Hey guys! I just wanted to give a huge shout out to everyone who's reviewed and favorited and followed. You all mean so much to me and I really appreciate it! =) So just thank you all so much for being wonderful and reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter (it's a bit on the long side). But it just snowed here for the first time a few days ago, and so I decided I would write the Christmas chapters. =)
Thanks guys! You all are simply lovely and I cannot thank you enough!
Chapter Thirty-One: Merry Christmas
Shortly after John had returned, Sherlock had silently slid off the couch and moved Hamish's sleeping form into his bedroom, as he needed to get everything set up for the morning. Smiling fondly as he laid his son's limp body onto the bed, Sherlock bent down, pressing a soft kiss to little boy's temple. With a loving gaze, the detective pulled back, and quickly brushed his fingertips over Hamish's forehead, moving some of the little boy's unruly curls away from his eyes.
The tiny smile still playing over the corners of his lips, Sherlock quickly left his room, silently pulling the door shut behind him. He paused, taking a moment to listen and make sure that he had not woken Hamish up. When all could be heard were the faint, muffled sounds of the little boy's breathing, the detective continued, walking through the hallway to the landing of the stairs. With a deep breath, Sherlock turned his gaze up the stairs to John's room. The faint sounds of the doctor getting ready for bed could be heard through his closed door.
Smirking to himself, the detective quickly hurried up the flight of stairs, taking them two by two and swung open the door to John's room, not even bothering to knock.
"Agh! Sherlock!" the doctor cried in surprise, quickly pulling up the trousers he'd been in the middle of shedding.
"Oh, please, John," Sherlock sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes at his flat mate's embarrassment. "It's not as if you haven't seen me in various states of undress. Listen. We need to go down at get everything set up for tomorrow morning."
"Sherlock," John groaned, practically collapsing onto the bed. "I just got back."
"I told you not to go out and drink too much, John. You knew we were going to be setting up," Sherlock warned, raising an eyebrow at his friend.
"Can't you just... Do it by yourself?" the doctor groaned, scrunching his eyes shut as he kneaded his fingers into his forehead. When no response came, John opened his eyes ever so slightly and groaned once again up seeing the utterly shocked and and almost hurt expression on his flat mate's face.
"Sherlock," he started, more softly this time. "I just... Can't you... Fine!" With a heaving sigh, the doctor all but fell out of the bed, placing his hands on his hips as he gave Sherlock a disapproving glare. "You're insufferable."
"Of course. Thank you, John," the detective smirked, smiling smugly at his flat mate. "Come along." Turning on his heel, Sherlock practically hopped down the stairs, though was careful not to make too much sound, so as not to wake Hamish.
Almost vibrating with excitement at being able to celebrate his first Christmas with Hamish, the detective hurried down the several flights of stairs to 221C, where they'd hidden all of the little boy's presents, grabbed a large armful of the already-wrapped gifts and made his way back up, passing John along the way.
"Trying," the doctor mumbled upon receiving a disapproving look from his flat mate. Blinking away his tiredness and headache, John quickly jogged down the rest of the stairs and picked up several of the presents.
After a few more trips to the lower level (most of which were completed by Sherlock), all of Hamish's presents had been brought into the flat and were now scattered haphazardly across the floor.
"John, uhh... How do we... Uhm," the detective asked awkwardly, gazing around at the gifts.
Lips parted slightly, as he was about to make some off-handed comment, John paused at his friend's comment, eyes suddenly growing sad as he gazed at the utterly lost expression in his flat mate's eyes. "You don't know how to decorate presents under the tree?" he asked softly.
"Uhh, I never really got presents under the tree," Sherlock replied distractedly, crouching down and gathering a few presents in arms. "Therefore, I'm not entirely... Sure how to..." The detective's voice trailed away as he glanced between the gifts in his hands, the others remaining on the floor, and the space under the tree they had managed to put up.
"Right," John murmured quietly, gazing after his friend with sad eyes. "Well... Umm, usually the biggest presents go towards the back," the doctor continued softly, moving forward to grab the two largest presents. "These should go as far under the tree as you can get them, see?"
"Oh," Sherlock said quietly, watching the doctor with observant eyes. Understanding and quickly following suit, the detective bent down, releasing the small gifts he had in his arms and grabbed several of the bigger ones, moving them towards the tree, and shoving them back, as he had seen John do. The doctor watched silently as his flat mate took each and every gift, placing them delicately under the tree.
