Hey guys! Okay, I just wanted to apologize for all of the mistakes in the last chapter; most of them made absolutely no sense! Spellcheck is literally going to be the death of me one of these days, I swear! Anyways! But I have gone back and fixed (almost all of) the really weird mistakes. Regardless, I still apologize for the mistakes, they were positively atrocious!
In addition, I thank you all very much for your support; I am still shocked by the feedback this story has gotten, and I truly appreciate each and every review (they always give me the motivation I need to keep writing), and all who have followed and favorited.
You all are simply lovely! Hope you enjoy this chapter. Have a great weekend, guys! Should update either on Monday or Tuesday. Thanks so much!
Chapter Thirty-Two: Uh-Oh
"Excellent job, Hamish! Now, can you tell me what this is?" Sherlock asked, pointing to his stomach.
The detective was lying on his back in the sitting room, working on naming parts of the body and colors.
Giggling happily and with a wide grin on his little face, Hamish toddled over towards his father's stomach, tripping over his feet and falling on top of the detective in the process.
"Oof! S'ey, Daddy," he whispered, pulling away and resting his head on his father's chest.
"That's all right, Hamish," Sherlock chuckled, placing a gentle hand on the little boy's back. "Have you figured it out?"
"'Es, Daddy." Humming contently to himself, Hamish pulled away, grasping onto the side of the detective's shirt, and, with a small grunt, pulled himself into a standing position. Giggling, he fell forward, draping his tiny body over his father's middle. "Tum'ny," he laughed, pressing his face into Sherlock's stomach.
"Very good!" the detective praised, smiling down at his son as he ran his palm up and down the little boy's back. "That's my tummy… Can you tell me where your tummy is, Hamish?"
"Mmm-hmm, Daddy," Hamish hummed happily, nodding his head against the fabric of Sherlock's shirt. Still grinning, the little boy slowly slid off his father's stomach, and plopped onto the ground.
Sticking his bottom lip out, Hamish slowly pulled up the bottom of his shirt, attempting to tug the fabric off.
Chuckling softly, Sherlock reached forward and gently pulled the shirt up and off. "There you go," he murmured fondly, setting the fabric on the ground.
"Ta, Daddy," Hamish whispered, giving his father a tiny smile. Returning to the matter at hand, the little boy stared down at his own stomach. Bottom lip protruding slightly, as his eyebrows pulled together, Hamish frowned down at the skin, his tiny breaths filling the otherwise-silent flat.
Sherlock watched with a questioning gaze as his son started to prod at his belly, a concentrated frown forming on the little boy's face as he poked his stomach. "Hamish?" he murmured gently, pushing himself into a sitting position. Chuckling quietly at his son's expression, Sherlock reached forward and pressed his fingers to Hamish's stomach, slipping his hand under the little boy's. "Hamish?" he whispered again, giving his son a warm smile.
"Hmm? Oh... Tum'ny, Daddy," the little boy whispered, giving a slight shake of his head. The smile suddenly returning to his tiny face, Hamish bent down, and wrapped his chubby hand around one of Sherlock's fingers. "Tum'ny!" he declared happily, giving the detective a triumphant smile.
"Very good job!" Sherlock chuckled, gently tickling his son's stomach with his fingertips.
"Daddy!" Hamish laughed, reaching down with his other hand as he attempted to push his father's fingers away.
Laughing along with his son, Sherlock rushed forward, pulling the little boy onto his lap. "I've got you!" he laughed, bending down to pepper Hamish's cheeks and nose with soft kisses while simulatenously tickling the little boy's stomach.
"Daddy! No, no 'ease, Daddy!" Hamish gasped, his light, airy giggles mixing with his father's deep chuckles.
"All right, all right," Sherlock sighed, ceasing his tickling and hugging the little boy close as he fell backwards, resting once again on the ground.
"Mmm," Hamish giggled on his father's chest, pressing his face into the detective's shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. "Daddy," he sighed, closing his eyes and snuggling closer to Sherlock as he breathed, tiny chest heaving up and down.
"Sorry, Hamish," the detective chuckled, gazing with loving eyes at the little boy resting on his chest. Smiling, he bent down, pressing a quick kiss to Hamish's forehead. "You did a very good job today," he murmured, running his fingertips through the little boy's silky curls. "I'm very proud of you."
"Mmm… 'Kay, Daddy," Hamish sighed, wrapping his chubby hand around the collar of Sherlock's shirt as his breathing slowly returned to normal.
Still smiling at his son as he continued to play with the little boy's hair, the detective quickly checked his watch. "Oh. Hamish it's nearly time for your nap. So why don't we—"
"No 'ease, Daddy. No seep Hame," Hamish whispered. Contradicting himself, the little boy pressed is face into Sherlock's collarbone, and yawned against the detective's skin. "Mmm," he sighed tiredly, subconsciously leaning further against his father's chest.
"Not sleepy, hmm?" Sherlock chuckled skeptically, watching with a warm gaze as his son's eyes slowly fluttered open and closed.
