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Chapter Fifty-Three: A Day With Mycroft

"John! John!" Sherlock called excitedly as he ran up the stairs, a file clutched in his fingers. "We have a case, John!" Practically bouncing up and down, the detective scooped Hamish up into his arms and pressed several delighted pecks to his temple.

"Oh. He'o, Daddy," the little boy greeted rather confusedly. "Has ah case?"

"Yes, love! Yes, we do. And it looks positively incredible." Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle at the way Hamish was scowling at him, having been so suddenly plucked from the game he was obviously playing with John. "Apologies, Hamish." After pressing another kiss to his son's temple, the detective set the little boy back on the ground and knelt down next to him, having kept a hand on his small back. "What have you two been doing while I was gone, hmm?" he asked, rubbing several circles up an down Hamish's back.

"John an' I dids ah puzz'mel, Daddy," the little boy declared proudly.

"Ah, how fun!"

"'Es! An' we hads a snack."

"Excellent."

"So, then," John sighed, standing. "We've a case, then?"

"Yes! A positively intriguing one, by the looks of it." An eyeroll. "Hardly surprising Lestrade couldn't figure it out."

"What does means, Daddy?"

"What? Oh. Um, nothing, love," Sherlock chuckled with an apologetic quirk of his lips. "Here, have a look." The detective handed the case file to his flat mate and then squatted down next to his osn. "Try that one," he hinted with a smile, pointing to the piece he knew the little boy was looking for. "Hamish?"

"'Es, Daddy?"

"John and I are both going to have to work on this case today, so—"

"Stays with Nana?" the little boy asked, deserting his puzzle so he could gaze up at his father.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, love."

"Oh. Is 'kay, Daddy," Hamish reassured with a smile. "I likes Nana."

"I know you do," Sherlock laughed. The detective playfully ruffled his son's curls, pleased when several giggles soon followed. "So you'll be all right, then?" he asked, never enjoying having to leave his son for a case.

"'Ep! I is be good, Daddy."

"Good." Smiling, Sherlock stood, taking Hamish with him. "Did you just say 'yep?'" he asked, quirking a brow as he began descending the stairs.

"'Ep! John does say." The little boy suddenly giggled. "Does sound tiny bit silly," he laughed with a whisper, as if saying such a thing would somehow hurt the doctor's feelings.

"Mmm. I quite agree," Sherlock hummed with a smile. Having reached Mrs. Hudson's flat, the detective knocked on her front door, waiting to hear the tell-tale sounds of her shoes against the hardwood as she hurried to answer the door. Yet no such sound came. "Hmm. That's unusual," Sherlock mused aloud, frowning at the door. "Oh. Oh, no... She's out on holiday, isn't she?"

"'Es, Daddy. I 'tinks so."

"Hmm... Molly?" A nod. "I quite agree."

"Sherlock, I can't. I'm working today."

"Molly, I have a pressing case that needs my tending to today," Sherlock practically begged as he walked about the flat, Hamish on his hip.

"And I have several bodies on slabs that require my tending to today. I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"... Fine. Apologies. Best of luck."

"Thanks, Sherlock."

"No good?" John asked.

"No. We've tried everyone!"

"Well... Not everyone," John murmured with a raised brow.

"I don't understand."

"No. No, absolutely not," Sherlock stated firmly, arms crossed over his chest.

"Sherlock, please," said detective's brother drawled with a roll of his eyes. "You are being quite ridiculous. Nothing unusual there, however, so I've not a clue as to why I'm surprised."

"I do not trust you enough to tend him for a day." Mustering his best glare, Sherlock pointed with a slender finger to Hamish, who was settled on the couch next to him, having a sort of nap.

"And why ever not?"

"Sherlock, be nice," John scolded with an exasperated sigh.

"Because," the detective continued, ignoring his flat mate, "you have no children of your own, and I seriously doubt you've done any babysitting recently, so are therefore not equipped to take care of Hamish for a day."

"I took care of you," Mycroft countered with an unamused eyebrow.

"Yes, well..." Gaze softening ever so slightly, Sherlock released a breath as his silver gaze slid to his resting son. "I suppose... You never killed me, or... or wounded me in any way," the detective mused aloud, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he watched Hamish's back rise and fall. "Ugh. Fine, fine," he muttered, throwing his arms up in the air in surrender. "But only because we have nobody else."