With a small, almost secretly triumphant smile, Sherlock set the last gift on the ground, and pulled away, straightening his back as he stood. "Oh, umm," he said awkwardly, almost blushing as he realized John had been watching him the whole time. "Yes. Good... Well, thank you, John," he added quietly, quickly smoothing down the front of his suit, which he'd yet to take off.
"Sure," the doctor whispered, giving his friend a warm smile. "Well! At least now you know how to place presents under the tree!"
Despite his embarrassment, the detective managed a small smile. "Yes. Thank you again, John. Sorry I stopped you from sleeping... Admittedly, though," he added with a quick quirk of his eyebrow. "I did warn you not to drink too much."
"Yes, yes, yes, I know, I know," John huffed quickly, giving his friend a royal eyeroll. "Speaking of, can I please get back to going to sleep?"
Giving the doctor an eyeroll of his own, Sherlock shot his friend a dithering look. "John, do you really think I would prohibit you from getting at least a decent amount of sleep?"
"Why... Agggh, nevermind," John sighed, chuckling half-heartedly to himself. "Goodnight, Sherlock," he chuckled, giving the detective a warm smile before turning to head back to the stairs. "Happy Christmas," he called down, almost to his room.
"Happy Christmas," Sherlock replied smugly, locking his fingers behind his back as he watched the doctor hurry up the rest of the stairs and disappear into his room. With the gentle click of John's door, the sly grin slowly slid from his face, and the detective turned back to glance at the tree. His eyes softened slightly as he gazed at the warm lights. Sherlock's gaze quickly skimmed over the tree once more, and then, with a quick twitch of a smile forming on his lips, the detective turned, gliding back into his room.
Closing the door as quietly as he could, Sherlock closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted now that he was enveloped in the darkness of his room. Smiling to himself as he heard Hamish's deep, steady breaths, the detective quickly discarded his jacket, opting to just sleep in the clothes he had on, and made to lay down in the bed. He paused, taking a moment to locate his son's sleeping form. Upon seeing that the little boy had rolled to the left, and was now facing the cot, Sherlock quickly slid in, sighing contently as he settled into the warmth of the welcoming bed.
"Hmm," Hamish hummed in his sleep upon feeling the movement on the other side of the bed. With a tiny sigh, the little boy stretched in his sleep, making a quiet moaning sound as he shifted, subconsciously scooting closer to Sherlock. Waking slightly at the motion, the little boy murmured a soft, "Da'ey?" His eyebrows scrunched together in slight discomfort when he reached out, hands only grasping open air.
"Shh," Sherlock soothed gently, quickly scooting closer to Hamish's tiny form and wrapping his fingers around the little boy's outstretched hand. "Go back to sleep... It's all right," he whispered, wrapping a comforting arm around his son's middle and pulling him close to his chest.
"Hmm," Hamish sighed contently, quickly slipping back into sleep. With several deep breaths, the little boy curled his small body forward, leaning back into his father's touch. A content smile turning up the corners of his lips, he turned, resting his head against the Sherlock's arm.
"Goodnight, Hamish," the detective murmured, gazing at his son with tender eyes. Smiling lovingly at the slumbering boy, Sherlock quickly ran his thumb back and forth over Hamish's chubby fingers, lulled by the soft feel of the little boy's skin and the gentle sound of his breathing.
Smiling softly at the sensation, Sherlock pulled Hamish's hand close to his chest and allowed his eyes to quickly slip shut, falling into a sleep of his own.
Sherlock was awoken by a gentle prodding at his cheek. Eyebrows pulled together in both confusion and tiredness, the detective slowly opened eyes to find Hamish's excited face hovering above him, his chubby fingers poking again at his face.
"Ugh. Hamish," he groaned dramatically, quickly squeezing his eyes shut again. "What're you doing up so early? Aren't you tired?" he sighed, opening his eyes just enough to squint up at his son.
"Hame up, Daddy," the little boy declared joyfully, scooting closer to the detective as he bounced with excitement and anticipation. "'Ow Daddy up!" Grinning, he tapped Sherlock's face again, this time splaying his fingers across his father's cheek as stared expectantly at the detective.
"Now it's my turn to get up? Couldn't we just maybe wait for—"
"No, Daddy," Hamish interrupted determinedly, scowling slightly the detective. Frowning at his father, the little boy curled his fingers against Sherlock's cheeks, silently pleading once again. "Up 'ease, Daddy?" he whispered with wide, hopeful eyes. "San' come..."
