Hey guys! So sorry for the wait; been suffering with a bit of writer's block on this chapter, so it's taken me awhile to figure out where I wanted to go. It was most unpleasant, and as such I seriously plan on not going through it again! =) And, in an effort to compensate, I already have most of the next chapter written up, so hopefully that'll be up very soon. Once again, so sorry my brain has been on shut-down! School just started back up for me and I've had an absolutely ridiculous amount of homework, which, admittedly, is a pretty poor excuse. So, so sorry for the delay, it's been absolutely atrocious of me! I really appreciate all who are still with this, and I hope my delay hasn't put you off too much! =/ And I promise, updating will be back on schedule! I'm finally over my sickness (as of two days ago!) and am ready for school (well… nah, not really). =D Thanks guys! I really, honestly and truly do appreciate all who review, favorite and follow, no matter how many times I say it. It's you all who give me encouragement, so thank you very, very much! Love you!
Also, so sorry this chapter is so long! I'm afraid once I started writing again after the block, I just got a little carried away! =) Also (again) I apologize in advance for the mistakes, please forgive those! And thank you to those two lovely guests who left such sweet comments on the last chapter, by the way, they were very encouraging! =)
Chapter Forty-One: The Birthday Present
"Hello, guys! I told you I'd be back before you left!"John called as he unlocked the door to 221B. Hurrying up the stairs, the doctor entered the small flat. Frowning as he noticed the flat was silent and empty, John tucked his keys away into his pockets and quickly poked his head into the kitchen. "Mmm," he hummed confusedly as he found the room to be empty, as well. Treading softly, John carefully let himself into Sherlock's room, squinting as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. "Ah," murmured fondly to himself at the scene in front, a small smile slowly creeping over his lips.
Sherlock was sitting in a kitchen chair, though his head was resting on his crossed arms, on top of the bed. "Good morning, Hame," the doctor whispered, giving a small wave of his fingers to his little flat mate, who had both of his hands tangled in Sherlock's raven hair and was gently playing with the curls.
"Morn', John," Hamish whispered back, just as quietly, giving the doctor a content little smile before falling into a fit of silent giggles as some of his father's curls tickled his bare stomach and legs.
"Morning… Where's you're clothes, little man?"
"Off!" the small boy declared proudly, before gesturing behind him to the pile of discarded fabric. "Not like. Get hot."
"Ah, right, right," John chuckled softly, smiling at Hamish. "What are you doing there, hmm?"
"Play Daddy's hair. Bat'mu'ful, John. An' soft," the little boy whispered, giving his father's form a warm smile as he absently twirled a lock of hair through his tiny fingers.
"Ah, you think so, hmm?"
"Mmm-hmm. Like Hame hair."
"Yes, Daddy's hair is like your hair, isn't it?" John chuckled, gazing fondly at the scene before him. "Is Daddy awake yet?"
"Yes," came the deep, rumbling voice of Sherlock, causing John to nearly jump. "Daddy's been up for quite some time, hasn't he?" the detective drawled, though John could hear the smile in his voice.
"Oh. Up, Daddy?" Hamish whispered worriedly, fingers stilling in the detective's raven curls. "Hame wake?" he worried, bending down to quickly gaze at his father's turned face.
"Mmm," Sherlock hummed lazily, giving his son a sleepy smile. "No, you didn't," he whispered in a reassuring tone. With a soft huff of breath, and a groan, the detective mustered enough strength to stretch forward and press a tender kiss to Hamish's cheek, so close in proximity to his own. "You didn't wake me," he chuckled deeply as he pulled away to rest his head back on his forearms again, allowing his eyes to slide shut.
"Oh… 'Kay," the little boy replied skeptically, absentmindedly tugging at his father's curls as he merely continued to inspect Sherlock's face.
Sensing that his son was still consternating whether he was all right or not, the detective gently chuckled to himself before opening his eyes once again. "And that was lovely, by the way; please do continue," he rumbled, gesturing upwards with his eyes.
"Like?"
"Mmm, very much so," Sherlock reassured fondly, closing his eyes once again as a way to encourage Hamish to keep going. The detective smiled as he felt his son's hair relax once again in his hair and heard the little boy's unintelligible whispers to himself.
"'Kay, Daddy," Hamish whispered, now happy once again, as he moved away from his position, just inches from Sherlock's face and sat back up once again.
"Not. A word, John," Sherlock enunciated, already sensing the playful tease poised on his flat mate's tongue. "He enjoys it."
"As do you," the doctor mouthed, quirking his lips up at Sherlock.
"Mmm," the detective merely hummed in reply, closing his eyes and ignoring his friend's smirk as Hamish continued to card tiny fingers through his curls.
"I'll make some breakfast, then," John chuckled light-heartedly, sending Hamish a wink before slipping out of the room.
"Cereal. Dull."
"What, Daddy?" Hamish hummed, still quite content with the situation.
"John. He's making cereal for breakfast. How incredibly dull," Sherlock explained, voice muffled as he spoke into his arms.
"What is, Daddy?"
"Dull… Means boring. Uneventful. Insufferable," the detective added, scowling into his skin.
"Oh. Not nice, Daddy," Hamish scolded. Frowning, the little boy pulled his fingers from Sherlock's hair and moved himself until he was lying on his belly, face to face with the detective, and almost in the exact same position, with his smaller head resting on his crossed, little arms. "Not nice."
"What isn't?" Sherlock murmured fondly, steel eyes scanning his son's face.
"Daddy say John dull. Not nice," Hamish scolded again, scowling at his father.
"Ah, I see. You're right; I suppose that wasn't very nice of me, was it?"
"No. Not, Daddy."