"Sherlock! There's no need to be so rude."

"Oh, please. He's Mycroft. I'm sure he's heard much worse."

"Mmm. Quite. Besides, your opinion matters not. Hamish always seems to quite enjoy my visits," Mycroft sneered with a pleased smirk.

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes. Ignoring his brother, the detective turned and knelt down next to the couch Hamish was napping on. With gentle fingertips, Sherlock stroked several slender fingers through his son's hair, whispering in an attempt to wake him. "Hamish? Hamish, wake up for me, love."

"Mmm... Daddy? Oh. He'o," the little boy mumbled, tiny voice thick with sleep.

"Hello, love," Sherlock chuckled, still carding through his son's curls.

"'Es... He'o, Daddy." A small smile danced over Hamish's lips as he glanced around just enough to catch a glimpse of his uncle. "Unc'mel My?" he asked excitedly, mustering enough energy to sit up.

"Yes. I'm afraid Molly was unavailable to watch you today, so... Uncle Mycroft graciously obliged."

"'Es! Unc'mel My!" Gasping excitedly to himself, Hamish attempted to scoot himself off the lounge, though ended up falling in his haste.

"Oh! Careful, Hamish," Sherlock laughed, instantly catching the little boy with deft hands. "Not so quickly next time, yes?"

"Mm. 'Kay, Daddy," Hamish giggled, wrapping his arms around the detective's neck as a way of thanks before toddling excitedly over to Mycroft. "Unc'mel My!" he squealed as he wrapped his arms around the government official's thigh, giggling into the fabric of his beige suit.

"Ah. Hello there, Hamish." Setting his umbrella against the wall, Mycroft leaned down and lifted Hamish into his arms. "You've been well?" he asked once the little boy was settled atop his hip.

"'Es, My. Lots."

"Lots. Well, that's very good, isn't it?"

"Mmm," Hamish merely giggled in response, tucking his head under Mycroft's chin as he pressed his little self close. "My... I does 'ove."

"Oh, I..." Lips parting just slightly, Mycroft glanced to John, who smiled encouragingly. "Yes. I quite love you, as well, Hamish."

"Mmm."

Despite his mild distaste for his brother, a smile twitched at the corner of Sherlock's lips. "Right. I'll just get my coat. Are you ready to leave, John?" the detective asked as he grabbed his Belstaff from the back of a nearby chair and draped the fabric over his slender form.

"Yep. Got the case file?"

"I've no need of it anymore."

"Right."

"Yes. Now, then... Goodbye hugs and kisses, Hamish," Sherlock murmured, taking a step towards Mycroft.

"Ah. Yes, of course." Obliging his brother's silent request, Mycroft passed Hamish into the detective's arms.

"Ahh, there he is. Now, then," Sherlock murmured, pressing several kisses to his son's cheeks and nose, "you will be good, of course?"

"Daddy," Hamish giggled, as if checking for such a thing was silly.

"I know. My apologies, love. Mmm. I'll miss you, as usual. But John and I should both be back before dark, all right?"

"'Kay, Daddy."

"Good. And you know that you can call me at anytime, yes?" A nod. "Yes. Now, then. I do believe you are shorting me several kisses," Sherlock hinted playfully, tilting his head just enough so that his son would be able to reach a cheek.

"'Es, Daddy. Lots kisses." Pursing his small lips, upon which there happened to be a smile, Hamish leaned his small form up and pressed several kisses to Sherlock's sculpted cheeks. "Nose 'ease, Daddy."

"Of course. My apologies." Sherlock tilted his head to the side and then down.

"Tank-su, Daddy."

The detective couldn't help but chuckle when Hamish placed two hands to each side of his face, as if to make sure he was not going anywhere, before the little boy pressed his tiny lips atop his nose.

"'Kay, Daddy. Is good now. Can get ah baddies," Hamish stated with a firm nod of his head.

"Quite right. Or we're going to try, at least." After giving his son another kiss, Sherlock passed Hamish back to Mycroft. "Right, then. Ready, John?"

"Yep! I'm good. Bye, bud. We'll be back later, okay?"

"'Kay, John." Hamish waved a single hand in the doctor's direction.