With a deep breath, the detective fully opened his eyes and stared up at Hamish with a tender gaze. A soft smile playing over his lips, Sherlock reached up, brushing the back of his knuckles over the little boy's forehead. "All right," he murmured, taking in his son's beautiful features. "Let's go."
"Real Daddy?" Hamish gasped excitedly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck. The wide grin returning to his face, the little boy buried his face in the detective's raven curls, giving his father a tight hug. "Mmm," he hummed contently, giggling at the ticklish feeling of Sherlock's hair against his skin. "Daddy..."
"Of course," the detective chuckled, placing a tender hand to the back of Hamish's hand. "Ready?" he whispered, turning to press a gentle kiss to the little boy's cheek. "Come on, then."
With a soft groan, Sherlock turned on the bed, keeping Hamish snuggled tightly against his neck. "I need to get dressed, all right? Can you just wait here for a moment?" he asked, moving the little boy to his hip and waiting for an answer.
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish responded contently, pulling away from the detective. "'Kay, Daddy," he stated, gazing at the bed while he waited to be set down.
"Good." Smiling fondly at his son, Sherlock placed the little boy back on the bed, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before turning away, moving to his dresser. Yawning once again, the detective quickly pulled out a pair of his pajama bottoms, deciding to just wear his button-up and turned back to the bed. He paused upon seeing Hamish giggling wildly, pressing his chubby hands to his mouth in an effort to stifle the laugh.
"Why do you always find it so humorous to watch me change?" Sherlock chuckled, shaking his head at the little boy as he quickly changed out of the dress pants and pulled on on the pajama bottoms.
"S'lly, Daddy," Hamish laughed, reaching his chubby arms up towards the detective.
Chuckling fondly at his son, Sherlock bent forward, and pulled the little boy onto his hip. "We'll need to go wake John up, all right?"
"'Kay, Daddy," Hamish whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and tucking his head into the space between his father's shoulder and neck. "Good."
"Good," the detective echoed, a gentle smile playing on his lips. Absentmindedly pulling the little boy closer, Sherlock opened the door and hurried down the hallway, careful to angle his body so Hamish wouldn't see the sitting room, and then hurried up to John's room. "Go on," he whispered, setting the little boy on the ground once they were settled on the landing.
Grinning, Hamish bounced up and down, waiting in anticipation while his father opened the door.
Sherlock watched from the doorway, chuckling to himself as Hamish scurried up onto the doctor's bed.
"John. John?" the little boy whispered loudly, slowly shaking the doctor's arm back and forth. "John. Up 'ease John!" he called, a little more loudly, practically falling over John's waking form as he tried to reach his face. "Up 'ease. Daddy up, John."
"Hmm? What? Oh... Yes... Good morning, Hamish," the doctor said quietly, taking a deep breath as he tried to wake up.
"Morn', John!" the little boy called cheerfully, pleased that he had succeeded in waking John up. Grinning contently, he turned his attention back to Sherlock, eyebrows pulling together when, at first, he couldn't find the detective.
"Oh," he sighed in relief upon spotting his father at the doorway. "'Ome, John," he said cheerfully, quickly sliding off the bed and hurrying over to Sherlock. Taking his son's tiny hand in his own, the detective glanced towards John, giving his friend an almost apologetic smile.
"I'm coming," the doctor chuckled, quickly rolling off the bed and hurrying over to his two flatmates. "All right," he yawned, giving the little boy a quick smile. "Ready."
Vibrating with excitement and anticipation, and with much help from his father, Hamish hopped down each and every step, grinning as they moved closer and closer to the sitting room. "Oh... Daddy," he gasped in amazement upon rounding the corner and seeing the large pile of presents stacked under the tree.
"Go on," Sherlock murmured, placing a tender hand to the little boy's back, urging him to go forward.
Eyes wide with amazement, Hamish stumbled forward, hurrying for the gifts. "Daddy 'ease Hame help?" he asked quietly, still shocked by the wonder of it all.
"Of course I will, Hamish." Sharing a quick smile with John, Sherlock moved forward, guiding the little boy closer to the presents, and then sat down on the ground, pulling Hamish into his lap. "Pick one," he murmured, smiling fondly at the amazement and happiness filling his son's impossibly green eyes.
"Uhhmm... One." With a questioning gaze, Hamish pointed to the closest present, a small, thin box.
