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As much as Hamish enjoyed the company of his parents, usually he didn’t mind playing on his own. He understood that sometimes they were tired or needed to work, or simply wanted to have a moment for themselves. And that was fine. Hamish was a big boy now – 5 years and counting! – so he didn’t need constant supervision like some baby.
At the moment, he was perfectly happy sitting on the carpet in his room, building a zoo from his bricks and tiny animal figurines.
“Do you think we should put lions right next to the crocodiles, Mr Bee?” Hamish asked, lifting his head to look at his best friend, the cuddly bee he got from his Daddy on his first birthday. The toy didn’t reply, but the boy wasn’t discouraged. He went on unperturbed after a slight pause. “Yeah, you’re right, that’s a silly idea. Let’s put tigers and lynxes, and cheetahs right next to the lions! At least they will be able to meow together.”
Hamish’s bold architectural plans were interrupted by a loud rumbling noise coming from his stomach. Despite the gastric concerto, he wasn’t actually famished. Just a little peckish maybe. Surely he could have a small snack before dinner. Especially if he was sneaky about it.
“There should be a plate of cookies in the kitchen that Mrs Hudson brought yesterday. I think we can eat a few, no one will mind. And just in case they would mind, we will be discreet.” Hamish grinned at his partner in crime and stood up, pressing Mr Bee into his chest. The boy and his pet insect moved downstairs into the living room.
The sight that greeted their eyes was far from unusual. Papa had dozed off on the couch, lulled by the steady hum of some stupid programme on the telly. It was either that boring or he was that tired after his long shift in the hospital. Or perhaps both. At some point Daddy had covered Papa with a blanket so that he wouldn’t get cold while sleeping. That was nice of him. Right now, though, Sherlock was sitting at the table with his face glued to the eyepiece of a microscope, seeming completely engrossed in his research. Something connected with bacteria he had grown secretly in one of Papa’s mugs, as far as Hamish knew. Maybe that was why Daddy was being so nice to him.
Hamish went by his parents undisturbed and found himself in their messy kitchen. With Daddy consumed by work slash being lazy and Papa dead to the world on the sofa, no one had done the dishes, which formed quite an impressive heap in the sink. One plate still stood on the table, however. The flowery ornaments around the rim were clear evidence that it belonged to Mrs Hudson. The crumbs and tiny pieces of chocolate indicated in turn that it was once full of cookies.
Once. Past tense. The plate was empty.
Hamish gasped in horror, approaching the crime scene. With Mr Bee tucked under his arm, he put his hands on the table and stood on his tiptoes to see better. Someone had clearly eaten all the cookies, not leaving behind even one.
Hamish fell back on his feet and looked at his friend with a serious expression on his face.
“I was here an hour ago, so the culprit must have done it in that period of time. I’m sure they are still nearby,” Hamish concluded, looking and sounding even more like Sherlock’s smaller clone than he normally did. “We need to catch them, Mr Bee!”
The decision was made. Now it was time to carry it out. The boy didn’t hesitate on what to do next, he had heard Papa and Daddy discuss it more times than he could count and he could count very well.
“We need to look for clues!” he beamed at Mr Bee, liking the idea of going on a criminal adventure himself, not only listening to his parents’ tales. “And to do that we need to get a magnifying glass!” Good thing that he knew exactly where he could find one.
Uplifted by his enthusiasm, Hamish ran to the hallway where all the shoes and jackets waited for them if they wanted to go out, Daddy’s included. Of course, Hamish didn’t want to go out right now, and besides, he’d drown in Daddy’s long coat. No, all he needed was one of the seemingly bottomless pockets. Standing again on his tiptoes and balancing Mr Bee under his arm, he reached inside with his hand and after a moment of fumbling, he fished out a small, black rectangular object. It wasn’t a big, round magnifying glass like in the movies, but it would do. Once he'd slid the box open and revealed the glass, it was just like any other one, the appearance was just cosmetics.
Hamish was about to walk away with his new tool of the trade, when his gaze rested on the shelf right above the rack. His Daddy’s hat was displayed there proudly, which was probably Papa’s doing. If it were up to Daddy, he’d have thrown it out a long time ago, but people often asked him to wear it during press conferences, so he grudgingly did, much to Papa’s amusement. It was ‘the detective’s hat’ now, not dear… dearstalker or something anymore. Good, he never really understood that name anyway. How could someone be dear when they were stalking you?
A glint appeared in Hamish’s eyes as he stared at the hat. If he was a detective now he should look like one too! The boy grabbed a nearby stool, dragged it under the rack and climbed on it, almost falling down in his eagerness. Thankfully, his quick reflexes saved his hide and his bottom from a painful catastrophe as he clutched the hook and steadied himself. Just a bit of contortion and he was able to reach the hat. As pleased as punch, the boy jumped down to the floor and put the trophy askance on his head. Well, it was too big and kept falling down on his eyes, but Hamish felt smart and important in this detective armour, so any inconvenience paled in comparison to the advantages.