"Mmm-hmm, Daddy. No… No seep… Hame."
"Right," the detective murmured, giving Hamish a small half-smile. "Well… If you're not sleepy, would you like to continue?"
"Uhm… 'Es? Oh, 'es, Daddy." With a tiny grunt of effort, Hamish shifted, pressing both of his chubby hands to Sherlock's collarbone, and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Mmm… 'Kay, Daddy. What?" he asked, gazing at the detective with expectant, yet tired eyes.
"We're going to try one of the new ones we learned, all right? See if you can remember. Ready?" Sherlock asked gently.
"'Es."
"Good." Smiling fondly at the little boy on his chest, the detective continued. "Hamish? Can you show me where my eyebrows are?" he asked softly, brushing the back of his knuckles across his son's cheek.
With a deep breath, Hamish parted his lips, as if to say something, but then paused, eyebrows pulling together as he thought.
"Would you like a hint?"
"'Es 'ease, Daddy," Hamish whispered quietly, still thinking.
"My eyebrows are just above my eyes," Sherlock murmured slowly, giving his son a reassuring smile.
"Oh!" With a tiny gasp, the little boy quickly leaned forward, hovering over his father's face, a small smile gracing his lips. "My mows," he whispered victoriously, pressing both of tiny hands just above the detective's eyes.
"Excellent, Hamish!" Sherlock cheered proudly, placing a tender hand to his son's bare back. "You're so clever," he added lovingly, pressing a soft kiss to Hamish's cheek.
"Hmm, Daddy," the little boy hummed contently, falling forward slightly as a new wave of exhaustion washed over him. "So'h, Da'ey," he managed, eyes starting to droop as he tried to push himself back into a sitting position.
"Shh, it's all right, Hamish," Sherlock chuckled softly, cradling Hamish's head in his hand. "Are you sleepy now?"
"Hmm. 'Es seep, Daddy," the little boy murmured, collapsing forward as he yawned again. Sighing as he allowed his eyes to slip shut, Hamish let his hands slide from Sherlock's face, draping them loosely around his neck. "Nap tie."
"That's what I thought," the detective murmured jokingly. Moving slowly, Sherlock continued to cradle Hamish's head close and sat up, snatching the little boy's blanket as he did so. "Have a good sleep, Hamish," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his son's temple.
"Mmm," the little boy responded sleepily, eyes quickly flitting open and then shut again.
A small, tender smile on his lips, Sherlock moved into his room, gently patting Hamish on the back as he went, and then set the little boy's tired form on the bed. "There you are," he whispered gently, tucking his son under the covers with the blanket. "Rest well."
"'Es, Da'ey," Hamish managed, curling forward and clutching the blanket close.
With a light chuckle, Sherlock placed a tender hand to the side of his son's head and bent down, pressing a loving kiss to his cheek.
"Nigh'..."
"Goodnight, Hamish," Sherlock whispered, running his thumb across Hamish's eyebrow.
Shortly after he had put Hamish down for his nap, Sherlock started to work on a case Lestrade had handed him a few days back, just after New Year's Eve. Eager to dive in, as he recalled the details seemed interesting, the detective grabbed the case file and hurried back into the kitchen, sitting down at his microscope and pulling out the papers in the folder.
"Novel," he murmured aloud, an almost mischievous half-smile tugging up one corner of his lips as his eyes quickly scanned over the information. Glad for the much-needed mind stimulation, Sherlock eagerly adjusted his microscope and peered into the lens.
"Daddy?"
Sherlock was pulled away from his thoughts by the sound of his son's tiny voice coming from behind him.
"Hamish?" Quickly setting the papers in his hand on the kitchen table, the detective turned around to see Hamish, blanket in hand, face light pink, rubbing his chubby fist into one of his eyes. "Is something wrong?" he asked softly, gazing with fond eyes at the little boy.
"No, Daddy. Up."
"Yes, you are up, aren't you?" Sherlock chuckled, getting off the stool and walking over to Hamish. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, pulling the small boy into his arms.
"'Es, Daddy." Hamish hummed contently, leaning his head against his father's jaw as they made their way into the sitting room.
"Good." Gently smoothing down his son's wild curls, Sherlock knelt down, and placed Hamish on the ground. The detective kept a firm hold around the little boy's middle as he swayed back and forth, still sleepy from the nap. "All right?" he chuckled fondly, splaying his hand across his son's back to steady him.
"Mmm. Hame 'kay, Daddy." The little boy managed a weak smile for his father, the hand he had around Sherlock's collar clenching and unclenching as he yawned.
"All right," Sherlock chuckled, moving some of Hamish's hair out of his eyes. "Hamish? I need to go work on a case right now, but John should be back in less than an hour. Will you be all right?"
"'Es, Daddy," the little boy smiled, leaning forward to give the detective a loose hug.
"Good. Thank you, Hamish," Sherlock replied gratefully, pressing his son closer as he placed a quick, gentle kiss to the little boy's nose. "Mmm. Thank you!" With a quick rub up and down his tiny back, the detective turned on his heel, eyes glowing with excitement.
