Chapter Fifteen: Mummy?
Sherlock was awoken by a stirring on his chest. Groggily, the detective opened his eyes and peered down at Hamish, who had just shifted slightly on his chest, but had not woken up yet. The sunlight was streaming through the window, making the little boy's already-pale skin look white.
Trying not to wake Hamish, Sherlock shifted, the memories of last night rushing back. Remembering that his son's hand was resting sweetly against his chest, the detective squeezed his own just slightly, wrapping his fingers around Hamish's hand, which was still resting at the base of his neck. He closed his eyes, sighing in reassurance upon feeling his son's hand beneath his own.
"Good morning, Hamish," he whispered quietly, opening his eyes, and giving the little boy a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Mmm… Daddy?" Hamish murmured, shifting again as he did so. The little boy slowly opened his eyes and peered up at Sherlock, but quickly squeezed them shut again upon seeing how bright it was. Groaning quietly, he shoved his face into Sherlock's neck, trying to get away from the bright light.
"No, Daddy," he mumbled, his tiny voice muffled slightly as he spoke against the detective's skin.
Sherlock chuckled happily and brushed his hand once over the little boy's bare back.
"Morning," he chuckled, yawning widely as he sat up. He felt Hamish giggle against his skin.
"Daddy," he laughed happily, pulling his head away from Sherlock's neck. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the light, Hamish squinted up at the detective, pushing his hands against Sherlock's collarbone in an effort to stand up.
Smiling, Sherlock held Hamish up, keeping the boy steady by holding him around the middle with one hand.
Now almost fully awake and even with his father's face, Hamish reached forward, flattening the palms of his small hands against Sherlock's cheeks.
"Morn' Daddy," he said, smiling as he stared into the detective's grey eyes.
"Good morning, Hamish," Sherlock answered happily. "Are you feeing better?"
Hands still on his father's face, Hamish nodded happily. "'Etter, Daddy," he stated firmly. "Ew…" he added, sticking his bottom lip out as he look earnestly at Sherlock.
The detective couldn't help but laugh out loud at his son's comment.
"Yes," he chuckled, brushing the back of his hand across Hamish's forehead. "Ew… Are your ears still hurting you?" he added, twirling some of the little boy's silky hair between his fingers.
"Ouch?"
"Yes. Ouch?"
Hamish thought for a moment. His small fingers curled against Sherlock's cheeks as he thought. Eventually, he removed one hand and tugged at one of his ears.
"Your ears still hurt, yes?"
"'Es, Daddy."
"Well… I say we go and talk to John and see if we can't just help with that, hmm?"
"'Es, 'ease, Daddy," Hamish replied, nodding his head solemnly as he did so.
"All right. Let's go," Sherlock said, getting off the bed. Hamish's hands were still resting on his face.
It took several days for Hamish to fully bounce back from the sickness, but very quickly afterwards, he returned to his calm, happy self.
It was soon after that Sherlock was resting on the couch.
"No… It can't be… Well, I mean I suppose it could be. The car… His car…" Sherlock mumbled, eyes closed, hands steepled under his chin. Hamish was sat on the detective's stomach, examining his own tiny hands, eyebrows pulled together, bottom lip stuck out in concentration. He was gently tracing his own fingernails when Sherlock began talking to himself. Hands now forgotten, Hamish turned, his attention falling upon the detective.
"Yes! Yes, the car! Wait… No. No! Ugh! This is so infuriating!" he cried, letting out a disgruntled sound at his frustration.
Hamish, who had previously been entranced by his father's deductions, giggled loudly upon hearing the noise Sherlock made.
Almost having forgotten Hamish was sitting on his stomach, Sherlock's eyes flew open, his thoughts halting to a stop upon hearing his son's giggling.
"Oh," he sighed, pulling his hands apart as he peered down at Hamish. Still frustrated by the case, he ran his hands through his hair, ruffling the dark curls as he did so, which only made Hamish laugh further, the light sound filling the quiet flat.
Smiling at his son, who was practically gasping for breath, Sherlock reached down, picked up Hamish and lifted him into the air, holding him above his head.
