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“Papa?”
“Yes, Hamish?”
“Santa isn’t real, is he?”
Sherlock pulled his face out of his microscope lens and looked to his left to see his 9 year old son stood beside him nervously. He was the spitting image of John, blonde hair, stormy blue eyes, that upturned nose. But he had the curiosity in his face that reminded Sherlock very much of himself.
“What makes you think that?” Sherlock felt something in his belly. Like a pit. It was heavy and made him gulp.
“Well, magic isn’t real. And I can’t find any scientific evidence that would allow him to get to all the children’s houses in one night. Even with time zones. And also sometimes children are really good, and they love Christmas, but they don’t get presents because they don’t have money. But that doesn’t make sense because it’s Santa – he shouldn’t care if they have money or not. Also people say elves build the toys, but last year I got lego, that’s a toy you buy in shops.” Hamish listed his reasons with a little frown between his brows.
Sherlock cleared his throat and took a moment to think before he spoke, just like John often suggested he should. “Well, who do you think delivers your gifts?”
“You and Dad?”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Well… sad because I like Santa. And it’s sad that he’s not real. But… it kind of means you and Dad are like Santa. And it’s really nice that you get me all those presents.” The boy reasoned.
Sherlock turned fully in his chair to face his son and took his small hands in his “Thank you for being so grown up about it.”
“I know it was kind of like a lie, pretending Santa was real. But it’s like a good lie. Like when you pretend to be someone else to get information for a case to catch bad guys.”
“Indeed. I’d agree it was a good lie. I was sceptical at first but once I saw how much you enjoyed the fantasy of it I let it carry on.”
Hamish was quiet for a moment, just looking across the table at his father’s many experiments “Pa, is Christmas not going to be as fun now I know?” he worried.
Sherlock huffed a soft laugh and pulled him in for a hug “Don’t be silly. Your Dad is King of Christmas. And he knows Santa isn’t real. We will still have lots of fun, eat good food, bake gingerbread men, put up decorations and get a tree, watch the movies you like. And you’ll still get nice gifts that you can open, but now you’ll just know it was from me and dad.”
“That’ll be kind of cool, I suppose.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a half smile.
Sherlock held him at arm’s length and said “Now remember, some children in your class may not have sussed it out yet – so don’t give it away. Your dad said that can be upsetting. Okay?”
“Okay, Papa!” Hamish nodded.
“Go and play. Perhaps we can have macaroni cheese tonight for dinner?”
“Ohh, my favourite!” Hamish clapped excitedly and skipped off to the living room.
John returned from work to a quiet house, Hamish lay on the sofa watching a documentary on lions and he greeted him with a kiss to the temple before going to find his husband.
“Sherlock?” he found the man stood at the stove in the kitchen stirring a pan. This was particularly concerning because he almost never cooked.
Sherlock didn’t answer, just continued staring at the pan and stirring.
John put his bag down on the table and came up behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his head on the back of his neck “What’s wrong?”
“Hamish knows about Santa not being real. He worked it out.” Sherlock’s voice was quiet.
John’s heart clenched at the milestone that their son just took. He took a breath, then used his hand to untangle Sherlock’s from the wooden spoon and guided him to turn around and face him “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Yes. But…”
“What?” John’s gentle eyes bore into his.
“I just didn’t expect to feel so upset about it.” Sherlock admitted.
John pulled him into a hug “It’s normal to feel this way. We’ve had so much fun at Christmas, it’s one of his favourite events. And it may feel a bit differently from now on. But hey, it’ll still be special and warm and homely and festive. Just like it always was.”
“Our son is growing up, John.” Sherlock gripped the man’s coat in his fists and sniffled against his shoulder.
“I know, Sher.”
“And obviously I want him to grow up. It’s my life’s joy. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. But it’s just…”
“It’s hard. It’s a very slow detachment process – as he grows up he’ll become more independent. Until we get to a point where he’s an adult with his own place and family and life.” John rubbed his back.
“I’m sentimental when it comes to him, John. And you.”
“I know. But remember,” he pulled away to look into Sherlock’s eyes “He could be forty years old. But he will still need us. Just like when I was out in Afghanistan and I had an awful day, a bomb destroyed a small village… it was just awful. And you know what? Soon as I could, I rang my mum. I still needed her, Sherlock. And I was a thirty year old Captain in the army.”
A tearful chuckle was drawn from the man’s lips “I suppose you’re right. I’m being rather foolish.”
“Not foolish at all.” John wiped a tear away and kissed his lips softly “You know, watching you become a father and embrace it with such heart has made me fall in love with you even more. Back before we had that little rascal, I was in love with you. A lot. Now, well, I’m in so deep there’s no hope for me at all. I’m a hopeless case.”
That stemmed the flow of tears and Sherlock pulled John in for another kiss then a tight embrace “Thank you, John.”
“Any time. Now, I suggest you join our son on the sofa for a cuddle and a documentary while I try to salvage this dinner that I think we may have burnt at this point.” John pulled away and nudged Sherlock out of the kitchen “Hamish! Give your Pa a cuddle, he’s being sentimental.”
“Again, Papa?!” Hamish rolled his eyes but reached his arms out to him anyway.
“And Hamish?” John asked as he fondly watched the two join in a cuddle on their sofa.
“Yeah, Dad?”
“We’re going to have a great Christmas this year, okay?” John said firmly.
“Okay, Daddy.” Hamish smiled and fully relaxed into Sherlock’s side.