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The sun was brightly shining, the birds were chirping happily, and the sounds of children's laughter filled the park on a midsummer's day.
How dreadful.
If there was anything Mycroft hated more than legwork, it was dealing with overly-cheery people in a park of all places. However, he had a promise to fulfill both to his brother and his nephew, and when Mycroft Holmes makes a promise, it is kept.
It had began earlier in the day as a simple compromise. John and Sherlock were to meet him at the Diogenes Club with Hamish in tow. As three adults sat and discussed important matters in the office, the rambunctious two year old had ran through the main sitting area with glee. He insisted on walking up to every member where they sat, tugging on their trouser legs and telling them 'hi' before running off to someone else. A shut door had done nothing to slow him down as he seemed to be determined to break out of the room and explore. John had repeatedly ran to go get him, and eventually so did Sherlock as they took turns, and the whole ordeal was really interrupting their important discussion.
Frustrated, Mycroft had scrubbed a hand over his face and promised to take Hamish to the park to get his energy out if he would just sit down for five minutes. Hamish obliged, and when it came time for him to go, his brother smirked at him, reminding him of the promise he'd just made. And now, Hamish and Mycroft were here at the park, Mycroft looking entirely out of place in his well-fitting suit. They walked alongside each other on the pavement that cut its way through the freshly cut green grass.
"Rain," Hamish said, pointing to Mycroft's sleek, black umbrella.
He understood what Hamish meant, but decided to go for a different approach, anyway. Mycroft gazed upwards at the sky which, while partly cloudy, still held the promise of sunshine and warmth, not rain and cold. "No, I'm quite certain it won't rain today," he said.
"Yes," Hamish argued, not bothering to look up.
"No, it -" His phone cut him off as it buzzed loudly in his pocket. "Hold on one moment," he said as he stopped to pull it out and check his messages. He frowned at the text on his screen. Of course, he thought, of course the country is on the verge of worldwide bickering while I'm away. He sighed and began to tap out a response. "Never get into politics, nephew of mine," he sighed, still focusing on the screen. When he pocketed his phone, Hamish was nowhere to be found. A flash of panic rose within Mycroft's chest as he darted his eyes around until the echoes of familiar laughter carried over to his ears. He turned to his right, and off in the distance he found Hamish running as fast as his little legs could take him, his brown curls bouncing as he chased after a large, furry dog near the edge of a pond.
In a sudden childhood flashback of his mind, Mycroft instantly recognized the dangers that would lie ahead for Hamish if he were to trip. Not giving it a second thought, Mycroft dropped his umbrella and dashed after him. He ended up sweeping Hamish off his feet as he was just a few footfalls away from the water. One wrong step could have spelled danger, and Mycroft would have none of that.
"He looks like Glasto!" Hamish exclaimed excitedly, pointing in the direction of the brown and white speckled hound as he flashed Mycroft a wide grin.
"Gla..." he trailed off for a moment as he attempted to catch his breath. "Oh, yes. Your dog, yes of course." Gladstone, as Hamish had dubbed him, had been carried around by Hamish nearly everywhere since he popped up a few months ago. Hamish was nearly inseparable from the stuffed toy, and he suspected it was only out of sight today because it must have been in need for a washing. Mycroft straightened himself out before placing the toddler back down on the grass. For the sake of them both, went to get his umbrella before he led his nephew over to a nearby swing set and away from the waters of the pond.
Once situated on the swing, Hamish seemed to be having the time of his life as he flew into the air. High pitched giggles of delight were radiating all around him as Mycroft repeatedly pushed him. Of course, the height wasn't actually all that much, but for a two year old child, it was an adventurous thrill like no other. After a short while, Hamish abruptly exclaimed for Mycroft to stop, and so he did. Mycroft was puzzled at the sudden change in attitude until Hamish slipped off of the swing, turned him, and gestured at the device.
"You go," Hamish said as he looked at Mycroft and pointed to the empty swing.
The mere idea of him, a grown man, swinging in a park full of people was just outrageous. "No."
"Uncle Mycof, take turns! You swing!" Hamish gave him an innocent look complete with puppy dog eyes and a slightly pouted lip.
Mycroft shook his head adamantly. "No," he repeated.