"Excellent choice," the detective whispered, reaching forward to grab the gift. He grinned, eyes filling with love as watched the little boy delicately tear away the paper.
"Tom!" Hamish gasped in amazement upon seeing the DVD case below the torn wrapping. "Tom Tank!" Quickly tossing away the rest of the paper, the little boy stared down at the video, a small grin tugging up the corners of his lips. "Hmm," he hummed contently, haphazardly turning the case over in his chubby hands, examining it. Eyebrows pulled together in concentration, Hamish pulled the video closer, studying the vibrant pictures scattered about the case. His deep green eyes quickly flicked across the glossy cover, and his bottom lip protruded slightly as he leaned back against Sherlock's stomach and chest, completely immersed in what he was doing.
The detective watched with warm eyes as his son examined the video, amazed once again by the levels of intelligence and observation skills the little boy had. He couldn't help but smile upon feeling a warm fluttering of pride swell in his chest.
John watched silently from the couch at the sweet interaction between Sherlock and Hamish, gazing at the two with a soft gaze. Though he knew his friend often tried to hide his affection for the little boy, the doctor felt oddly happy at being able to witness the connection between the two. A small smile pulling up one corner of his lips, John watched as Hamish carefully examined the new Thomas DVD, spinning it over and over his hands. His gaze quickly flicked to the little boy's face, and the doctor couldn't be freeze upon glancing between Sherlock's and Hamish's faces; side by side, the father and son sported nearly the exact same facial expressions, one of intense concentration. John huffed out a chuckle as he realized just how much the little boy really did look like Sherlock; the doctor wondered for a moment if Hamish looked anything like his flat mate had as a young boy, and couldn't help but smile fondly at the thought.
"Do you like it?" Sherlock whispered softly, running his thumb over his son's cheek.
"Hmm? What, Daddy? Oh... Oh! 'Es! Hame like!" the little boy declared triumphantly, expression quickly returning to normal as he was pulled away from his reverie. Eyes once again bright with excitement, Hamish turned, pressing himself against his father's chest as he simultaneously hugged the new present close. "Ta, Daddy," he whispered against the detective's skin.
"You're most certainly welcome, Hamish. Happy Christmas..." With a gentle smile, Sherlock bent down and pressed a tender kiss to the top of his son's head. "Next one?"
"Oh. Uhhm..." Returning to the task at hand, Hamish quickly turned in the detective's lap, still clutching the new video close to his little chest and then pointed to another present, farther away.
"I'll get it," John murmured, still smiling fondly at his two flamates. "Here you are, little man," he chuckled softly, joining the two on the ground as he passed the gift to Hamish.
"Ta, John," the little boy called thankfully, taking the box from John's hands.
"Very good manners," Sherlock praised, shifting slightly so that he could look around Hamish's small body as he opened the gift. Smiling fondly at his son, the detective watched with loving eyes as the little boy opened each and every present, deciding not to say anything when he noticed John pull out his camera.
"Unk Lest'de!" Hamish cheered happily, hopping out of Sherlock's lap and hurrying over to the Inspector as he entered the flat.
"Oh! Hey there, Hamish!" Greg called, placing the small bag of presents he had on the floor so he could pull the little boy into a tight hug. "Mmm... Have you opened all of your presents?"
"Mmm-hmm," Hamish hummed in reply, wrapping his chubby fingers around Lestrade's fingers as he pulled out of the DI's embrace, urging him to come further into the flat. Satisfied, the little boy ran back over towards the couch where Sherlock and John, both still in there pajamas, were seated, watching the telly, which was currently playing Thomas the Tank Engine. "Up 'ease, Daddy?" he asked quietly, tugging at the hem of his father's trousers as he waited to be lifted back onto the couch.
"Yes. Ohh... Here we are," Sherlock sighed dramatically, pulling Hamish back onto his lap and wrapping his arm around the little boy's middle
"Greg! I'm glad you could make it," John said cheerfully, leaving the couch, as it was clear Sherlock would not be doing the welcoming anytime soon.
"Yeah, yeah of course," the Inspector sighed, giving the doctor a warm smile. "Couldn't bear to miss Hamish's first Christmas, now could I?" he chuckled, calling the last part louder, and towards Hamish.
"Hmm," the little boy hummed in response, not even bothering to look away from the screen.
"Come on in," John chuckled, gesturing towards the sitting room. "Hamish, would you like to come and open Uncle Greg's presents he brought for you?"