"Good." John returned the wave with a smile. "See you, little man," he murmured, before making his way down the stairs after Sherlock, who seemed to be muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

"Ohh... Right, then. We get to spend a day together," Mycroft declared with his own unique kind of excitement.

"'Es! What we is be doing?"

"Oh, well... I don't really know. Anything you're in the mood for, I suppose."

"Hmm." Hamish rested his head atop Mycroft's shoulder while he contemplated. "Oh! Down 'ease My!"

Obeying, Mycroft lowered his tiny nephew onto the ground and then watched as the little boy toddled over to his toy bin.

"Come, My."

"Of course." Not bothering to grab his umbrella, the government official sauntered over to Hamish, who had plopped himself on the ground.

"I has lots ah puzz'mels," the little boy explained, completely delighted. With a grunt of effort, Hamish stood and then managed to pull out several puzzles from the toy bin, gently setting them on the ground. "Oof!" he exclaimed when he fell back, landing on his bottom.

"Oh! Are you all right, Hamish?" Mycroft asked worriedly.

"'Es, My," Hamish giggled, quickly standing once again. "I does fall lots," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh. Well, that's... good, I suppose."

"'Ep! 'Tat what John does say. 'Ep!' Oh! My, look! Puzz'mels!" Quickly switching gears, and now bouncing up and down on his small legs, Hamish more-or-less hopped over to the puzzles he'd set down and then plopped on the floor. "Wants ah do one?"

"Oh, yes, sure. If that's what you want to do?"

"'Es 'ease, My. I likes ah puzz'mels."

"Very well then. That's what we shall do." Feeling somewhat out of his depth, Mycroft scooted himself closer to his tiny nephew and watched as the little boy picked a puzzle and then flipped it over, letting all the pieces fall from their wood placings.

"'Kay, My." Completely serious, Hamish delicately scooted away his other puzzles and then gazed at the current one, green eyes studying the pieces in front of him. "'Tis is ah hard one."

"I see. Well, I'm quite honored to be helping you with it."

"Mmm." Smiling, Hamish scooted over to his uncle and then crawled into his lap. "I 'oves, My."

"I love you, too, Hamish."

"Mmm."

Mycroft watched with fond eyes as Hamish turned his attention back to the puzzle and started completing it, picking each piece with rather cute precision. And the government official couldn't help but notice the incredible resemblances between the little boy sitting in his lap and his father, remembering years of completing similar puzzles with his own little brother.

"You're sure you don't use a pram when you go to the park?" Mycroft asked once again, raising a skeptical brow at his nephew.

"My!" Hamish exclaimed, having apparently confirmed this statement far too many times. Bottom lip protruding as he frowned, the little boy plopped himself on the ground and crossed his arms over his chest. "I an' Daddy walk. Not pram."

Mycroft allowed himself a fond roll of his eyes. "Well, if you're sure?"

"'Es, My. Daddy not does use ah pram. We walks. An' I not lies," the little boy added seriously, quite clearly upset that his uncle seemed to have thought he'd done so.

"Hm," Mycroft hummed, gazing at his small nephew with serious eyes. "My apologies," he murmured. "... All right." The government official couldn't help but chuckle when Hamish bounced up from his spot on the ground and hurried over to the stairs, quite clearly ready to go. "You're very ready, then."

"'Es, 'es! I is be lots ready. But I not does like ah stairs. Can carry, My?"

"Yes, of course." Umbrella in hand, Mycroft sauntered over to the stairs and then lifted Hamish onto his hip. "Good?"

"'Es..." Snuggling contently into his uncle's hold, Hamish rested his head on Mycroft's shoulder as he was slowly carried down the stairs. "Tank-su My," he whispered.

"You're quite welcome, Hamish."

Now at the bottom of the stairs, Hamish wriggled just a bit, indicating that he wished to be put down. Once on the ground, the little boy slid his hand into his uncle's and huddled close to his taller form, gazing up at the doorknob, waiting expectantly.

"Right, then. Ready?"

"'Es."

"Very well."

Mycroft had to admit he was rather impressed with his nephew when he managed to make it to the park without asking to be held once. "I suppose I owe you an apology, Hamish," the government official admitted as he made his way to a nearby bench.