Hamish, apparently, did not take kindly to that answer, and became more determined than ever. As if on cue, his look of innocence became quickly clouded over as he narrowed his eyes and formed his mouth into a tight line.
Mycroft chuckled. "Don't give me that look," he said, "I invented that look."
"Uncle Mycof," he whined.
Mycroft let out an over-exaggerated sigh. "Fine," he said, not willing to get into negotiations with a two year old. He had done enough of that on a daily basis within the walls of his office and elsewhere with seemingly full grown adults. He felt utterly ridiculous as he obeyed the request by sitting on the swing, gripping his umbrella with both hands. Hamish did his best to push him, but his strength didn't add up to much at the time as his little hands dug their way into Mycroft's back, only causing him to move a couple of inches forward and backward. Mycroft sat there, frowning petulantly until Hamish grabbed his hand a few minute later, leading him to the nearby gardens.
He watched Hamish pad around some nearby colorful flower bushes, keeping a wary eye out for any sign of bees.
"Uncle Mycof! Look!" Hamish bent down to the ground, obscuring Mycroft's view of whatever he had suddenly become fascinated with. When he popped back up, he walked over to Mycroft and smiled brightly from under his mess of brown curls, his blue eyes full of excitement as he handed him a stray dandelion.
"Yes, well." Mycroft coughed, uncertain of what to do. Hamish frowned up at him, seemingly puzzled at his actions, or lack thereof. He shot a brief smile down at his nephew as he took the dandelion and held it awkwardly between his fingers and twirled it around. "Thank you."
Out of the blue, a rolling roar of thunder cracked its way across the sky as the clouds above increased in number. Hamish, startled and frightened by the noise, immediately placed his hands over his ears and shuffled closer to Mycroft making a soft, whimpering noise.
Mycroft half smiled at Hamish's earlier deduction. "Looks like you were right after all," Mycroft said as he crouched down to his level. Hamish shuffled closer and wrapped his small arms around Mycroft's neck as he stood, pulling the toddler up in his arms in the process. "There now, it's just a bit of thunder. There's absolutely nothing to be frightened of, see?" He gestured at the sky. When he turned his head back to Hamish, he found him with a soft expression across his face, gazing upward, blinking away moisture from his eyes. It was then that a soft, steady rainfall began to fall on them with the golden sun still peeking through the clouds, catching the city in a sort of weather limbo.
Mycroft sat Hamish back down on the ground and popped open his umbrella. When he went to grab Hamish's hand, however, he wasn't there. Instead, Mycroft spotted him a few feet away, jumping and splashing about in the small, newly forming rain puddles. For what seemed like the dozenth time that day, Mycroft was taken back.
"Sherlock, you ju-" Mycroft stopped himself when he realized what he was about to say. His nephew was so much like his younger brother, that it nearly stopped him in his tracks. He saw so much of both his brother and John in his nephew. He was a lovable and determined little boy who happened to be more than a bit rambunctious, playful, and forever curious about the world around him. Mycroft hoped more than anything that he forever stayed that way. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Nevermind," he said. Hamish turned at Mycroft's voice, falling down into wet mud as he did so, dirtying up his jeans.
Mycroft almost went to gather up Hamish and head for a drier space at that moment, but he decided against it. He let his little nephew splash around in the rain a while to have his bit of childhood fun. He wouldn't make the same mistakes with Hamish that he did with Sherlock, and that was a vow he would keep himself held to. He watched the toddler, smiling fondly at his happiness. Hamish laughed as he splashed through the puddles with soaking curls clinging to his face, muddy knees and muddy clothes becoming the end result.
"Alright, Hamish," Mycroft said after a while, "it's about time to get you home and let your parents get you cleaned up." Hamish didn't hesitate in responding. He walked up to Mycroft and grasped one of his long index fingers. They walked like this through the rain, headed for Baker Street. Mycroft took a second to glance down as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds again. The rays lit up Hamish's damp, curly hair and seemed to make him glow along his wide, genuine, closed mouth smile of happiness that made his dimples stand out and eyes shine. Mycroft looked out into the bright road ahead of him, and couldn't help the small smile that formed across his own face.
Indeed, the sun was shining brighter on the new generation, and Mycroft had no doubts that whatever storms may come his way, Hamish would always find a way to shine on through the rain.