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“John, I don’t understand how you can act so calm! Out of the two of us, it should be you who is the flustered one.” By this time Sherlock was as close to panicking as John had ever seen him.
“Is it who is or who are? I’ve never understood that,” he said, trying to distract his husband before the man gave himself a stroke.
“John! Our son has been missing for approximately one hour. He could have been hit by a car or broken a leg or—”
“Or climbed a tree in the park.”
“Or—What?” Sherlock whirled around, coat and curls flaring around him, confusion written on his features.
John took a moment to soak in the feeling of knowing something Sherlock didn’t, then relented and pointed. “There is our son.”
Surely enough, on the lowest branch of a willow tree, was Hamish, arms clasped behind his back as he walked back and forth, obviously in deep thought.
“How did you know that?”
“Because I did the same thing to my mother at his age. Just because he has your brains doesn’t mean there’s nothing of me in there.” With a smirk of satisfaction and the knowledge that there would be gratuitous sex that night, John set off toward their son, putting his fingers to his lips as he barked a whistle. “Alright, Hamish, time to come down. You have some explaining to do. Your father has been worried sick and you’ve left me alone with him.”
“Not good?”
John bit back a smile, although only just. He settled with a stern look that clearly stated that no charming would work. “A bit not good, yes. Now come down and apologize. I don’t mean in five minutes, either, I mean now.”
“Oh, alright.”
Once within arm’s reach, John plucked the boy from the side of the tree and held him at eye level.
“Papa, put me down, this is embarrassing.”
“Yeah? Well so was trying to keep up with your father when he started to panic half an hour ago. What were you thinking, wandering off like that without telling either of us?”
For his worry he received an eye-roll so reminiscent of Sherlock that John had to clench his teeth to keep from smiling. “Dad was muttering to himself again. You know how I can’t think if other people are distracting me.”
“So you decided that leaving the house without telling either of us was acceptable?”
“If I were in any real danger, Uncle Mycroft would send Uncle Greg to come and fetch me home, now, wouldn’t he?”
The teeth clenching wasn’t on purpose now as John set him down and crouched, face very not amused as he looked at his only child. “What if you had been thinking, just like when I found you, and had walked in front of a car? No, don’t argue, your father’s done it more than once, and it always scares the living daylights out of me. Or what if someone had decided you had been abandoned? Social workers don’t take too kindly to parents who allow their child to wander the streets. Especially parents as unique as your father and I. Think about that for a moment, and you’ll see why your father was scared half to out of his ridiculous mind.”
Hamish was quiet for a long moment, his eyes widening as possibilities flashed into his imagination. “I won’t do it again,” came the firm reply, but John saw his chin trembling.
“I know you won’t. Next time, just tell me where you’re going. Your father either won’t hear you or will want to follow you, so come get me. I’ll either say be back in a few hours or no, which in that case I may allow you to throw a pillow at him to shut him up.”
Mirth sprang to Hamish’s face as he looked up suddenly. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Now go apologize before your father starts to molt.”
John watched the skinny young child run forward and watched the two most important people in his world banter, then Sherlock broke down and hugged Hamish close. They turned, one pair of light blue and one of dark blue, both blazing out of dark curls, and they waited for John to catch up to them before beginning the walk home.
He felt Sherlock’s hand on his back and only just managed to keep the grin to himself, although he knew that Sherlock knew, so it didn’t really matter.
Oh yes. John Hamish Holmes-Watson is definitely getting sex tonight.