John returned home shortly after, and ended up spending nearly an hour outside with Hamish, playing in the snow, which was quickly becoming one of the little boy's favorite pasttimes.
The trio ate a quiet dinner, though Sherlock sat mostly at his microscope the entire time, determined to solve the case that night. When, however, nighttime started to fall, and he did not appear to making an progress, the detective decided to step away and take a break.
"Goodnight, Hamish. I love you," Sherlock murmured, planting a quick kiss to his son's head. Smiling lovingly, the detective turned, heading for the door.
"Daddy?" Hamish asked quietly, calling his father back.
Instantly hearing a strange change in his son's voice, Sherlock turned, and hurried back over to the bed.
"Yes, Hamish? What's wrong?" he asked gently, sitting down and pulling the little boy into his arms.
Frowning, Hamish stared down at the ground, not knowing how to phrase what he was wanting to say. "Hame... Fell fun," he managed quietly, hoping Sherlock would understand what he meant.
"You feel funny?" the detective asked confusedly, gazing down at the little boy with a questioning gaze. "Meaning you feel unusual?"
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish answered quietly, staring up at his father with wide, worried eyes.
Brows pulling together in a worry of his own, Sherlock subconsciously pulled his son's tiny form closer, wrapping his arms around the little boy's small body. "Do you feel sick?" he murmured, checking Hamish's forehead for signs of a fever.
"No. No, Daddy." Shaking his head and with his small lips drawn down into a frown, Hamish shifted in his father's arms, finding the detective's hand. "Daddy," he stated, placing Sherlock's fingers over his chest and covering the detective's hand with both of his own. "Fell fun." Eyes quickly filling with tears, the little boy stared up at his father, the frown deepening on his tiny face.
"You feel funny in your chest?" Sherlock asked softly, gently stroking his thumb back and forth across his son's collarbone.
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish sniffled, a single tear spilling free.
"Shh," Sherlock soothed, keeping his hand on the little boy's bare chest as he pulled him close. "How about I stay here with you, then?"
"'Ease, Daddy," Hamish whimpered, nodding against his father's chest.
"All right." Worried about his son's behavior, Sherlock slowly rolled onto his side and pressed the little boy close to his chest, running his thumb over the small clavicle again. "Shh... It's all right, Hamish. I've got you," he murmured, bending down and pressing his lips to the top of his son's head in a tender kiss.
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish whispered, quickly snuggling into Sherlock's comforting touch. "No like."
"I know... I'm sorry." Hoping to ease some of his son's worry, the detective started to gently run his fingertips through the little boy's hair. "Try to get some rest."
"Hmm... 'Kay, Daddy."
Lulled by his father's gentle touches, Hamish's body quickly went limp in the detective's arms as his breathing quickly returned to normal.
"Goodnight, Hamish... I love you," Sherlock murmured, pressing another tender kiss to his son's auburn curls.
"Mmm. 'Ove, Da'ey," the little boy managed, nuzzling closer to his father's chest before quickly falling asleep.
Despite the mild anxiety he had felt, Sherlock quickly relaxed as he felt Hamish's heart, normal and steady, beating under his hand. The detective couldn't help but smile at the feel of the gentle thumping against his skin. Watching with fond eyes as his son slept, Sherlock continued to stroke his fingers through the little boy's silky hair, smiling to himself every time Hamish would sigh in his sleep, the small sound sending a wave of warmth through his body.
Sherlock was quickly pulled away from his thoughts, though, by the feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket. Not wanting to wake Hamish, the detective quickly removed his hand from the back of the little boy's head and pulled out the mobile. Mycroft. Wanting to thank him for the picture of Hamish he'd gotten for Christmas, Sherlock managed to slowly roll off the bed without waking the little boy.
"I love you," he murmured one last time as he tucked his son's small form under the covers. "Goodnight, Hamish." With an incredibly tender kiss to the little boy's forehead, Sherlock quickly slipped out of the room, preparing to answer the call.
Wanting privacy, though, and noticing that John was in the sitting room watching telly, the detective silently made his way down the stairs, deciding he would go outside not just for privacy, but also in the hope that the fresh air would do him some good to solve the case.
"Hello?" he answered, quickly pressing the phone to his ear.
"Sherlock, listen to me," Mycroft hissed through the other end of the line. "You need to get back inside right now... Sherlock! Get inside and lock the doors! Now! Sherlock, why aren't you listening to me?"
"Wait, what? Why, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked confusedly, not understanding what his brother was speaking of and why he was talking so urgently.
"It doesn't matter, Sherlock! You need to get John's gun. My people are almost there, but—"
"Mycroft! Just tell me what the hell is happening!" Sherlock cried, frustrated. Though he didn't understand why, the detective turned around, fumbling with the keys as he tried to unlock the door.
"Because!" Mycroft all-but-shouted. "There's—"
Sherlock instantly tensed upon hearing the sound of approaching footsteps and then a low, dark voice. "Good evening, Mr. Homes."
Then all went black.