Chapter 15
Sherlock was growing rather impatient as he sat beside John on plastic chairs outside the classroom where Hamish and Martin learned the majority of their lessons. The boys were back at home being watched by Mrs Hudson. Both were under strict orders to behave or the next time they would either go to Aunt Molly’s or Uncle Mycroft’s rather than staying at 221b. Three year old Molly was staying with Aunt Molly and Benny for a sleepover, since it was a Friday and Aunt Molly had a day off. This sleepover had been instigated by Benny who kept pestering his mother with the question of when Molly would be staying over next.
“They are running ten minutes late,” Sherlock scowled, colourful eyes shooting a cutting edge at the door. John was sure that if it was animate it would be cowering in fear.
“Sherlock, parent’s evenings always run late,” John sighed, shaking his head. “I thought you would know this by now. And be nice this time. Don’t get annoyed when something ever so slightly bad is said about one of our sons. Neither is perfect.” Sherlock’s glare turned to John, who just ignored it. That infamous glare no longer affected him.
After a few more minutes the door opened and a man and woman walked out, talking proudly of their daughter. Sherlock gave a slight roll of his eyes as he followed John into the room. The two sat opposite the teacher who was flicking through her various notes on the children.
“Ah, Hello Dr Watson, Mr Holmes,” Mrs Smith smiled at them. “Who would you like me to begin with?” Sherlock and John glanced at each other, only taking a few moments before coming to the same conclusion. It was almost like they were reading each other’s minds. They weren’t, of course, that was a completely idiotic idea. Telepathy was just not possible. Sherlock and John just understood each other on a really deep level.
“Hamish,” Sherlock replied calmly, cool gaze cutting into Mrs Smith’s.
“As you wish,” Mrs Smith nodded, flicking through her notes. “Well... Hamish is an exceptional boy. I am sure that you know that. He is currently working at a level two years about his age along with another boy in the class, Mortimer Moran. The two are very friendly. Hamish is very good at Maths, English, Spelling and also what science we do. He takes great joy in these though has a tendency to get bored after a while and occasional disrupt the class due to this.” Sherlock’s mouth was a thin line. John put his hand over the dark haired man’s as an almost warning. The teacher’s points were valid.
“He seems to struggling in topics such as music, art and drama. These are not all that important, though. He is very good at most writing but struggles with that of a creative nature. He says it is pointless and will only grudgingly do it. There are also certain genres of books he will refuse to read even if they are the ones he must. He seems to retain no knowledge regarding most history and also the solar system.”
John let a light smirk cross his lips. “Very much like Sherlock, then.” He earned a glare from his partner.
“But overall I am rather pleased with Hamish,” Mrs Smith smiled. “He excels in all the subjects he enjoys and would do so in the others if he put his mind to it. He does have some problems when it comes to interacting with the other pupils but he has a fast friend in Mortimer. He has a very bright future, though I’m sure you’ve been told this before.”
John and Sherlock shared a smile, though they dampened it slightly. Martin was next. They loved both of the twins equally but of the two Martin struggled the most with school. In almost every way.
“Now, onto Martin.” Mrs Smith pursed her lips. “I’ll start with his strengths. He is very good at art and very musically talented. His violin and piano playing his wonderful and I have no doubt that he would excel in any instrument. Mr Davidson, the music teacher, has informed me that he also has a lovely singing voice. His art is well above the standard of the rest of his class. He is also very good at reading, almost at the same level as Hamish. He is willing to read a wide variety of texts. His writing is among the top in the class. His greatest difficulty, though, is in mathematics. I am afraid to say that he is the very bottom of the class at the very moment. He just does not seem to grasp any of it and just ends up getting frustrated. Truthfully I am unsure exactly how to go about helping him. I believe that if one of you helped him practice he may improve. He also struggles with the sciences and is not at all interested in history. He has his strengths and weaknesses and is overall more artistic than anything. Now... do you have any questions for me?”
“No, thank you,” John answered for both of them. He stood at the same time as Sherlock, who have a slight nod to Mrs Smith before they left the room.
“I’ll help Martin with his maths,” John spoke almost instantly. “You’ll just get frustrated.” Sherlock frowned but nodded in agreement.
John sat reading a book later, eyes constantly glancing up to check on the family that was in the living room. Sherlock was on his computer thus not causing any trouble with his strange experiments. Molly was intently watching the television while practicing writing. She lay on her stomach on the floor, sheets of paper spread all about her. Martin sat curled at Sherlock’s feet, reading, and Hamish was in the shower.
