detective kissed his forehead. "Hame 'ove! At heart," the little boy cried, throwing his chubby arms around his father's neck. "'Ove, Daddy..."
"I love you, too, Hamish. With all my heart," Sherlock whispered, tucking the little boy's head under his chin as he pulled him close. Smiling as he felt Hamish curl against his chest, the detective placed a gentle hand to the back of his son's head. "Happy Christmas Eve," he murmured, running his fingers through the little boy's curls.
"Mmm... Hap, Da'ey," Hamish whispered back, chubby fingers curling against the base of Sherlock's neck. "San?"
"Yes," the detective smiled, laying down on the couch. "Santa's coming tonight... Bringing presents for Christmas tomorrow."
"Oh. 'Kay, Daddy," Hamish yawned, lulled by his father's voice. "No see?" he added almost frantically, eyes flying open at the thought.
"No, no!" Sherlock chuckled, running a quick hand over the little boy's back. "Don't worry; you won't have to see him. He comes while you're sleeping." The detective smiled down at his son chuckling to himself. Several weeks ago, he and John had attempted to take Hamish to see Santa Clause. Upon being placed on the man's lap, the little boy became absolutely terrified. It took nearly forty minutes for the flat mates to calm him down and then another fifteen to explain that although Santa would visit their home, they would not see each other.
Smiling at the thought, Sherlock reached down, and grabbed a blanket that was lying on the floor. "There you go," he murmured softly, draping the fabric over Hamish's curled-up form. "Are you warm enough?"
"Mmm-hmm. 'Es, Daddy," the little boy sighed contently, nuzzling against his father's chest.
"Good."
"Nigh' nigh', Daddy... Hame 'ove. 'Ove, Daddy."
Sherlock couldn't help but smile down at his son. "Goodnight, Hamish. I love you, too... Sleep well."
"Mmm." With one last, tiny yawn, Hamish fell asleep, one hand resting in the gap at the base of the detective's neck, a fistful of his father's shirt clutched tightly in his other hand.
"Goodnight, Hamish. I love you," Sherlock whispered quietly. With soft eyes, the detective started to trace his fingers over his son's tiny back, smiling at the slow rise and fall of the little boy's back. "You're perfect."
Listening to the gentle breathing of his son, Sherlock remained on the couch, gazing around at the flat, which was lit with a warm, orange haze from the tree. The light bounced off of Hamish's dark curls, highlighting the brown-red tints in the little boy's auburn hair.
Smiling with a tender gaze, Sherlock tucked the blanket further around his son's sleeping form, and placed his hand on the little boy's back. With a deep breath, the detective closed his eyes, lips quirking up as his hand rose and fell with each of Hamish's deep breaths.
John returned home at an entirely ungodly hour, a little tipsy from having drunk too much. Rubbing his forehead, the doctor quickly hurried into the flat. He glanced into the living room, chuckling sarcastically when he saw Sherlock, sprawled across the couch, a blanket draped over his chest. He was about to head up to his room when he heard a tiny sigh. Brows pulled together in confusion, John's eyes scanned over his friend again. The doctor's gaze softened as he saw Hamish's head peeking out from under the blanket, and noticed that Sherlock had his hand splayed across the little boy's back.
"You big softie," John whispered, smiling fondly at his flat mates. "'Night, you two." With another quick smile, the doctor quickly slipped up the stairs, not noticing as Sherlock's lips quirked up into a small smile.