"Is that funny, Hamish? Hmm? Do you think I'm silly?!" Sherlock cried playfully, over-exaggerating the word as he bounced Hamish, who was laughing loudly, gripping tightly onto his father's hands.
"Daddy!" he squealed happily, laughing down at his father.
"Come here!" Sherlock laughed, grinning widely at his son. Making quiet kissing noises, the detective lowered his arms until Hamish was hovering just above his face.
"Mwah!" he exclaimed comically, pressing a fun kiss to the little boy's cheek. "Who's my little boy?" he laughed, pressing ticklish kisses to Hamish's face, not caring how silly he sounded.
"Daddy!" the little boy cried happily, trying to shove his father away. He pressed both of his hands against Sherlock's lips, attempting to stop the stream of kisses.
Laughing heartily at his son's efforts, the detective parted his lips just slightly.
"Om nom nom!" he said, pretending to eat Hamish's fingers.
"Ah! No! No 'ease, Daddy!" the little boy exclaimed, quickly withdrawing his fingers from Sherlock's lips.
"I'm going to eat you!" the detective exclaimed comically, sitting Hamish on his stomach. He bent down, pressing his lips to his son's stomach and feet.
"I've got your toes!"
"What?! No! Daddy!"
Laughing, Sherlock withdrew his head, allowing Hamish to catch his breath.
Smiling widely at the giggling little boy, he gently brushed away some of Hamish's dark hair.
"Noo," he sighed happily, smiling down at his son, "I could never eat you." He paused, letting his hand rest on Hamish's stomach. "You'd be too sweet," he finished happily.
Giggling, Hamish peered up at his father, a sweet smile on his face.
"Up 'ease?" he asked quietly, stretching his arms up towards Sherlock.
Obliging, the detective pulled Hamish up, wrapping one arm around the little boy. He placed his hand on the back of Hamish's head.
"'Ove, Daddy," Hamish murmured, talking into Sherlock's neck. He turned his head and pressed a light kiss to his father's jaw. Then, smiling widely, he took one hand and rubbed it against the detective's stomach, attempting to tickle him.
"I love you, too, Hamish," Sherlock said, laughing heartily as his son tried to tickle his stomach. "Oh no!" he cried dramatically, pretending to try and push Hamish's hands away. "Please stop! I can't take it!"
"'Kay, Daddy," the little boy giggled, pulling his hand away. He peered up at Sherlock, eyes bright and a large smile on his face.
No longer laughing, but still beaming widely, Sherlock stared back down at Hamish. He froze as he looked into the little boy's dark eyes. This little boy—this incredible, tiny human being—his son—had truly changed him. His son… The words still made his whole body flood with love. He felt his breath catch in his throat, as it had so many times before.
"Daddy?" Hamish asked, pulling his father out of his reverie.
"Oh! Yes. Sorry, Hamish," he apologized, finding his breath again. "Well! What do you say we go for a little walk, hmm? It's getting colder, so we should go out as often as possible, and I need to clear my head, anyways. What do you think?"
"'Es, 'ease, Daddy," Hamish replied quietly, still smiling.
The warmth still warming his chest, Sherlock bent down and lifted Hamish up, moving him to the ground. He waited patiently, holding the little boy up until he was sure Hamish was balanced.
"Ready?" he asked.
"'Es, Daddy."
"Good," Sherlock smiled. He stood up, but remained slightly hunched over so that Hamish could hold onto his hand.
"Now, I believe John took you out last… Hmm. You wouldn't happen to know where he put your coat, would you?"
Still holding tightly onto Sherlock's hand, the little boy thought for a second.
"Daddy room?" he asked, rather than stated.
"Let's go see." Taking small steps forward, Sherlock guided Hamish towards his room, gazing lovingly at the little boy as he walk forward, wobbling slightly.
After checking almost everywhere in the flat, the two eventually found that Hamish's small coat was underneath Sherlock's, hanging on the door. The detective knelt down, quickly pulled on the little boy's coat, and then stood up, pulling on his own as he did so.
"Okay," he said, giving Hamish his hand once again. "Here we go." The little boy began to walk forward, chewing his bottom lip as he did so. He held tightly onto his father's hand as he made his way towards the stairs.