"No 'ease, John," the little boy replied simply, snuggling against Sherlock as he continued to watch the television. "Tom at Daddy."
"Hamish, Uncle Lestrade came esp—"
"It's all right, John," the Inspector chuckled, gently clapping the doctor on the shoulder. "It's Christmas. He can open my presents later."
"Thanks, Greg," John thanked gratefully, giving the Inspector a warm smile. "Anyway, uh, make yourself at home. Mrs. Hudson is currently downstairs cooking for us... And I think Molly should be on her way over. Mary's already on her way."
"Just got here," Sherlock murmured, gazing down at Hamish's cheerful face.
"What? Oh. You mean Mary?"
"Yes."
The doctor chuckled to himself as, moments later, Mary could be heard bustling up the stairs, followed closely by Molly.
"Hamish," Sherlock whispered, giving the little boy's middle a gentle squeeze.
"Hmm? 'Es, Daddy?"
"Look who just go here." Knowing Hamish would be terribly excited to see Molly's baby, Sherlock stood up, already moving towards the pathologist.
"What? Oh! Molly!" the little boy cried happily, tapping the detective on the shoulder in a silent request to be let down.
"Go on," Sherlock chuckled, setting his son on the ground and watching with fond eyes as the little boy immediately dashed to the baby carrier, clinging to the side and leaning over to catch a glimpse of the newborn.
"What's her name?" John asked softly, giving Molly a welcoming smile.
"Oh, uh, Rose-Marie Hooper... My mother's name."
"That's beautiful, Molly," the doctor murmured, gazing with soft eyes at the baby.
"Thank you. She's uhh... Well she's certainly a handful," Molly chucked tiredly, running a quick hand through her long hair. "She's not too fond of sleeping at night..."
"Ah. Sorry to hear that."
"It's okay. I still love her, though," the pathologist chuckled, gazing down at her daughter and watching as Hamish stared in, eyes wide with sheer amazement and joy.
"Daddy?" the little boy whispered, turning around to find his father.
"Yes, Hamish?" Sherlock murmured, crouching down next to his son and placing a tender hand across the little boy's back. "What is it?"
"Daddy help Hame 'ease?" Hamish asked quietly, pointing to Rose-Marie, who was fast asleep in the seat.
"Oh. Uhh..." The detective quickly glanced at Molly for reassurance.
"Of course," she chuckled, giving Sherlock a quick smile.
"Right... Here Hamish." With slow movements, the detective gently wrapped his slender fingers around Hamish's wrist and moved the little boy's hand towards the sleeping baby's face. "Let's just try not to wake her, all right?"
"Mmm-hmm. 'Es, Daddy," Hamish replied earnestly, turning to stare up at his father with wide, innocent eyes.
Sherlock's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the little boy's sea-green eyes, seeing for the first time that they were filled with trust... Complete and utter trust. Though he knew he must have known Hamish trusted him, somehow, seeing it here in front of him made it that much more real. This little boy—his son—trusted him completely... Sherlock couldn't help but smile at the thought, and, without thinking, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to Hamish's forehead. "I love you, Hamish," he murmured, for once, not caring who heard.
"Mmm... 'Ove, Daddy..." the little boy whispered in reply, closing his eyes as his father kissed his forehead.
Smiling, Sherlock pulled away, feeling a warmth course through his veins at the thought of someone actually trusting him... Him... Sherlock Holmes. "Right," he murmured, returning to the situation at hand. "Here we go."
Unable to stop himself from smiling, Sherlock slowly guided Hamish's hand forward, helping the little boy to run a gentle finger up and down the sleeping baby's cheek.
"Oh... Wow, Daddy," Hamish sighed in amazement, a small smile playing over his lips as he touched the little girl's cheek.
"Yes," Sherlock murmured gently, running his fingertips up and down the little boy's back. "I know."
The rest of the day quickly slipped away with the guests chattering happily throughout. Mrs. Hudson had brought up a large meal, which everyone continually snacked off of during the day. Hamish had forced Sherlock to eat almost a full meal, carefully placing the food in the detective's hand and waiting patiently until his father had finished. When, at first, the detective politely refused, Hamish had started cry, and refused to open any more presents unless and until Sherlock ate something.
Hamish spent most of his time around Molly and the baby, still amazed by the tiny figure. When, with much help from Sherlock, the pathologist had allowed the little boy to hold her, Hamish had nearly had a panic attack of excitement.
Eventually, as the evening wore on, the guests slowly started to trickle away, leaving the small family of three to have the evening to themselves.