"Not. Is 'kay, My. I still 'ove. Oh! Swings 'ease. Is my... oh, uh... my fav'ur'mite?"

"Favourite," Mycroft supplied with a smile, already leading the two of them over to the swingset. "Do you need help into one?"

"'Es 'ease. 'Tis one?" Hamish asked, pointing to his favourite swing.

"Yes, of course." With a smile, Mycroft leant down and lifted Hamish up, setting him in the swing. "Good?"

"'Es, My. Tank-su!"

The government official merely smiled, giving his delighted little nephew a push.

Once Hamish had had his fill of the park, the little boy decided it was time for dinner.

"Well, where would you like to go?" Mycroft asked as he walked hand-in-hand with the little boy down the sidewalk.

"Subs shop?" Hamish suggested with a shrug.

"That works for me." Mycroft felt a strange, yet familiar flutter in his chest when he felt Hamish squeeze several of his fingers. "Mmm."

Once at the sub shop next to 221B, Mycroft seat the two of them at a small booth, thanking the waitress when she handed Hamish a coloring menu and crayons. "So, then... What would you like to eat?"

"Fish and chippies 'ease. Mmm. Daddy does eat wif' me," Hamish explained contently as he drew on the children's menu.

"Oh, that's lovely," Mycroft stated truthfully. "Does your father do a lot with you?"

"'Es," Hamish answered, pressing his lips together to form a smile. "I 'ove..."

"Yes... I know you do."

"Do you two know what you would like to eat?" the waitress asked, pad of paper in hand.

"Yes. I'll just have a glass of water, and he will have the fish and chips... Thank you."

"Tank-su, My."

"You're most certainly welcome."

Mycroft waited patiently for the food, watching fondly as Hamish continued to doodle over his menu, humming to himself every once in awhile. "Ah, here we are," the government official hummed when the waitress returned, food in hand.

"Oh. Tank-su," Hamish thanked with a small smile.

"My, excellent manners, Hamish," Mycroft praised. The little oby merely grinned in response. "Now, uh... dig in, I suppose."

"Mmm," Hamish giggled, unused to hearing his uncle use such vernacular.

"What?" Mycroft asked with a twitch of a smile.

"Not," the little boy answered, still giggling madly.

"Nothing?" A giggle. "Oh, very well." Pretending to be oblivious, Mycroft glanced to his side, peeking at his little nephew out of the corner of his eyes. The government official chuckled when Hamish took a bite of his chips, peering up at him with a pleased giggle. "Mmm. You are something else," he whispered to himself. "And yet so like your father."

Suddenly, images of a two-year-old Sherlock peering playfully up at him from the dinner table flashed in and out of Mycroft's mind. "Just like your father..."

"What, My?"

"Hm? Oh. Nothing, Hamish."

"Tank-su, Kare'men!" Hamish called behind him to the waitress as they left the sub shop.

"Karen? How did you know her name was Karen?" Mycroft asked confusedly, leading the small boy up the steps to the flat.

"Daddy did say."

"And you remembered?"

"'Es," Hamish stated as if confused. "Not is good, My?"

"What? No, no! That's rather incredible, Hamish. No, that... that's amazing. You are a very clever little boy.

"Oh. Tank-su, My!" Hamish gasped.

Mycroft momentarily froze when he felt two tiny arms wrap themselves around his leg. "Oh. You're very welcome, Hamish," he chuckled, giving the little boy a soft pat on the back. "And you certainly deserved it."

"Mmm."

Once in the flat, Mycroft soon realized that Hamish had gotten rather filthy from dinner. "You're rather dirty, aren't you?" he chuckled.

"What? Oh. 'Es. I can fix! Stay. I be back."

Mycroft watched rather confusedly as Hamish's form toddled away into the kitchen. After several seconds of rustling, several more moments of disgruntled mutters, and a few thuds, the little boy returned, almost completely naked, save for his pull-up. "Fixted!" he declared, quite proud of himself. With breathy laughs, Hamish toddled over to the couch and hoisted himself onto it.

"Oh. Well, I suppose that's certainly one way to fix it."

"'Es. I is good now... My?"

"Yes, Hamish."

Playing with his bellybutton, Hamish suddenly looked rather feeble. "I can talk ah Daddy?" he asked, eyes downcast.

