Chapter 10
“Well, if it isn’t the little freaks.” Donovan stood next to the yellow crime scene tape, monitoring those who entered. At her rather hateful comment Martin automatically hid behind John, tugging at his green scarf and holding onto his Papa’s hand tightly. Hamish fixed the policewoman with a cold glare. So similar to Sherlock’s, though not quite as piercing. He really was a miniature Sherlock. John found it adorable and annoying at the same time. Because both Sherlock and Hamish were rather irritating at points.
“If you would please just let us through, Donovan, and refrain from making comment such as that towards my children,” John spoke smoothly and received a slight glare from Donovan. But the three were let in and all headed into the building in which the murder had taken place. Martin continued to clutch John’s hand and played with his scarf nervously. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be at home playing his violin or painting or reading. And he needed to talk to his fathers...
Hamish let out a slight cry of delight as they entered the scene of the crime. The body lay in the centre of the room, limbs sprawled out. There wasn’t any sign of blood. Hamish would have made a beeline for said corpse if John hadn’t been restraining him slightly.
“What are Hamish and Martin doing here?” Sherlock glanced up from his inspection with narrowed eyes.
“You can’t bring children to a crime scene, John!” Lestrade exclaimed at the same time.
“Hamish wanted to come,” John replied lamely to Sherlock. “And I’m sorry, but Hamish can be quite persuasive. He’s an awful lot like Sherlock.” Hamish seemed to puff up at what he perceived as a compliment, a smug grin on his face. Lestrade sighed and shook his head, deciding not to persuade John to take the twins back. It obviously wouldn’t work out in his favour.
“Well if they’re going to stay they might as well help,” Sherlock announced in an almost bored toned. John rolled his eyes and ushered the children over to their dad. Hamish didn’t need any encouragement and scurried over, instantly babbling questions. Why had it been done? Who had done it? Did they know that the policewoman from earlier, Donovan, was sleeping with one of the guys from forensics? Had they found the bullet that killed them man? Also, had they contacted and questioned his wife?
Martin just watched timidly, a slightly confused look on his face. Rather similar to the bemused on John wore. Sherlock quickly answered the questions before proceeding to show his pride and joy how he was inspecting the corpse and share all of his theories. Of course, he announced them to everyone else as well claiming he knew exactly who the murderer was. If there was one thing Sherlock would always be it was a show off.
“Well Hamish, Martin, who do you think did it?” Sherlock turned his many coloured gaze on his children.
“I don’t know...” Martin murmured, his words luckily being drowned out by Hamish launching into a rather long winded speech. Seemed he was also a show off like his dad.
“Well it was obviously a gun wound, but that bullet has been removed,” Hamish began, tilting his head. “It wasn’t the police because Uncle Greg looked shocked when I asked if they had found the bullet. Like he didn’t know it was a bullet. It was made to look like it was a knife wound so it would point to... em...”
“Domestic violence,” Sherlock supplied, nodding.
“The victim was shot from a reasonably long range, and was scared and trying to avoid dying,” Hamish said it in a matter of fact manner. Almost as emotionless as Sherlock. But not quite. He kept on glancing at his fathers and Martin, with a smile that begged them to congratulate him. “Em... I dunno.”
“Don’t know,” Sherlock corrected. “Then I will continue from there. I think you will find that the dead man before us is Gareth North. He is a member of a local criminal group, albeit a small one. He angered the leader of this group which warranted his death. Thus he was shot from a distance, easy enough when you have assassins in your ranks. The knife wound was added so it would make it appear as though it was his wife. It is well known that they had been having more arguments recently. The one who pulled the trigger was a Joseph Harrison and the one who gave the order was Simon Harrison. I think you will quite easily find both. No, we will be leaving.” Sherlock nodded to Lestrade before gently pushing his children out the door and towards the exit from the rather haunting house. Martin’s mouth was wide open in shock whereas Martin was grinning widely. John just followed his family while shaking his head.
“Mish, can I talk to you?” Martin said cross legged on his bed later, quickly sketching in his notebook. He glanced at his twin as he spoke, biting his lip.
“Sure, Marti,” Hamish looked up from his book with a bright grin. It seemed he was still elated after going to the crime scene.
“I want to ask Daddy and Papa something...” Martin tugged at his green scarf slightly. “But I don’t know what they will think... I’m worried, Mish. I don’t like talking to people.”
“They won’t care,” Hamish replied solemnly, in a manner too mature for his age. “They’ll listen to whatever it is. They love us, Marti.”
“But I’m not...”
“So? I can’t play the violin. Daddy loves us both equally.” It seemed was in one of those moods where he acted older than he was. “So does Papa.” He gave a lopsided smile. “Anyway, if you don’t tell them I’ll get it out of you and tell them myself!” There was the annoying Hamish again.
“Don’t you dare,” Martin warned, pointing a finger at Hamish and putting down a sketchbook. “I’m going now! If you come and be annoying I’ll... I’ll... Paint on your chemistry kit!” Hamish laughed at the threat, deep blue eyes shining. They both suddenly felt like five year olds again, rather than the older children they tried to be due to the pressure put on their shoulders by their parents (Sherlock in particular). Martin hopped off his bed, slowly heading towards the door. He gripped his scarf as he entered the living room. John glanced up with an arched eyebrow.
“Hello, Marti, do you want something?” He smiled softly at his son. Sherlock glanced up from his reading with a delicately arched brow.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Martin replied in a painfully small voice. John indicated for him to come over, pulling the slightly taller than average boy onto his lap. He hugging him loosely and squeezed the boys shoulder.
“Talk away,” John ruffled Martin’s hair and Sherlock put down his book, coming to sit beside his son and husband.
“I... I was with Karina at lunch time today and...” Martin blushed slightly as he mumbled. “She showed me some of the ballet she’d been learning. And... You see... I think I want to start dancing.”
A shocked look crossed both Sherlock and John’s faces. Well... that had been unexpected.
“It... It just looked amazing. It’s like art, but with your body. And I don’t want to just do ballet. Kari says that her dance school does all sorts of different types of dancing. I also want to do tap and modern, which sound really great! And maybe start gymnastics as well... that could help. Please. Please, could I?” Martin turned around to look up at his dads with pleading blue eyes. Surprisingly it was Sherlock who spoke first.
“As long as it doesn’t interfere with your violin and piano playing,” he replied warmly. John laughed at that. “We’ll look into it.”
A wide grin framed Martin’s face. He was going to become a dancer!