"Goodbye, Molly," Sherlock said softly, helping her down the stairs. The pathologist was the last to leave, staying as long as she could so that Hamish could see and touch the new baby as much as possible. "Thank you for coming. Hamish really enjoyed being able to hold and see her... He probably enjoyed that more than the ridiculous amount of presents he got."
"Mmm. Well, I'm glad I could help out," the pathologist chuckled, giving Sherlock a warm smile. "'Night, Sherlock. Happy Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper," the detective whispered, leaving in to give Molly a quick kiss on the cheek.
Chuckling at the memory, and with another quick smile, the pathologist quickly slipped out into the brisk night.
Smiling fondly, Sherlock turned and hurried up the stairs, glad for the break of people. He paused in the doorway, eyes softening as he found Hamish, completely passed out on the floor, exhausted from the day's endeavors.
With loving eyes, the detective silently walked over to the little boy and knelt down, placing a hand to the side of his son's head and running a quick thumb over Hamish's eyebrow. "Merry, Christmas, Hamish," he murmured, gazing fondly at his son's sweet face. "I love you."
"Hmm," the little boy sighed in his sleep, eyes fluttering as he leaned into his father's touch.
"Come on." Moving slowly, Sherlock bent down, and lifted his son's limp form into his arms. "Shh," he murmured upon feeling the little boy shift in his arms. "I'm here..."
"Mmm..." With a content smile, Hamish leaned into his father's embrace, one hand subconsciously grabbing a fistful of the detective's shirt.
Gently swaying back and forth, Sherlock slowly made his way towards his room, pressing soft kisses to Hamish's cheeks and forehead and hair.
"There we are," he sighed quietly, placing a hand to the back of his son's small head as he laid the little boy's sleeping form onto the bed. With soft eyes and a loving smile, Sherlock bent down, rubbing his thumb over Hamish's forehead as he pressed another, tender kiss to the little boy's temple. "Goodnight, Hamish," he murmured, letting his lips linger and brush against the smooth skin as he spoke. "Happy Christmas... I love you..."
Keeping his hand to the side of Hamish's head, Sherlock slowly pulled away, and felt his breath catch in throat once again at the beauty of his son... The detective found sometimes, on days like this, he had to stop and pause for a little while. Take a moment to come to realization all over again that this little boy—this tiny human being—was his son.
Eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, Sherlock felt a swell of unimaginable love spread through his chest as he gazed at Hamish's sleeping form. Brushing some of the little boy's unruly curls away from his forehead, the detective reached down, gently prying the little boy's fingers away from his shirt.
"I love you, Hamish," he murmured against the little boy's palm, pressing a quick kiss to his son's chubby fingers. "Sleep well." Unable to stop himself from smiling, Sherlock slowly pulled back, releasing both Hamish's head and his hand, and gently tucked the little boy under the covers. "Goodnight."
That familiar warmth still fluttering in his chest, Sherlock silently slipped from the room, smiling as he closed the door behind him.
Sighing as he realized he should probably get started on cleaning the large mess of new toys and books and clothes scattered about the flat, the detective turned around, smoothing down the front of his suit, which he'd changed into earlier that day. He almost jumped upon seeing John standing in the doorway, a warm smile on his face, hands placed behind his back.
"Oh. Hello, John," Sherlock said cautiously, giving the doctor a questioning gaze.
The smile widening, John moved forward, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I have a little gift for you," he said slyly, trying to hide his obvious excitement.
"Oh?" Sherlock said, feigning surprise. Desperately trying to deduce what the present might be, the detective crossed by the doorway, moving into the sitting room. Squinting questioningly at his flatmate, Sherlock sat down in his chair, pressing his fingertips to his as he crossed his legs.
"Yes," John chuckled, keeping his hands and the gift, safely behind his back as he sat opposite the detective in his own chair. Grin getting bigger, and unable to wait any longer, the doctor quickly pulled his arms away and handed his friend a small picture frame. "Here."
With curious eyes, Sherlock leaned forward, taking the silver picture frame from John's hands. "What could you possibly..." The detective suddenly stopped as he turned the picture over. Resting under the glass was a small picture of a little boy, only a few months old... A little boy with dark, curly hair, deep green eyes and a bright, tiny smile lighting up his entire, chubby face...
"Hamish," Sherlock breathed, unable to tear his eyes away from the photograph. "John... How did you..?"