Peaceful. It was so shockingly peaceful. John liked it. As much as he loved his children and Sherlock sometimes things could get a bit chaotic. He struggled to keep up. After all, he was only ordinary. Sherlock, Hamish and Molly were all geniuses. Martin was too, but in a different way. He was an artistic genius. Having some quiet time was nice.
“Papa, will you dry my hair?” John looked up from his book to see Hamish standing in front of him. He was dressed in his pirate pyjamas with a towel wrapped around his neck. His wet hair looked even darker than normal, if that was possible, and was plastered to his head.
“Fine,” John smiled, allowing the seven year old to sit on his lap. He grabbed the towel and rubbed Hamish’s curls rather vigorously, making sure not to hurt the boy, until they were dry. Once they were done the black hair was even messier than normal. It stuck out everywhere and seemed to have doubled in size. “I’m going to need to brush it.”
“But brushing it hurts,” Hamish whined, turning his deep blue eyes on John. Making them as wide and as innocent as possible. John snorted, rolling his eyes.
“Hamish Gregory Watson-Holmes, stop being so difficult.”
“But it really hurts.” John sighed, seeing that he was getting nowhere. Thinking about how ridiculous he was he brought up his hands to begin running his fingers through the black curls. Getting out all the knots in that unruly hair without harming Hamish. It was so like Sherlock’s hair... Damn, don’t think like that! This was his son!
He was still in the process of doing this when Martin came out of his shower, looking to get his hair dried by John too (why couldn’t Sherlock do it for once?!). John moved Hamish onto one knee so Martin could get up also. This was ridiculous. His sons were five not two! They should be able to dry their own hair. John finished doing Hamish’s hair and the young boy curled up, leaning against John. If the twins grew much more they wouldn’t both fit on John’s knee anymore. Actually, in no time they wouldn’t fit on his knee alone. These thoughts ran through John’s head as he began to dry off Martin’s hair. He glanced between his sons to look at Sherlock. Where he expected to see a smirk there was a scowl. Was that jealousy in Sherlock’s eyes? This day was just getting stranger. Sherlock was jealous of his sons? How laughable.
Sherlock caught John’s gaze, the scowl turning into a pout. His eyes begging John to run his hands through Sherlock’s hair rather than Martin’s. John gave his head a slight shake and mouthed the word later. Sherlock went back to scowling and typing.
John was half glad, half disappointed when his little brushing the twins’ hair with his fingers session was over. He loved these little moments with his children and savoured them. Because soon his little (well, they weren’t even that little) boys would grow up. He would still have Molly. But she’d grow up eventually too. It was a sad thought, really. But he had to live in the moment.
John glanced at the clock, frowning. “Bed time, Molly!” Molly looked up with begging colourful eyes (what was with his family and wide eyes?) asking for longer.
“Just a bit longer, Papa!”
“You’ve already had half an hour extra,” John replied calmly as he gently pushed the twins of his knee. He moved over to Molly and scooped her up in his arms. At three she was still rather short. John was glad. Maybe he would have one child that wasn’t taller than him. Molly grumbled as John carried her over to Sherlock to say goodnight before taking her to her room. When he came back he shot a withering look at the twins, who had stolen his chair. “Why don’t you two go read in your room?”
“But...” Hamish began but was cut off by Sherlock, whose pout (which had seemed permanent) had disappeared.
“What a good idea,” Sherlock smiled thinly. Hamish grumbled as he stood up, Martin quietly following. They hugged both of their fathers before disappearing to their room.
“Don’t stay up too late!” John shouted as they disappeared. He gave a relieved sigh, collapsing on the bed. It had been a long day. He let his eyes flicker closed, relaxing. He opened them suddenly as he felt a weight on his legs.
Sherlock’s many coloured eyes met his gaze. He sat on John’s knees with the pout once again on his lip. “You promised.”
“I never did. I just said later.”
“Now is later.”
“I’m tired, Sher.”
“But Jawn! Please!” John shook his head with a light snort.
“I’m married to a five year old! Sometimes I think I’m looking after four children rather than just three.” But he complied nonetheless, running his hands through Sherlock’s messy but surprisingly soft black curls. As he did so Sherlock shifted on John’s lap so that they were facing each other. John’s fingers continued to dance through the hair as they both leaned forward and kissed passionately.
----------------------------------------------------
The bit after the parent's evening was purple tortoise's idea, came up with while we were in physics doing random experiments. I'm not sure if it is what she had in mind and I can't remember exactly what was said but I hope it's good enough xD So, yeh. Also, thank you for reading!