Once at the landing, Sherlock kept one hand wrapped around Hamish's and used the other to undo the safety gate.
"Do you want to try the stairs today, Hamish?" he asked, turning his attention back to the little boy.
Upon seeing the utterly petrified look on Hamish's face, he chuckled and knelt down, almost at eye level with the little boy.
"Hamish," he laughed, "there's nothing to be afraid of. I'll be right with you the whole time. See?"
Remaining in his crouched position, Sherlock took one small step down until he was resting on the first stair step.
"You're sure you don't want to try?" he asked again, the corners of his lips turning upwards as Hamish began to fervently shake his head back and forth.
"Okay, okay," he laughed, shaking his head. "No stairs today." Sherlock smiled warmly, hoping to reassure the little boy. He opened his arms. "Come here," he said softly.
Hamish hurried forward, practically falling into his father's arms.
"Daddy," he sighed in relief. Still quite frightened by the stairs, though, he turned pressing his face into the soft fabric of Sherlock's coat.
Chuckling at his son, the detective placed a protective hand on the little boy's back as he quickly descended the stairs. Knowing that Hamish would probably not want to walk down the stairs outside, he opened the door, clearing the few steps that led away from the flat.
"Okay, Hamish. No more stairs," he said, smoothing down some of the little boy's unruly curls.
Cautiously, Hamish pulled his head out of Sherlock's coat, looking down to check that there were no more stairs.
"Mmm. 'Kay, Daddy!" he said cheerfully.
Chuckling, Sherlock placed Hamish on the ground. "Ready?" he asked, holding his hand out in front of the little boy.
"'Es, Daddy." An eager look on his face, Hamish reached forward, wrapping his chubby fingers around Sherlock's thumb.
Making sure Hamish was balanced, the detective stood up, closing his fingers around Hamish's small hand.
By now, having taken many walks together, a sort of tradition had formed between the detective and his son: the two would sit on a bench together and Hamish would point to a random passerby, upon which Sherlock would riddle off deductions, much to the delight of Hamish.
Seeing as Hamish had only taken a few walks so far where he was able to walk himself, it took much longer to reach the bench than usual.
"You can do it, Hamish! Almost there," Sherlock encouraged, noticing how the little boy was slowing down.
"'Kay, Daddy," he replied, walking as quickly as he could.
Shortly after, the two finally reached the bench. "Okay, Hamish. Up we go," Sherlock said, sitting down, and pulling the little boy up onto his lap.
"Hmm," Hamish sighed, glad to have a break from walking. He leaned back, snuggling into Sherlock.
"Okay," the detective sighed, wrapping one hand around the little boy's middle. "Who first, Hamish?"
"Ummmm… Them!" Hamish said excitedly, pointing to a woman walking on the other side of the street.
"Her," Sherlock corrected lightheartedly, smiling fondly at Hamish. "Okay," he said, turning his attention to the woman Hamish had pointed to. He raked his eyes over her as she walked briskly down the street.
"All right. Well, for starters, she's running late for work, her boyfriend just broke up with her; she has still yet to notice that she's wearing two different parts of a suit, and she smokes. And what does that mean, Hamish?" he asked, turning his attention to the little boy.
"Ew!" he replied firmly, giving a terse nod of his head.
"Very good! Ew."
Sherlock had been ordered by John to teach Hamish that smoking was unhealthy and bad, in the hope that the little boy would not follow in his father's footsteps.
"All right. Next one."
"Okay. Last one, Hamish," Sherlock said, rubbing his thumb across the little boy's stomach.
"Hmm… Them," he said decidedly, pointing to a man who was walking slowly towards them.
"Oh! Good one, Hamish!" Sherlock exclaimed excitedly. Seeing as how the man was quickly approaching them, the detective leaned down, whispering into Hamish's ear. He whispered something just as the man hurried by, which sent the little boy into a fit of giggles.
"Daddy silly!" he laughed, turning around to hug the detective around the middle. He pressed his small form into Sherlock.
Chuckling, the detective wrapped his arms around Hamish in a hug. "All right. Time to go home, Hamish. Do you want to walk or shall I carry you?" he asked, leaning down to talk into the little boy's auburn hair.