Chuckling lovingly, Sherlock disentangled an arm so he could stroke a few fingers up and down Hamish's temple. His striking eyes gracefully swept over his son's face, taking in the little boy's perfect features. Sherlock had discovered that he found it incredibly fascinating to watch Hamish think and work through problems. He enjoyed the way his son's faint eyebrows would tug together, and how his bottom lip would jut out just slightly.
A warm smile on his lips, Sherlock murmured playfully, "What will you have me do, then?"
"Go say sorry," Hamish answered with a firm nod of his head. "'Es. Prom'kiss?"
Unable to help himself, Sherlock laughed aloud and grinned at the earnest gleam in his son's green eyes. "Promise," he whispered, brushing a few slender fingers behind the shell of Hamish's tiny ear.
"Good, Daddy," the little boy approved, giving Sherlock a pleased nod and smile.
"Good. I'm glad you're pleased," the detective laughed with a raised eyebrow at Hamish's clearly content form.
"'Es, Daddy." Grinning sweetly to himself, and obviously deciding the conversation was over and settled, Hamish gave a light sigh, eliciting a smile from his father, before spinning himself on the bed until his body was parallel with the edge of the bed. "Stay, Daddy?"
"Of course. If you want to," Sherlock whispered, smiling at his son's smaller form.
"Ta, Daddy." Heaving a tiny sigh, Hamish pressed a gentle palm to his father's cheek. "Lay here?" he asked timidly, pointing to the detective's arm, which was currently obscured by his face.
"Oh. Most certainly," Sherlock replied, lifting his head up to allow access.
"Mmm," Hamish hummed. "Ta." Grinning at his father, Hamish kept his small hand on Sherlock's sharp cheekbone before resting his head on the detective's forearm and nuzzling close, his auburn curls brushing ever so slightly against Sherlock's jaw.
"You're most certainly welcome," the detective murmured softly in reply, enjoying the ticklish feeling of Hamish snuggling against his arms. Huffing a sigh of his own, Sherlock rested his head on the bed , setting comfortably into the feel of the duvet as he watched his son's sweet form resting against his arms. "I love you, Hamish," he whispered suddenly, stroking a few fingers of his free hand over and across the little boy's cheeks and forehead.
Eyes fluttering open at his father's words, Hamish gave the detective a tiny smile. "Hame know, Daddy," he whispered, chubby fingers curling against the hollow in Sherlock's cheeks as his eyes fell shut again.
"I know you do," the detective whispered with a smile.
"So tonight is all right and booked and prepared and—"
"Yes, brother. I am not actually as incapable as you think me to be."
"Mmm. Fine. Let me know when we're to come."
"Of course. Stop worrying."
"Worrying? I'm not worrying, I'm completely calm."
"You're worrying."
"I'm not—"
"It's not a debate. He will love it. I will ring you when it's time."
"Yes. Goodbye."
"Bye, Unk'mel My!" Hamish called, much louder than was necessary, from his position on the couch.
"Hamish says bye," Sherlock chuckled into the mobile, gazing at his son from across the room.
"So I heard. Tell him I said goodbye, as well."
"Yes." With a soft click the line was empty. "Uncle Mycroft says goodbye, Hamish," the detective conveyed and he strode across the room to collapse into his chair, opposite John.
"He'o My!" the little boy called, though he too was preoccupied with his toes to notice that his father was no longer on the phone.
John and Sherlock chuckled with each other, exchanging a quick smile before returning to each other's respective tasks. "Mmm," Sherlock hummed as he quickly tapped away on his phone, researching information on a cold case Lestrade had handed him, in an effort to relieve his nerves and impatience for the approaching night's actions. "John?"
"Hmm?"
"What do you know about poisonous frogs?"
Putting down the book he was reading, John fixed his flat mate with a look of utter confusion. "Poisonous. Frogs."
"Yes, yes, poisons frogs," Sherlock muttered hurriedly, frowning as he flicked a long finger over the screen of the phone. "Do you know anything about them?"
"No, Sherlock," John drawled sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know anything about poisonous frogs. I'm a bloody doctor."
"No need for hostility," Sherlock remarked with a slight pout before quickly regaining his composure. He dared a quick glance towards Hamish, who was seated atop the couch, and smiled fondly to himself at the sight before quickly returning to the case.
"Dart frog!" Sherlock cried suddenly from his position at the microscope, causing Hamish to awaken with a jump where he was seated in his lap.
"What, Daddy?" the little boy grumbled, unhappy at having been so rudely awoken from his quick nap.
"Oh. Sorry, Hamish," Sherlock chuckled, placing an apologetic kiss to his son's curls.
"It 'kay, Daddy…" Yawning and attempting to rub the tiredness from his eyes, Hamish pressed a tiny, curled up fist into one of eyes while he shoved his face against Sherlock's chest.
"What are you on about?" John asked from where he was attempting to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Hamish.
"Dart frog," Sherlock explained quietly and with less physical enthusiasm, so as not to further disturb Hamish, who was now snoozing comfortably against his chest. "It was poison from the dart frog that killed Mr. Sanders! See?" he said in a hushed tone, grinning at his flat mate.
"No, but that's all right," the doctor replied distractedly.
"No what?"
"No, I don't see how it was poison, but that's all right."
"Oh. Well it's quite simple, really. I merely looked at the—"
"Don't care."
"Well, then," Sherlock huffed, scowling at the doctor. "I'll just tell Hamish when he wakes up. I'm sure he'll find it much more intriguing."
"Yep, probably. What?"
"Poison. Dart frog. Mr. Sanders," the detective replied with a raised eyebrow, sounding incredibly bored as he frowned at John's frantic form.
"Oh. Right." Giving a slight shake of his head, the doctor sat down at the table, seemingly normal once again, the dazed expression replaced by a warm smile as he gazed at his small flat mate. "Wow, he's zonkered. Guess we all wore him out yesterday… How long were you two up before I came?" A scoff.
"Too long," Sherlock groaned with a dramatic eye roll, though he was contradicting himself by carding a few fingers fondly through Hamish's curls.