"I didn't. Mycroft did. He brought it over yesterday while you and Hamish were out shopping. Said I should give it to you as a Christmas gift from the both of us," the doctor murmured, watching with warm eyes as his friend stared down at the picture. "I don't know how he got it..."
"My... I just... Thank you, John," Sherlock managed, unable to hide the tears welling his eyes. "This is... Perfect. Simply perfect... Thank you." Smiling down at the picture of his son, the detective slowly rubbed his thumb over the glass, brushing his finger over Hamish's cheek. "Thank you, John."
"You're welcome," the doctor murmured, smiling at his friend. "I thought you'd like that."
"Yes... Yes." Unable to contain his emotions, Sherlock wrapped his hands around the picture, pulling it close as he allowed several hot tears to slip free. "Sorry, it's just... This is—"
"I know. You don't need to apologize, Sherlock," John reassured the detective gently. "I'll uhh... I'm going to head out with Mary, then. Leave you to it... Happy Christmas, Sherlock."
"Thank you, John. Merry Christmas. Have a good evening."
With another warm smile and a quick nod of his head, John turned, stopping by his flat mate's room to give Hamish a quick kiss on the cheek, before hurrying out of the flat, giving Sherlock some time alone with his thoughts.
The detective continued stare at the photograph, continuously rubbing his thumb across the smooth surface as more joyful tears filled his eyes. "Hamish," he breathed again, a small half-smile curving up the corner of his lips. He guessed the little boy couldn't have been more than three months old in the picture, his already tiny body seeming even smaller from the photo. But the thing that Sherlock noticed the most, and what kept sending new waves of tears to his eyes, was the smile... Proof that not everything in Hamish's early life had been horrible. It was only a small moment... Frozen in time by the photograph, but the detective couldn't help but feel a sense of relief and joy at knowing that his son had at least some form of happiness in the time before he knew him.
Smiling at the thought and running his fingertips up and down the frame, Sherlock leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes and clutching the picture close to his chest. "I love you, Hamish," he murmured into the air, slowly opening his steele-grey eyes to stare at the ceiling.
Sherlock rested like that, his thumb absentmindedly stroking over the smooth surface of the frame as the thought, already knowing he would not be getting any rest that night.
Several hours later, the detective was pulled away from his thoughts as he saw something dancing across the floor. Still holding the picture close, and with eyebrows drawn together, Sherlock sat up, smiling as he realized the movement on the wood were the shadows of snowflakes falling outside.
"Hamish," he murmured, suddenly remembering that all the little boy had asked for Christmas for the past month and a half was snow, something he'd never seen before.
Still holding the picture, the detective quickly left the sitting room, hurrying into his own bedroom. With one more quick smile at the frame, Sherlock set it over on top of his dresser, the only sentimental decoration in the entire room, and then turned back to Hamish's sleeping form. He chuckled upon seeing the little boy curled into a ball, all of the covers kicked down to the other end of the bed, surrounded by a large pile of stuffed animals, which were usually kept in in cot.
Gaze warm and loving, Sherlock bent down and placed a tender hand to the little boy's back, as he was lying face-down. "Hamish?" he whispered softly, brushing his fingertips over the smooth skin. "Hamish, wake up. I want to show you something."
"Mmm? Da'ey?" the little boy asked groggily, voice raw with sleep.
"Yes. I want to show you something, Hamish," Sherlock whispered, removing his hand as Hamish rolled over onto his back, stretching his limbs tiredly as he did so.
"Hame seep..."
"I know you were sleeping," the detective chuckled, bending down and pulling his son onto his chest. "But I have one last Christmas present for you," he whispered, swaying back and forth as he waited for a response.
"Mmm... 'Kay, Da'ey..." Eyes fluttering shut and rolling back with Sherlock's gentle swaying, Hamish leaned into Sherlock's comforting embrace, pressing his face to the detective's neck and wrapping one of his chubby hands around his father's collar as he tried to fall asleep again. "'Kay..."
"Excellent." Pressing a quick kiss to his son's temple, Sherlock slowly moved out of his room, pressing the little boy closer as he thought about the picture resting on his dresser. Fighting to stay awake, Hamish yawned, nuzzling against the detective's skin as he tried to blink away his sleep.
Smiling fondly at the sensation of his son's warm skin against his own, Sherlock moved to the window, careful to avoid the mess of presents littering floor, and gazed out at the falling snow. "Hamish?" he murmured, running his palm up and down the little boy's bare skin. "Look out."