Hamish marched with purpose to the kitchen once again. Papa was still snoring quietly and Daddy spared the boy a questioning look, seeing the hat and the magnifying glass. He said nothing though, returning to his research, although he seemed to have smiled a little to himself. It was so brief that Hamish wasn’t sure if he had truly seen it or just imagined it.
This time Hamish climbed on the chair and sat down, needing to see everything up close. He put Mr Bee right next to him and leaned over the empty plate, moving the magnifying glass around its surface. No fingerprints were visible. He furrowed his brows and remembered that to reveal the prints some special powder had to be used. Not good. But then maybe he didn’t need fingerprints in the first place?
“The glutton had one hour to eat the cookies,” said Hamish pensively, steepling his fingers under his chin. It was easier to think aloud while talking to someone, even if the cuddly toy was reluctant to reply. “No one came to visit us and the windows in the kitchen are closed, so I think that it was an inside job. The culprit is among us. I didn’t do and I know you didn’t do it either, Mr Bee.” Hamish nodded at his friend. “I trust you and besides you were with me all the time. So that means that it was either Papa or Daddy who ate the cookies!” Hamish was proud of himself for arriving at this conclusion. He had just deduced something, he was a proper detective now! “Now we just need to figure out who it was and prove their guilt. But we need to be smart about it.”
With his companion at his side – or rather, firmly pressed to his side to be exact – the boy continued the investigation. Now he needed to take a closer look at the suspects and find out who was guilty. He decided to start with Papa, who wouldn't protest, since he was unconscious.
Hamish sat right next to him on the couch and lifted the blanket a bit, uncovering him. He was very careful not to wake him up, but John was out cold. Hamish waited for a few heartbeats to make sure that Papa wouldn’t wake up. When he didn’t, the boy started to examine his shirt and trousers for any residue from the committed crime.
“What are you doing, Hamish?”
Hamish could feel his Daddy’s gaze on his neck, but he didn’t stop.
“I’m concocting an investigation,” he replied complacently.
“Conducting,” corrected Sherlock, a trace of a smile in his voice. “And I can see that. The hat gave it away. But what are you investigating?”
“I can’t tell you anything, you’re a suspect!”
“A suspect?” Sherlock sounded as surprised as he was amused. “What do you think I have done, Hamish? Put some sleeping pills in your Papa’s tea? Again?”
Hamish finally turned to look at him.
“No, don’t be silly, Daddy! Papa didn't drink any tea after returning home, so you couldn’t have drugged him.”
Sherlock was beaming with pride, not at all bothered by the implication that his son had thought him capable of drugging his husband.
“Then what?” he coaxed, but Hamish would have none of that.
“You’ll learn soon enough,” he said, ending the discussion, and went back to work. Despite his best efforts and painstaking scrutiny, he found no cookie crumbs on his Papa. Well then. He covered Papa again with the blanket and stood up. Daddy returned to staring into his microscope, pretending not to pay any attention to what was happening around him. But Hamish knew him too well to be fooled.
The boy lifted his friend and whispered to his ear – or rather where the ear would be if the bee was human – so that Sherlock wouldn’t hear him.
“We know that Daddy stood up from his research at least once to get the blanket for Papa. He could have easily went to the kitchen as well. And besides, he always had a bigger sweet tooth than Papa. And his irregular eating fits with the glutton’s MO, who ate all the sweets at once or almost at once. I think it’s Daddy, Mr Bee! But we need to get proof.”
Hamish and Mr Bee walked with determination towards Sherlock. Without asking for permission, the boy began his examination. This time he was more lucky.
“Aha!” he exclaimed and looked up at his father. “It was you, I knew it!”
“It was me what?” inquired Sherlock, a smile tugging at his lips.
“It was you who ate all the cookies!”
Sherlock chuckled, patting his son's head and almost causing the hat to fall. Hamish caught it just in time.
“And do you have any evidence to back up your accusations?”
“Yes! There are cookie crumbs on your trousers, a little speck of melted chocolate, not to mention more crumbs near the microscope. And I’m sure I will be able to find more on the floor because I think that you walked and ate at least some of them.”
Sherlock grinned.
“Well done, Hamish. You got me. No crime can go unsolved when you’re around.”
The boy was so excited that he felt liable to spontaneously combust at any second.
“I think you need to get punished now for being a thief,” he said adamantly and nodded to give his words even more gravitas.
“And what will my punishment be?”
Hamish already had an answer.
“We should go to the shop and buy more cookies!”
Sherlock had a better idea.
“How about we go to Mrs Hudson's instead? I think she was baking a strawberry cake today. Is that okay?”
Hamish's eyes lit up at the mention of a cake.
“Yeah! Let’s go, Daddy! You need to give the sweets back or you’ll go to a cookie prison!”
Sherlock laughed and let his son drag him and Mr Bee downstairs.
John opened one eye, catching a glimpse of his husband and his son leaving the house. His two Holmeses were so similar that it was almost scary. Still, all John could feel was infinite love towards the both of them. He shifted a bit, finding a comfortable pose to sleep once again. Although he needed to be extra careful or else he’d crush the cookie he had stashed in his trouser's pocket. He didn't want to wind up in a cookie prison after all.