"Uh-huh. And how long is too long?"
"A few hours. He awoke five hours and twenty-two minutes after you left and then promptly began to play with my hair, I assume because it was the closest object of interest at the time; during the night I had apparently shifted in my sleep, because I awoke with my head on the bed. Anyway, I naturally woke at the feeling of this little one's fingers tugging at my hair," Sherlock chuckled fondly as Hamish sighed into his chest and clutched a fistful of his shirt in his little fist. "Oh. Umm." Quickly regaining his composure, the detective continued, a slight blush rising on his high cheekbones at the chuckle and smirk from John. "I suppose… The sensation was not quite as horrible as I was anticipating," he admitted embarrassedly, finding a sudden interest in Hamish's curled toes.
"You enjoyed it," John sighed in utter amazement, lips curling up at the corners.
"… A bit."
"Aha! I knew it! There is a heart somewhere in there!" John cried triumphantly, now grinning.
"Oh, come on John, of course I have a heart. I would be physically impossibly for me to live without one."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"… Perhaps."
"Uh-huh. Fine, be like that," the doctor chuckled at his friend's averted gaze. "Anyway! So are you ready to tell me what the big surprise is?"
"Mmm… Nope. That's all right, I'm fine, thank you."
"Wait, why not?"
"Perhaps I wish it to be a surprise for you as well."
"No, you don't," John accused, crossing his arms over his chest."
"No. I don't. It's just fun for me to watch you think very, very hard, attempt to figure out the surprise and then fail. It's quite enjoyable," the detective explained, now immensely amused by his flat mate's blushing cheeks and pursed lips.
"Fine, then. You can make him lunch," John huffed, having forgotten that he had already made the small boy lunch.
"Ah. thank you," Sherlock murmured smugly as John stomped into the living room, stretching a long arm forward to pull the plate with the sandwich to him.
"Not nice, Daddy," came Hamish's tiny voice, muffle significantly, as he still had his mouth hand face shoved into his father's chest.
"I thought you were asleep, love," the detective laughed, thoroughly impressed his son had managed to slip such a thing by him. "Very good job…" he murmured, chuckling aloud as he felt Hamish grin into his shirt. "I'm glad you're amused."
"Mmm. 'Es, Daddy," Hamish replied, a hint of drowsiness lacing his tiny voice.
An endearing smile twitching over his lips, the detective carefully stood, chuckling at the unhappy grunt and mumble he received, before moving into his room and setting Hamish's sleepy form down on the bed.
"Mmmda," the little boy hummed, as a tiny smile danced over his lips when he felt Sherlock start to card a few fingers through his hair. The sight sent a warm, paternal flutter up and down the detective's spine, before it settled as a warm fluttering in his stomach. "Look what you've done, Hamish," he whispered, though the small boy was already fast asleep. "You've made me all soft… Mmm. But that's all right… I don't mind all that much, I suppose." With one last, fond smile, the detective pressed a soft kiss to Hamish's temple before tucking him under the duvet and slipping from the room.
Hand in hand with Hamish, John entered the sitting room, a sippy cup in his free hand as he paused in the entryway. "What are you doing?" he asked, staring confusedly at Sherlock's form. The detective was perched on the edge of his chair, fingers pressed firmly against his lips as he stared intently at his mobile, resting across the room on the couch.
"Umm... Having a go at telekinesis are we?" the doctor tried, heaving a sigh as he lifted Hamish onto his waist with one arm.
"It should... Be happening..."
"What should?"
"Any moment... Now..."
"Daddy." Squirming slightly in John's arms, the little boy tapped the doctor on the nose and then pointed towards the ground. "Down 'ease, John."
"Oh. Right, yes, of course." With an amused chuckle, the doctor placed a very concerned-looking Hamish on the floor. Almost immediately, the little boy made a haphazard dash for the couch. "Mmm-uhh," he hummed thoughtfully as he went up on tiptoe to snatch Sherlock's phone. A wide, clearly satisfied grin on his lips, Hamish turned around, and, nearly tripping over his feet, toddled over to Sherlock, who was watching him with curious, yet proud eyes.
"Got," the little boy breathed, holding the heavy mobile out in two hands, as it was too big and heavy for only one. When his father only continued to grin at him, Hamish huffed a slight sigh, though the triumphant smile never left his tiny lips, and rather clumsily, managed to grab ahold of the sleeve of Sherlock's suit jacket, phone clasped between his little fingers. "Oh. Here Daddy!" he exclaimed, after he had pulled the detective's thin hands down and onto his thighs. "Got for."
"You got this for me?" Sherlock gaped, grinning exaggeratedly and gratefully at his son's impossibly sweet face, ignoring the fact that he hadn't actually needed his mobile.
"Mmm-hmm. Good."
"Excellent! You're very bright, Hamish," the detective praised truthfully, bending down to plant a quick, yet tender kiss to his son's forehead. "That was very thoughtful of you to get that for me."
"Good," Hamish giggled, clearly pleased. With a content little sigh, the small boy leaned forward and wrapped a single arm around his father's calf, snuggling against the detective's knee as he gazed off into nowhere.
"What are you thinking about?" Sherlock asked quietly, not wanting to disturb his son's thought process too much.
Quite clearly amazed, Hamish pulled away so he could stare up at the detective, mouth hanging open slightly and eyes wide. "How know, Daddy?"
"I'm you're father, Hamish," Sherlock explained with a playful raise of his eyebrow. "Sherlock Holmes. The Sherlock Holmes. I know everything."
"Please!" John scoffed.
"It's true," the detective said seriously, ignoring his flat mate's outburst. "I can read your mind. Right. Now."
"No," Hamish gasped in amazement. "Real, Daddy?"