"Hmm? What, Daddy? Wha—" Hamish stopped mid-sentence, freezing as he opened his eyes and turned to the window, seeing the snow for the first time.
Breath suddenly quickening with excitement, the little boy scrambled in Sherlock's arms, desperately trying to get closer to the glass.
Chuckling and grinning at his son's wonder, the detective quickly hurried forward, moving nearer to the glass. Eager to see more, Hamish immediately pressed his chubby fingers to the window and leaned forward, looking up and down the street, eyes quickly flying back and forth as he watched all of the snowflakes fall by the window.
"Daddy," he sighed in amazement, smiling at the snow. "Daddy got 'no at Hame," he whispered, turning around in the detective's arms. "Daddy got at Hame." Face scrunching together with happiness, Hamish grinned, pressing his face into Sherlock's jaw, as he wrapped his chubby around the detective's neck. "Daddy got..."
Not having the heart to tell his son that he couldn't actually control the weather, Sherlock just pressed Hamish's small body closer, placing a gentle hand to the back of the little boy's head and stroking his fingers through the silky curls. "Merry Christmas, Hamish," he whispered, bending down to press a tender kiss to his son's cheek.
"Best Tist'mas, Daddy," Hamish whispered against his father's skin. Eyes bright and wide with utter happiness, the little boy pulled away from Sherlock's jaw, and gazed up at the detective with a loving smile. "An' best Daddy," he murmured. Staring into his father's light eyes, Hamish reached up, and pressed his chubby fingers to Sherlock's smooth cheek. "'Ove, Daddy," he whispered, hand resting in hollow just under the detective's cheekbone. "Hap... Hap Tris'mas, Daddy."
"Happy Christmas, Hamish," Sherlock murmured, smiling under his son's tender touch. "This has been the best Christmas for me, as well."
"Real, Daddy?"
The detective paused, taking a moment to brush the back of his knuckles over Hamish's cheek. "Really, really," he whispered softly.
"Ohh," the little boy sighed in amazement. Unable to contain his happiness, Hamish reached up, and, with a warm smile, pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of Sherlock's lips. "'Ove, Daddy... Best..." he murmured against the detective's skin. "'Ove lot." Turning his attention back to the window, Hamish pressed his cheek against his father's chest, gripping a fistful of the fabric in his hand as he leaned against the detective, watching with content eyes as the snowflakes fell past, one by one.
"Stay, Daddy?" he asked quietly, curling his body against Sherlock's chest as he looked up from where he was resting.
"Of course, Hamish. We can stay..." Noticing the goosebumps covering his son's arms, the detective found his robe and managed to pull off his shirt without the disturbing the little boy. "Here we are," he murmured, settling Hamish back against his bare chest and wrapping the robe around his small body.
"Hmm... Daddy," the tiny boy hummed contently, eyes fluttering shut as he gazed out of the window at the warm light from the street lamps, grinning as he watched the snowflakes falling.
Smiling warmly at his son and enjoying the feel of the little boy's skin against his own, Sherlock bent down, resting his head on top of Hamish's and reached inside the robe, splaying his fingers over the little boy's bare back. "Merry Christmas, Hamish," he whispered, angling his body so Hamish could easily see out the window from where he was resting.
"Mmm... Ma'y... Ma'y Tist..." the little boy murmured, attempting to keep his eyes open so he could finish.
"Shh... It's all right, Hamish," Sherlock reassured, pulling Hamish's hand up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to the little boy's fingers. "Sleep..."
Smiling as he watched another snowflake slip past outside, Hamish sighed contently, and closed his eyes, one of his chubby hands curling against the detective's chest as his breathing slowed.
"Nigh' Daddy," he whispered, leaning his weight into Sherlock's arms.
"Goodnight, Hamish. Sleep well..."
Watching as one more snowflake fell by, Hamish's eyes slowly slid shut and, with a gentle sigh, the little boy fell asleep, his tiny fingers clenching and unclenching against the detective's skin.
"Merry Christmas," Sherlock whispered one last time, gently swaying back and forth as he glanced out the window, smiling at the falling snow. "The best Christmas," he repeated fondly, running his thumb over the little boy's skin. "Yes, Hamish... It was, wasn't it?"
Smiling as he heard the little boy hum in response, Sherlock gazed out the window, swaying from side to side as he watched the snowflakes slowly cover the ground, listening as he felt his son breathing steadily against him and smiling at the peacefulness of it all.