"'Ulk, 'ease," he replied quietly.
"All right. You're sure?" Sherlock replied, ready to place the little boy on the ground.
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish replied, looking contently into his father's face.
Smiling fondly, Sherlock placed Hamish on the ground, stood up, and lowered his hand. The two started home.
It took about five minutes before Sherlock felt a gentle tugging on his hand. He stopped, and turned back to look at Hamish.
"Daddy? Up 'ease?" he asked tiredly, squeezing his fingers as he pulled down on his father's hand.
"Of course," Sherlock said gently, smiling knowingly down at the little boy. He bent down, pulling Hamish up and onto his chest. Placing one hand on the back of his son's head, Sherlock continued to walk back towards the flat.
"Ta, Daddy," Hamish murmured, snuggling into his father's warm embrace.
"You're very welcome, Hamish."
Hamish remained snuggled tightly against his father as they walked home, peering at his passing surroundings with wide, curious eyes.
With Sherlock walking at his normal pace, the two soon reached the flat. Hamish continued to look around as his father began to unlock the door to the flat. He peered over the detective's shoulder. His eyes fell upon a woman walking with her daughter across the other side of the street. The little boy's eyebrows pulled together as he noticed the two were holding hands.
"Daddy?" he asked hurriedly, tapping on Sherlock's shoulder.
"Yes, Hamish?" he asked, looking at Hamish with questioning eyes.
In response, the little boy pointed hastily at the woman and the little girl across the street.
Sherlock's gaze followed the little boy's finger and fell upon the woman and her daughter.
"What about them, Hamish?" he asked, confused as to what his son was wanting.
"What, Daddy?" he asked, an almost desperate look on his face. Sherlock stared at the woman, suddenly understanding what Hamish was asking.
"Oh. That's a little girl with her mummy," he said quietly, turning his attention back to Hamish.
"Mummy?" he repeated slowly, an almost dazed look on his face. "What mummy?" he asked, still staring at the woman.
"Umm… Well…" Sherlock had been hoping to avoid having this conversation with Hamish until he was old enough to understand the extent of what the word 'mother' entailed, but he knew the little boy would be persistent. He pushed open the door to the flat, deciding just to give the little boy a brief overview of what a mother was and did.
He quickly pulled of Hamish's coat, hanging it up on the door, and then undid his own, placing it over Hamish's. Keeping Hamish close, he sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. He placed the little boy, who still appeared to be bewildered, on his lap.
"Hamish," he said, slowly, drawing the little boy's attention to his face.
"Oh," he said quietly. "'Es, Daddy. What mummy?" he asked gently.
"Well," Sherlock began, trying to decide how to phrase his words. "Okay. You know that I am your daddy, right?"
"'Es, Daddy," Hamish replied earnestly, nodding his head. He stared at Sherlock, waiting anxiously for his father's response.
"Okay… Well a mummy is sort of like a daddy, only instead of being a boy, a mummy is a girl. Do you understand?"
Hamish thought for a moment, his brows pulled tightly together. He began to play with some of Sherlock's shirt between his fingers, rubbing the fabric between his fingers.
"'Es, Daddy," he replied slowly, his eyes slowly moving across the floor as he thought.
"All right. Well mummies are a little different. That's because before you're born," Sherlock started slowly, "you actually live inside your mummy's tummy." Hoping to help his son understand, Sherlock placed one hand over his stomach.
He looked up as he heard Hamish gasp out loud. The little boy's eyes were wide with wonder, and his mouth was hanging open.
"Daddy?!" he cried. Hurriedly, he leaned forward, pressing his head against Sherlock's stomach. He turned, pressing his ear against the detective's stomach. "Tummy, Daddy?" he asked, excitedly, moving both of his hands until they, too were resting against Sherlock's stomach.
"Wha?—Oh! No," Sherlock laughed, shaking his head. "No, Hamish. I can't have a baby inside of me. I'm a daddy. Only girls—mummies—can have babies inside of them. Not me," he chuckled, gently pulling Hamish's head away from his stomach.
"Oh," the little boy replied quietly. He looked up at Sherlock, confusion now in his eyes. He kept his hands resting against the detective's stomach.