"Mmm-hmm. What me to take a guess?" Sherlock chuckled, a genuine smile gracing his cupid's bow lips and he pulled the amazed boy onto his lap.
"Mmm."
"Very well then... You... Were thinking… About Mr. Peter Rabbit."
Though his eyes were already wide, Hamish's seem to grow even more. "Wow, Daddy," he gasped in sheer wonder, a wide grin spreading over his lips as he glanced towards John, as if to see if the doctor had heard it, too.
"Oh, come on! Lucky guess!" the doctor reasoned, shaking a disbelieving head at his smirking flat mate.
"I never guess."
"Yes you do."
"Please, John. He was staring in the direction of my room, his fingers and forearm were curled in such a way that suggested he was mimicking holding a stuffed animal. Put two and two together: stuffed animal. And, judging by the angle of his arm, the animal of choice was Peter. Simple. Oh! About bloody time!" the detective cried, startling Hamish in the process, as his mobile went off his hand, he loud ringing causing the small boy the cringe and cover his ears. "It is all set, then?" Sherlock asked anxiously, not even bothering with social graces.
"Ugh, yes brother. Everything is all set. You two can come over whenever you wish."
"Two? John is with us, you realize?"
"Oh. No, I hadn't... I suppose... Well, I just thought with the marriage quickly approaching that all would be seeing less and less of the good doctor." Sherlock could practically hear the smug grin in his brother's accusing tone.
"Not funny, Mycroft."
"I wasn't trying."
"No, of course not. Yes, John is coming with us. Good?"
"Very well. I will meet you there."
"You? Why are you coming?"
"Your assumptions must be seriously dwindling in accuracy if you think I'm only going to give my precious nephew a tie for his birthday. This is my present. I shall most certainly be there to claim the satisfaction."
"Mmm. Very well. We'll get ready."
"Yes."
"Still not going to tell me where we're going?" John asked accusingly as Sherlock ended the call with his brother.
"Nnn-ope!" the detective declared shooting his flat mate one of his smug grins. "You'll see. Just calm down." Smiling, Sherlock placed Hamish on the ground in one swift, careful move and then strode over to the door to grab his coat. "Ooh, come here!" the detective exclaims joyfully, running back to scoop his son up into his arms.
"Daddy!" the little boy giggled, gripping onto the lapel of the Bellstaff with a tiny hand. "What is doing, Daddy?"
"We are all going out for dinner at Angelo's and then you're going to get a late birthday gift, hmm?"
"Ah! 'Kay, Daddy!" Suddenly excited at the prospect of getting another gift, and one his father was clearly excited about, Hamish squirmed in the detective's arms until he was set on the ground and then ran over to the landing of the stairs. With a tiny grunt of effort, the small boy squatted down, just out view of John and Sherlock.
"What's he doing?"
"Unknown."
"Stay, Daddy! Hame come!" Desired object in hand, Hamish turned around and toddled back into the sitting room. Both adults immediately broke out into a fit of laughter.
"Ah," Sherlock laughed, kneeling down in front of his son and holding his hand out. "We're very eager tonight, aren't we? Mmm. Must be if you're actually getting your shoes of your own free will," the detective chuckled as Hamish gleefully placed the tiny shoes in his palm. "Duly noted."
"Ah, ah, ah. No. Absolutely not."
"And why ever not?" Sherlock whined, already starting to pull the little shoes onto Hamish's feet.
"Because I will not be having you use the thought of a surprise as a bribing tactic; you and I both know that you'll end up lying at some point, and I'd hate to be in your position when you face the revenge of a very disappointed Hamish."
"Mmm… Logical," Sherlock concluded with a satisfied nod of his head. "Right, then… What else do we need?"
"Coat, Daddy," Hamish giggled, fixing his father with a 'don't be silly' eye roll.
"Ah, right. Yes of course. Thank you." Grinning at the likeness between him and Hamish, the detective quickly found the little boy's jacket and then squatted back down, tossing his own jacket gracefully behind him as he tugged the fabric of Hamish's arms. "There. Perfect," he murmured gently patting his son on either side of the arms.
"An' Daddy," Hamish hummed, a precious smile gracing his features as he placed both hands to either side of Sherlock's face to steady himself as he fell forward.
"Mmm. Thank you." Contorting his lips every so slightly, Sherlock turned so he could place a kiss to his son's palm with the corner of his lips. "Right, then! Come along. To Angelo's!"
"Fish and chips."
"No, Daddy. Want."
"Hamish, you don't even like pasta, trust me."
"...Prom'kiss?"
"Promise. Fish and chips."
"Uhm… 'Kay."
"There's my boy. Just the fish and chips, then. John? What do you want?" Sherlock asked, handing the menu back to Angelo in exchange for a package of crayons for Hamish. "There you are."
"I would actually love the pasta. Thanks, Angelo."
"Oh, you're most certainly welcome, John! Been far too long since I've seen you two, how have you been?"
"Uh, very good," John answered, as Sherlock was too busy helping Hamish draw something to even notice Angelo had spoken. "I'm engaged, Hamish is—"
"Oh! You two are finally doing it then! About time, we've all been waiting for the day—"
"No, no, no, not Sherlock and I," John explained quickly, daring a glance towards Hamish who was now staring very confusedly at him while Sherlock smirked.
"John an' Mary not?" Hamish asked worriedly, making an attempt to crawl from where he was seated on Sherlock's lap to get to the doctor.
"No, no, Hamish, don't worry Mary and I are still—"
"Mary! A woman?"
"Yes, yes a woman, of course!"
"But! But a woman!" Angelo exclaimed, now looking more confused than Hamish, who was quickly becoming unsettled by the loud shouting.
"Oh for God's sake!" Sherlock added, tenderly tugging Hamish back onto his lap and placing a reassuring hand atop his small fingers. "Angelo, John is not gay, he is engaged to a woman named Mary, we are still not a couple, yes Hamish is doing wonderfully, and we're out for his birthday."