"Oh. Oh! Yes, yes of course." Mycroft hurriedly pulled out his mobile, and dialed his brother's number. "Of course." The government official sat down next to his nephew when Sherlock answered the phone after just two rings.

"Yes, yes, what is it? Is Hamish all right?" the detective asked worriedly.

"Calm down, Sherlock," Mycroft scolded. "Hamish is fine. He was just missing you."

"Oh. Oh, here put him on."

Mycroft chuckled as he heard his brother scolding and shushing everyone in the background. "Here you are, Hamish."

Haphazardly handling the mobile he'd been passed, Hamish managed to put the phone to his ear. "He'o, Daddy," he whispered into the speaker.

"Hello, Hamish. Is everything all right, love?"

"'Es, Daddy. I wanted ah say he'o. An' I miss."

"I miss you very much, too, Hamish. And I'm sorry I'm not home today."

"It is 'kay, Daddy. My is lots fun. Have lots ah fun," Hamish reassured with a smile.

"Mmm. I'm very glad to hear that."

"I not haves clothes on!" the little boy declared proudly, as if such a thing was a great accomplishment.

"Oh, is that so?" Sherlock laughed fondly. "Well, that's a good thing, yes?"

"Mmm. 'Es, Daddy. I was lots dirty."

"Well, then that is a very good thing. Mmm. I love you, Hamish," Sherlock murmured. "And I miss you very much."

"I 'oves too, Daddy."

"What? What did you say?" Sherlock murmured suddenly, voice excited.

"I nots know, Daddy. What I did say?"

"You said 'too!' Ha! Hamish, that is wonderful! Oh, Hamish, love, I'm so proud of you! My goodness, you are such a clever boy. And I miss you very much. Oh, you are brilliant, and I do so love you."

Now beaming, Hamish hummed contently to himself. "I 'oves, Daddy," he spoke into the phone, smiling. "Tank-su... Miss."

"I miss you, too, Hamish."

"Mmm. 'Kay, Daddy. I is good now. B-bye."

"Goodbye, love," Sherlock chuckled with a smile. "Could you hand the phone back to Uncle Mycroft for me?"

"'Es. My? Is Daddy. Wants ah talk."

"Ah. Thank you. Little brother."

"He sounds quite happy."

"I think he is."

"Good. Mycroft?"

"Yes?"

"I'm afraid this case is going to take longer than originally anticipated," Sherlock explained with a sigh. "We will most likely be returning home after Hamish is asleep."

"That's quite all right."

"Good... Here, watch a movie with him. It's considered a treat to have a late movie night, so allow him to pick a film, as way of apologies from me."

"Very well... He's incredibly intelligent, Sherlock."

"Hmm. Yes. He is, isn't he?"

"Quite... Good luck. Nothing dangerous, I trust?"

"Not so far."

"Good. Good evening."

"Mmm."

"B-bye, Daddy!" Hamish called loudly, hurrying over to the phone.

Mycroft put the mobile on speaker. "Goodbye, Hamish. I love you very much."

"I 'oves too, Daddy! Kisses!" Grinning, Hamish pressed both of his hands to his lips and then with a loud 'smooch' sound, pressed his fingers to the phone.

Sherlock laughed aloud, deep voice rumbling through the phone. "Kisses, Hamish." The detective mimicked the sound. "Goodnight, love."

"Nigh' night. "

Mycroft ended the call with a smile. "Now, your father has informed me that, since he's going to be a bit later than he expected, we should watch a movie before you go to bed. Would you care to pick?"

"'Kay." Hamish slid off the couch with a grunt and then hurried over to where they kept their movies, instantly knowing which one he was going to choose. "'Tis one," he breathed, toddling back over to the couch, movie clutched close to his bare chest. "'Ease."

Mycroft took the video from his nephew and glanced at the cover. "Frozen?"

"'Es!" Bouncing up and down, Hamish watched his uncle's every move as the government official left the couch, pulled the DVD out of the case, and put it into the player. "Is my fav'ur'mite! Has Elsa an-an' Anna. I like ah songs. Mmm."

Mycroft couldn't help but smile at the pure joy that was practically radiating from every pore of his little nephew.