"Hame Mummy?" he asked, staring at his father with wide eyes.
Sherlock sighed, having hoped to avoid this conversation. He tenderly placed one hand to the side of Hamish' face, running his thumb across the little boy's soft cheek.
"Yes, Hamish. You do have a mummy," he said slowly, whispering the words. "But I'm afraid I don't know who she is," he added hurriedly. "But, not too long ago, you were once inside a woman's tummy, Hamish." He hoped to draw attention away from the little boy's own mother, hoping he would not inquire further.
But it was clear the little boy didn't even understand the extent of what his father had just told him as a wide, bright smile was spread across his face.
"Hame, mummy's tummy?" he asked incredulously, gaping up at Sherlock.
The detective sighed in relief. "Yes, Hamish. You were once inside a tummy," he smiled, gently tickling Hamish's stomach with the tips of his fingers.
"Wow, Daddy!" the little boy exclaimed, giggling as his father tickled him. He gasped suddenly.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, Hamish?"
"Mary Mummy!" he stated cheerfully, bouncing slightly in Sherlock's lap.
"Oh," the detective chuckled. "No, Hamish. Mary's not a mummy, I'm afraid. She is a girl, but she doesn't have a baby in her tummy. So that means she's not a mummy," he explained, deciding not to even begin to explain the process of adoption. That was definitely a conversation for another day.
Smiling sadly at the thought, Sherlock scooped Hamish into his arms, and stood up, holding the little boy close to his chest.
"Oh. 'Kay, Daddy," Hamish replied, though it was clear he was still quite happy with this new discovery.
"Daddy?" he asked, tapping Sherlock on the shoulder.
"Yes?" the detective murmured.
In response, Hamish pointed to the window. Sherlock hurried over, holding his son on his hip. "What is it, Hamish?"
The little boy pressed his hand against the window, staring off into the direction the girl and her mother had walked.
"What Daddy?" he asked, turning his attention back to Sherlock.
"Do you mean where's the little girl's daddy?" the detective asked, trying to understand what Hamish was asking.
"'Es, Daddy."
"Oh… Well… Sometimes, in different families, you can have several different kinds of mummies and daddies," Sherlock began slowly. He turned around, and began to slowly pace around the flat. Gently, he moved Hamish, snuggling the little boy close to his neck.
Knowing his father was going to speak, Hamish nuzzled into Sherlock's neck, sighing contently as the detective began to rub his hand up and down his back.
Sherlock continued, "In some families, there's one mummy and one daddy. Sometimes there can be two daddies or two mummies. There can be just one mummy, or, like us, there's just one daddy. You and I have one daddy and no mummy," he murmured quietly, watching Hamish's face for a reaction.
Taking a deep breath, the little boy leaned further into Sherlock, closing his eyes as he thought.
Hesitantly, the detective asked, "Hamish? Is it okay with you that there's just one daddy? That you have no mummy and me as your daddy? Does that make you sad?" he whispered, anxiously waiting for the little boy's response.
Eventually, Hamish opened his eyes and peered up at his father.
"No, Daddy... No Hame, mummy. 'Ove, Daddy... 'Ove one Daddy," he whispered, looking up at Sherlock with reassuring eyes.
"Oh, Hamish," Sherlock sighed, an overwhelming sense of happiness flooding his veins. "I love you, Hamish. I love you so much," he murmured, already feeling tears begin to burn in his eyes. Lovingly, he pressed his lips to Hamish's forehead, tucking the little boy's head underneath his chin as he felt a few hot tears slide free.
"Love one daddy…" he murmured to himself, smiling in relief. He hugged Hamish closer, and tenderly kissed the little boy again, letting his lips linger against his son's soft skin.
He felt Hamish begin to speak, the little boy's lips brushing against his skin.
"Daddy 'ove one Hame?" he whispered quietly.
Sherlock choked back a cry upon hearing his son's question.
"Oh, Hamish…" he sighed, another tear falling down his face. "Always. I'll always love you. My one Hamish… My one Hamish…" He couldn't help but press another soft kiss to his son's soft hair. He felt the little boy sigh against his skin.
"My Hamish," he murmured. "Always… Always, my Hamish."