Hamish was gazing anxiously at Angelo who now looked terribly heartbroken. "Right, then," he muttered with a tiny nod of his head. "I'll get those orders right in, then."
"Thank you," Sherlock thanked, completely unaware of Angelo's distress.
"Well, that was lovely," John mumbled embarrassedly, kneading a few fingers into his temple as he managed a reassuring smile for his tiny flat mate, who was growing at him. "It's all right, little man. Don't worry; Mary and I are still getting married."
"Oh…" Clearly unconvinced, but realizing he would not be getting any further, Hamish merely snuggled further into Sherlock's torso and quickly returning to his drawing.
"Ah, that's lovely," John managed, with a pleasant nod towards the drawing situated in front of Hamish. "What is it? An elephant?"
"Hardly! That is obviously a dog, John," Sherlock scolded with a disapproving glance to his flat mate. "Right?"
"Mmm-hmm," the little boy conceded distractedly as he continued with a crayon clutched in his tiny grasp.
"Ah, right. Well, of course I should have known that."
"Yes, I'm glad you agree."
"Oh boy. This is going to be fun," the doctor remarked, before taking a large gulp of his wine.
"Come along, Hamish," Sherlock murmured fondly as he waited for the little boy to pull on his coat.
"Ah!" Hamish sighed once he'd successfully managed to push both of his arms through the holes. "'Kay, Daddy. Hame good. Go now?" he giggled, as he hurried over to the detective, huddling close to his leg in the brisk even air.
"Are you cold?"
"Tiny."
"A tiny bit, hmm? Well we most certainly cannot have that, can we?" Smiling sadly as Hamish shivered into his thigh, Sherlock bent down and pulled his son into his arms. "Oh, come here, little one," he whispered, pausing slightly at the shock of his own use of such a pet name.
"What say, Daddy?" Hamish giggled as he settled into the detective's hold.
"That… Is an excellent question," Sherlock answered, rather confusedly, not haven an answer, himself.
"Hmm," Hamish giggled at his father's response and obvious confusion. "Daddy?" he asked cheerfully, giving Sherlock a tiny tap on the chin.
"What? Oh. Yes, what is it?"
"Hame like."
"You do?"
"Mmm-hmm. Ba'cas Hame tiny," the small boy explained with a content smile on the corner of his lips.
"Because you're tiny," Sherlock echoed. "Very sound logic." With a warm smile, the detective suddenly leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to his son's chill nose. "Oh, you poor thing. You are cold. Here you go. Better?" the detective asked worriedly as he tucked Hamish's head under his chin and into the folds his coat.
"Mmm-hmm. 'Etter, Daddy."
"Good, I'm glad… Oh. It looks like John's finally got a cab. Come along, then! Ready for your surprise?" Sherlock asked, incredibly excited.
"'Es, Daddy!" Hamish cried into the detective's skin, wrapping his little arms firmly around his father's neck.
"My thoughts exactly!"
"No way," John said as the exited the cab, Hamish still wrapped snuggly both in Sherlock's arms and coat.
"Oh yes," the detective grinned, gently jostling awake his son, who had started to doze off in his arms. "Hamish. Hamish, love, wake up! We're here!"
"Mmm," the little boy moaned softly, forcing his eyes open. "What, Daddy?" he asked groggily, gazing up at the detective from where he was so comfortably resting."
"Here. Look!" Practically jumping with excitement and anticipation, Sherlock gently spun Hamish's small form in his arms until the little boy was facing forward, sitting on a seat he had made out of his forearms.
All drowsiness immediately dissipating, Hamish, too, started to vibrate with excitement. "Daddy!" he squealed, clapping his chubby hands together as he stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the building in front of him. "Fishies!"
"You rented out the entire aquarium," John whispered, still clearly shocked as he saw Mycroft standing on the top steps, twirling his umbrella as usual. "The entire… Bloody… Aquarium?"
"Precisely! Leaving John's still-gaping form behind, Sherlock quickly surged forward, carrying Hamish, who was now hugging him profusely, up the steps to Mycroft.
"Unk'mel My!" the little boy called as he caught sight of his uncle, who immediately returned the excitement with a warm smile.
"Why hello, there, Hamish!"
"Unk'mel My, look, look! Fishies!"
"Yes, I see. Happy Birthday, Hamish," Mycroft laughed aloud, sharing a genuine smile with Sherlock, who quickly set a very eager Hamish on the ground.
"Where's John? Ah. Flabergasted, are we?" the government official drawled as John finally made his way up the stairs.
"Well a bit, yeah. That boy is so spoiled."
"That's exactly the point," Mycroft and Sherlock both answered simultaneously, quickly sharing a glare with each other, before each was drawn back to the present my Hamish's delighted squeals. "Go in, Daddy? 'Ease?" he begged, hurrying over and taking ahold of Sherlock's much larger hand in a few of his own fingers. "Hame want see fishes!"
"Of course, of course. Come on, then, let's go!"
Mycroft and John stayed behind for a moment to watch Sherlock rush in the doors with Hamish, disappearing into a sea of blue as the doors shut behind him.
"This was very… Kind of you," John thanked, feeling the gratefulness was such an understatement, though, that he should say something more.
"No, not at all. I was more than happy to do it. Wasn't difficult at all. And Hamish is quite happy, so that's all that matters, right?"
"I suppose but… Geez, the whole bloody aquarium."
"Mmm," Mycroft hummed, clearly pleased with himself. "Yes, it's quite nice isn't it?"
John merely scoffed a chuckle in reply.
"Well, then. Shall we go in?"
"Mmm."
Both men paused as the entered the doorway to find Sherlock, Hamish clutched protectively on his hip glaring at someone, clearly an employee, who was scowling right back.
"Oh Lord," Mycroft sighed distastefully with an eye roll as they watched the scene.