"Does like, My?" Hamish asked excitedly as he hoisted himself onto the couch.

"I'm afraid to say that I have never seen this movie, Hamish," Mycroft admitted as he took a seat next to his nephew.

The little boy looked positively appalled. "Not have seen?" he gasped, eyes wide and quite clearly shocked.

"I'm afraid not," Mycroft chuckled. "But I'm very glad to be watching it with you now."

"Mmm." As the movie started opening, Hamish gasped quietly to himself and then settled himself next to Mycroft's side, snuggling close to the government official.

Not quite sure of his movements, Mycroft hesitantly wrapped an arm around Hamish's bare form. He breathed a sigh of relief when the little boy hummed contently to himself and nestled even closer. "Good?"

"'Es, My... Lots good."

"Excellent."

"Damn it, John, shush!" Sherlock exclaimed as he stumbled up the stairs, attempting to make his way up in the dark. "He's probably asleep."

"Well, sorry, but I'm trying to stop you trailing blood everywhere."

"If you would let me hold the bloody cloth, I could protect my own wound, thank you."

"Shush! Both of you!" came the whispering voice of Mycroft. "He's asleep."

"Told you."

Soon, Sherlock's form came into view. Mycroft could see the detective was pressing a cloth to the curve of his cheekbone. "Hurt?"

"No, just the graze from a bullet."

"It's a fairly deep wound, Sherlock!"

"It's fine. Is he... Ah," Sherlock hummed with a smile upon catching sight of his son's half-naked form, snuggled closely to his brother's. The detective glanced to the TV screen and chuckled. "Frozen. Yes, he's suddenly become quite fond of this one."

"Hmm. It's not an entirely awful film, I suppose. The music can be quite interesting at times."

Sherlock raised his brows in agreement. "Thank you, Mycroft. John, can you see him out so I can put him to bed?"

The doctor heaved a sigh. "Yes, but then we are tending to that cheek, yes?"

"Oh, fine. Now. Come here, love." Smiling, Sherlock eagerly scooped his son's form into his arms, and then pressed him close, keeping him situated with a hand to his back.

"Mmm." Eyes fluttering just slightly, Hamish subconsciously wrapped his arms around his father's neck, lulled by the gentle swaying of each of the detective's step, and soothed by his familiar scent and hold.

"Hello, Hamish," Sherlock murmured as he slowly ascended the stairs to his son's room. "Mmm. I missed you."

"Mm-ah. H... He'o, Daddy," Hamish mumbled against the pale skin of the detective's neck. "Mmm."

"Shh... You're all right. I've got you, love, hmm?"

"Mm."

"Quite right." Having reached his son's room, Sherlock pushed open the door and then padded over to the little bed. "Going down," he murmured as he lowered Hamish onto the bed.

"Oh... Da...Daddy?"

"Yes, love?" Sherlock asked, brushing several curls out of his son's eyes with the back of his knuckles.

"My? My..."

"Yes, he's still here," the detective chuckled.

"I... I 'oves..."

"Don't worry, little one. I'll tell him."

"Hmm." With a soft exhale of breath, Hamish fell asleep, leaning into his father's warm touch.

"I'll tell him... Goodnight, Hamish." After several more strokes of his fingers through his son's auburn curls, Sherlock pressed several kisses to the little boy's warm forehead and then left the bed, pleased when Hamish did not wake.

"Is he down?" John asked once his flat mate returned from Hamish's room.

"Yes. Mycroft?"

The government official stopped twirling his umbrella where he was standing at the landing of the stairs. "Hmm?"

"I'm supposed to tell you that Hamish loves you."

"Oh. Oh, well that's... yes, very good... He's... quite lovely."

"Mmm. I quite agree."

"Not unlike you."

"What?"

"When you were younger, I mean. There are many similarities between you two."

"Oh. Are there? I suppose I've never really made comparisons between my younger self. Hmm. That's quite interesting, actually," Sherlock mused aloud.

"Mm. Perhaps. Thank you for asking me to watch him today. It was surprisingly pleasant. Good evening, Doctor Watson. Little brother." And then, still twirling his umbrella, Mycroft silently let himself from the flat.

"That's very interesting, John."

"Perhaps. Now, your cheek—"

"Agh! Bloody hell!"