"We do not need your assistance, thank you," Sherlock said through gritted teeth, clearly trying to remain calm for the sake of Hamish, though the little boy was also glaring, though in a more sad way, at the employee.
"I beg to differ. You couldn't even—" the man tried, but was quickly cut off by Sherlock's much-taller form towering over him as he moved just a few inches from his face. Angling Hamish's body away, the detective lips twitched up into a sinister smile for the briefest moment before leaning in towards the smaller man's face and whispering something in his ear.
John rolled his eyes as he saw the blood drain from the employee's cheeks and saw the way his form suddenly went rigid.
"Very good, sir, " the young man stuttered suddenly as Sherlock pulled away, face completely smoothed of all the sinister quality it had had just moments ago. "I'll just uhh… Be off then." Turning on his heel, the man quickly exited the entry and disappeared.
"That's what I thought," Sherlock's deep voice rumbled as he turned to Hamish, who was subconciously clinging to his sleeve and fingers. "It's all right," he reassured gently, running a finger careful finger over the little boy's cheek. "It's all right…"
"Not nice, Daddy," Hamish whispered, gazing off in the direction the man had left. With a tiny intake of breath, the small boy leaned to the side and pressed his cheek against Sherlock's arm. "Not nice…"
"I know it wasn't," the detective whispered sadly, leaning so he could rest his cheek atop his son's smaller head. "And don't you believe a word of it for a minute… You're positively brilliant, love," he continued softly and in a reassuring way, barely even noticing John and Mycroft hovering close by.
"Why did say, Daddy?" Hamish sniffled, turning to press his face into the soft fabric of his father's coat.
"Because he's an ignorant, rude, positively stupid, ingrate," Sherlock all-but-spat. "Trust me, love, there's no reason to take any stock in what he said. He's an absolute idiot." The detective smiled sadly as he felt his son give a weak chuckle into his arm.
"Idiot," the small boy repeated.
"Mmm. Very much so," Sherlock murmured with a hint of playfulness in his voice.
"Is dull, Daddy?" Hamish asked, daring a quick peek up at the detective.
"Precisely!" the detective whispered enthusiastically, giving his son's sad form a reassuring wink. "Look at you," he whispered, leaning down to speak in the little boy's ear so only they could hear. "I told you you were positively brilliant. Only a smart little boy could have possibly come up with such a clever explanation. You see?"
"Mmm… 'Kay, Daddy," Hamish replied with a hint of a giggle in his tiny voice.
"There's my boy." Smiling reassuringly, Sherlock pressed his lips to the little boy's temple.
"See fishies?"
"Yes. All of them," Sherlock replied with wide eyes. "And I bet… Mycroft would absolutely love to start the tour, hmm?" he hinted.
"Oh. 'Kay, Daddy." Sniffling softly, Hamish took a quick inhale of breath, smiling as the reassuring smell of his father filled his nostrils before turning to his Uncle. "Unk'mel My?"
"Yes, Hamish? What is it?" Mycroft answered softly.
"Take to fishies?"
"It would be my utmost pleasure," the government official responded. Hooking the handle of his umbrella over his wrist, Mycroft took a step forward and Sherlock transferred Hamish into his brother's arms.
"Go on, then. Tell me how you convinced him."
"Turns out my brother was most distressed after my kidnapping a while back," Shelrock explained softly, keeping a careful eye on Hamish.
"Yeah. So?"
"Guilt is a powerful tool, John," the detective explained with a sly sideways glance.
"Oh—oh, my bloody hell, no you didn't!"
"A little bit," Sherlock answered with an amused twitch of his lips.
"Sherlock, that was positively awful! I'm sure he felt absolutely terrible about what happened to you, and for you to just—"
"Oh, please, mother," the detective ridiculed with an eye roll. "Look at him. He's perfectly happy. He loves being with Hamish, and was more than happy to set this up. Besides, I didn't ask him to book out the entire aquarium. I had only asked for special privileges that we wouldn't have to pay for. It's a win-win, so just calm down… Besides, Hamish is loving it," Sherlock added with a smile towards his son, who was listening intently to whatever Mycroft was explaining to him as he stared into the shining water.
"But, Sherlock, I really don't think you understand the…"
John's voice, though he was still talking, began to slowly fade away as Sherlock watched Hamish, completely focused on the action and movements of his son. The detective's lips quirked up into a smile as he saw the little boy giggle at something Mycroft had clearly said.
"Mmm," he hummed aloud, not even realizing he'd done it.
"What?" John asked, stopping mid-rant.
"Nothing, nothing," the detective murmured with a submissive wave of his hand. "Just uuh…" Not bothering to finish his statement, Sherlock quickly strode forward as he saw Hamish beckon to him. "Having fun?" he asked fondly and with a warm grin as John quickly followed behind.
"Best!" Hamish cried. With a wide grin on his sweet features, the little boy rushed forward and wrapped his chubby arms around Sherlock's knee, pressing his face into the detective's thigh.
"Well good! I'm glad!" Sherlock laughed, tangling the tips of his fingers in his son's silky curls as he exchanged a pleasant smile with his brother and flat mate.
"Oh, oh! Come, Daddy!" Hamish urged, clutching a tiny fistful of Sherlock's coat in his hand. "Show Daddy Nemo an' Dory?"
"I would love you to show me!"
And so, with Sherlock, Mycroft and John taking different turns showing Hamish different parts of the aquarium, void of any people, the four made their way about the building, though most of everything was lead by Sherlock, who carried the small boy on his hip or waist for the rest of the trip, usually riddling off all sorts of information about which fish do what and how they do it upon coming to a new tank. And both Mycroft and John knew that Hamish was positively loving every single moment of it. With each of Sherlock's explanations, the little boy's eyes would brighten and the smile that was now permanently resting on his lips would grow in happiness and wonder.
"Right, then… Back at the beginning," Mycroft declared with a pleasant smile as they reached the entryway again. Hamish, who was situated against Sherlock's side, was nearly asleep in the detective's arms, his eyelids drooping every now and again. His tiny form was swaying back and forth, his head occasionally bumping against the detective's shoulder and jaw as he started to doze.
"Ohh… Well then, I think we'd better be heading home," Sherlock said quietly as he swayed back and forth, gazing fondly at his son's drowsy form.
"Yes… Goodbye, then, Hamish. I had a lovely time," Mycroft chuckled, taking one of the little boy's hands in his own and giving it a minuscule shake.
"Mmm. 'Es, Unk'mel My. Ta much."
"You're most certainly welcome, Hamish. It was my pleasure."
"Hame 'ove," the little boy yawned, cracking open a few eyes to give his uncle a smile.
"I love you very much, as well… Thank you for a wonderful evening."
"Mmm," Hamish giggled tiredly. With a bashful smile, the little boy tucked his head away into the cover of the space between Sherlock's neck and collarbone, making a tiny moaning sound as he yawned again.
"Oh, yes, we're tired," the detective chuckled, pressing his hand to the back of his son's head and stroking a few fingers over the silky curls.
"Yes, we are, aren't we…"
"Thank you very much, Mycroft. He loved it. I uhh… Really appreciate it," Sherlock thanked his brother, managing a warm smile.
"As I said: my pleasure… Good night, John."
"Bye, Mycroft."
"Right, then," Sherlock whispered, following after his brother and into the dark night. "Let's go home, hmm?"
"So. Come on, out with it. What was all that about?" John asked, once they were all situated in the cab and were on their way back to Baker Street.
"What was what all about?"
"You know very well what I'm talking about," the doctor said quietly with a slightly raised brow.
"… Fine. Upon entering, he had told me that he was going to give us a tour. I very politely replied that I was far more knowledgeable about everything than he was, including fish, so he was more than welcome to sod off. He very rudely replied with a few choice words I should not care to repeat and an incredibly unnecessary remark towards Hamish and his… Intellectual capacity, which I refuse to repeat. Needless to say, it upset us both, and if you don't mind, I would prefer not to say anymore," he finished with a clipped tone, tugging Hamish's snoozing form close to his middle as he stared out the window.
"Ah," John sighed, giving a sad smile to his flat mates. "Sorry."
"Me too. But, we're fine now, so…"
"It's okay, Sherlock. We can drop it. I'm sorry he said that."
"Yes, me as well… Not for me but for him," Sherlock murmured softly, making a gesture down to his slumbering son.
John merely nodded slowly in response, listening to the steady rhythm of the tires on the pavement. "Have you given it to him yet?"
"No, not yet," Sherlock whispered, a small smile creeping over his lips. "If he's alert enough when we get home, I'll give it to him then."
"He'll love it."
"I do certainly hope so."
Hamish awoke as Sherlock was carrying him up the stairs to the flat.
"Oh, I'm sorry, love," he apologized quietly. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"It 'kay, Da'ey," the small boy responded with a yawn, stretching his little form out in the detective's arms.
"Should I give it to him?" Sherlock mouthed to John.
"Yeah," the doctor replied with an encouraging smile. "Hey, bud," he whispered gently, placing a hand to Hamish's back as they reached the landing of the stairs. "You're such a big boy. I'll see you tomorrow all right, little man?"
"'Kay, John… 'Ove."
"I love you, too, Hame," John whispered with a smile. "Goodnight," he added with a kiss to the top of the small boy's head. "Sleep well, all right. And take care of Daddy for me."
"Mmm. 'Kay, John," Hamish giggled softly, giving the doctor a tiny wave of his hand. "Say he'o Mary."
"I most certainly will."
"An' 'ove."
"Of course…"
"Ba-bye, John."
"Bye, Hame." Smiling, John, rather reluctantly released his tiny flat mate's hand. "Goodnight, Sherlock," he murmured with a warm smile to his friend.
"Goodnight. Thank you, John, for coming. Sorry I'm…"
"You?"
"Yes," Sherlock scoffed fondly, returning his flat mate's smile with one of his own.
"Right, then. I'll be back tomorrow, yeah? Let me know how much he loves it." With a quick pat on the detective's shoulder and one last kiss for Hamish, John silently slipped down the stairs, leaving Sherlock and his son alone on the landing.
Still smiling slightly to himself, Sherlock walked into the sitting room and knelt down on the ground. "Hamish?" he asked gently, setting the little boy on his feet but keeping a hand on either side of his little body to hold him steady.
"'Es, Daddy?" Hamish asked tiredly, rubbing a fist into his eyes.
"I would like to give you one more gift… If you'll have it."
"A more tres'tent?" the little boy inquired, perking up at the mention.
"Yes… Would you like it now?"
"Mmm-hmm."
Sherlock grinned. "Excellent… All right, close your eyes and hold out your hands," he whispered softly, already reaching into his coat pocket.
"'Kay, Daddy." Smiling, the little boy held out his two tiny hands, making a delicate cup.
"Ready?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Right. Here you go." Moving slowly, Sherlock gently placed the object clasped between his slender fingers in his son's tiny hands. "There you are. Open."
Now grinning, Hamish opened his exceptional green eyes and they fell to the light weight in his hands. "Oh, Daddy," he sighed in amazement, features suddenly going serious as he stared at the gift. In his hands was an incredibly small magnifying glass, nearly identical to the one he had given Sherlock for his birthday all those months ago. " Daddy…"
"Do you like it?" Sherlock asked tenderly, cupping his son's cheek with one hand as he assessed the little boy's soft features.
"Hame 'ove it, Daddy," Hamish whispered. Moving incredibly slowly and with a feather-light touch, the small boy turned the magnifying glass over in his little fingers, deep green eyes examining and memorizing every plane and slope of the gift. "Oh, Daddy," he sighed again, and with a blink was staring into his father's own equally striking eyes.
Sherlock's breath was momentarily stolen from him as he stared back to his son's eyes, amazed by the depth and complexity of them; amazed at how, though he knew it physically impossible, they seemed to go on forever. "Good," was all he was able to manage.
"What wrong, Daddy?" Hamish whispered, clutching the gift between his fingers. "Why sad?"
"Oh, Hamish." Chuckling weakly, Sherlock reached forward and wrapped his long arms around Hamish tiny body, pulling him close to his chest. "I'm not sad, love. I'm so impossibly happy. Sometimes, I just… I have too much love in my heart for you, and I don't know where to put it so… So…"
"It 'kay, Daddy," Hamish reassured. Shifting slightly, the little boy managed to pull an arm free from his father's grasp. "Hame know. All here," he stated, gently patting Sherlock on the chest.
"That's exactly it, Hamish," the detective half-laughed, half-sobbed into his son's hair.
"Sad, Daddy?"
"No. No, not at all… I'm so unbelievably happy, Hamish. You make me unbelievably happy." Sherlock could feel Hamish smile against his chest.
"Daddy give Hame happy."
Unable to reply in a coherent way, Sherlock just laughed, breathing in the sweet smell of his son's hair. "That's good… That's good," he whispered after a moment. "Oh, uhh…" Wiping away a few tears he didn't realize had slipped free, the detective released his grasp on Hamish, but the little boy stayed exactly where he was, keeping his little hand on his chest. "What is it, Hamish?" Sherlock asked, stroking a thumb over his son's brow.
"Here."
"What about it, love?"
"Too much 'ove?" Hamish asked earnestly, glancing down to the magnifying glass in his chubby fingers.
"I… That's exactly it, Hamish. Too much love… You just… Oh, Hamish you amaze me," he sighed in awe, letting his hand slip from the little boy's face and rest on his tiny collarbone. His thumb rested over the hidden little scar, as if obscuring it from all memory.
"It 'kay, Daddy." Keeping the gift in his fingers, and not removing his hand from his father's chest, Hamish placed his free hand over his own heart. "Hame same," he reassured with a smile Sherlock could only describe as understanding.
"Oh, I love you, Hamish," he laughed aloud, unable to fight the urge to plant a kiss to his son's forehead. "So much… You're my little one, aren't you?" he asked, tears brimming once again. "My little one…"
"'Es, Daddy." Absentmindedly tapping the black plastic of the magnifying glass with one tiny finger, Hamish appeared to be thinking very hard about something. "An' Daddy Hame big per's'mom," he stated with a confident nod of his head.
Sherlock laughed aloud, sniffling softly, so as not to alarm Hamish before continuing the rhythm of stroking his thumb over the little boy's eyebrow. "And I'm you're big person. Yes, I like it… I do love you, Hamish."
"Hame know. An' Hame 'ove lot, too. All heart."
"With all your heart…"
"Mmm-hmm, Daddy. No more."
"In your heart."
"'Es. All full at 'ove."
At that moment, a rare smile danced across Sherlock's features. "All full of love… How was I lucky enough?"
"What, Daddy?"
"What on earth did I do to deserve you, Hamish?" Shaking his head and desperately trying to stop the tears of wonder and joy from falling, Sherlock carefully wiped his eyes on the collar of his coat before reaching forward and taking Hamish into his arms once again. "So you like the magnifying glass?"
"Lot, Daddy," the little boy reassured, wrapping both of his arms around the detective's neck and snuggling close to his collarbone. "Best tres'tent."
"Even better than the fishes?"
"Lot."
"Good," Sherlock laughed, pressing his lips to his son's temple and letting them linger against the soft skin. Sensing his son's exhaustion as the little boy's body immediately melted against his and was now limp in his arms, the detective walked into his room, placing kisses all over his son's forehead. "Are you going to keep it with you, then?" he asked as he set Hamish's tired form under the covers and made a nod to the gift, still wrapped tightly in the small boy's hands.
"Mmm-hmm. Want keep. 'Kay?"
"Okay," Sherlock whispered fondly, sitting on the edge of the bed while he waited patiently for Hamish to get settled comfortably into the bed. "All good?"
"'Es, Daddy. Stay?"
"Of course." Smiling as he saw Hamish was already fighting to keep his eyes open, Sherlock reached forward and cupped his son's face in one hand. "Goodnight, love. I love you very much," he whispered as he very slowly moved his thumb over the delicate curve of the little boy's cheek.
"Mmm," was all Hamish could manage, eyes fluttering closed and open with each stroke of his father's thumb. "I 'ove you, Daddy."
Too caught up with the beauty of his son and the love for him to realize the little boy had used "I" properly for the first time, Sherlock merely counted the number of times Hamish breathed, stroking his thumb in tandem with the breaths until the little boy's breathing was completely normal and even, his deep green eyes shielded by closed eyelids, the magnifying glass still wrapped in his tiny fingers.
Smiling with a fond look in his eyes, Sherlock leaned forward and barely pressed his lips against the tip of Hamish's nose, in an incredibly soft, tender kiss. "I love you, Hamish. Sleep well. I'm glad you like your gift." Still smiling, the detective carefully removed himself from the bed and slipped out the door, shutting it behind him.
"John. John, he loved it, he… He…" Sherlock paused in the doorway to the sitting room, the grin slowly fading from his face as he found the doctor's chair to be empty and then suddenly remembered that he was now living almost full-time with Mary… "Right, then." Giving a firm nod of his head, the detective slipped away into the kitchen and sat down at the microscope, overwhelmed with the rush of emotions he had just felt and were currently feeling.
"My little one," he chuckled aloud as he leaned in to look through the lens. "Perfect…"