Chapter Text
Saturday. A blissful day when most people can sleep in and enjoy their well-earned rest after a long and strenuous working week. Who if not John deserved such a treat? A doctor, an assistant of the world's greatest detective, a husband and a father – all of these functions equally important and equally exhausting, but all the same bringing him unspeakable joy and satisfaction. Still, he would have been even happier if his bloody inner biological clock hadn’t woken him up at six o’clock sharp on the warm and bright morning of his free day.
John groaned, taking his gaze off the alarm clock on the nightstand and running his hand down his worn-out face. It was the worst time of day, when it was too early to stand up and get dressed and too late to lay on your other side and get back to sleep. His brain had done a nasty number on him.
John sighed and turned his head towards the warm body curled up right next to him. He smiled. Every cloud had a silver lining, he guessed. Being able to revel in the sight of the love of his life in deep slumber wasn’t an everyday occurrence. The night before, John had fallen asleep in an empty bed because Sherlock had some extremely important experiments to conduct and stayed up at least till 3 am. Nothing new here. How the detective could function on such a minimal amount of sleep was one of the universe’s biggest mysteries, one that John would probably never be able to figure out. But right now Sherlock was fast asleep, his cheek pressed against the pillow, his shapely lips slightly parted. This time he wasn’t salivating on the fabric like a couple nights before. Of course Sherlock insisted that he had never done such a thing, almost taking mortal offence at John’s smirks. Thankfully, a few praises and a dozen kisses got the oncoming huff under control.
John chuckled silently. Sherlock was an absolutely ridiculous man. And what was most important, John remained the only person who could see the pompous Holmes in such a silly and adorable state. The only one who saw the best and the worst of him, loving him just the same, always remaining steadfastly at his side.
John adjusted his position to have a better view of his husband. He smiled fondly. God, he loved this madman so much that no words could ever convey even a fraction of his affection. John wasn’t the mushy or touchy-feely type, but looking at Sherlock made his heart swell. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that they were married and were raising a child together, a bundle of their mixed genes. Everything felt too good to be true and yet was very real. John knew what a lucky man he was.
“I know you’re staring.” Sherlock’s slightly slurred voice pulled him out of his reverie. The detective opened his eyes. A playful smile was tugging at the corner of his lips. “Rude.”
“Says the rudest person who ever graced the earth with their presence,” countered John, reaching out to smooth a stray curl away from Sherlock’s forehead. That was the cue for the detective to shift closer to his husband and wrap an arm languidly over his middle while pressing his nose into the crook of John’s neck. Sherlock sighed quietly in contentment.
“Go back to sleep, love,” John whispered, placing a soft kiss on the man’s dishevelled head. “You had a long night.”
“Sleeping’s boring,” he muttered.
“It’s not supposed to be entertaining, you know, it’s supposed to make you function without collapsing to the floor from exhaustion.”
“Don’t care.” His hand moved to the rim of John’s pyjama pants and slid under it, stroking the warm hip. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where this was going.
“You’re mad,” John said, but not without fond amusement. “Absolutely and utterly bonkers.”
“You like me that way…”
“Sometimes I do,” John agreed, his voice dropping an octave.
Sherlock let out a strange noise – half-purr and half-chuckle. He lifted his head and left small marks on John’s neck, nipping at his sensitive skin. There was nothing better than John’s taste and his musky scent in the morning when he hadn’t applied the cologne yet.
John hummed in appreciation, sinking his fingers into his husband’s hair.
“You sure you’re up for this?” John teased. “I don’t want you to fall asleep in the middle.”
“Oh, I can assure you that I am very up for this.” Sherlock’s response prompted a burst of undignified giggles from John.
“Less bragging, more doing,” John urged him with a challenging glint in his eye.
He didn’t have to say it twice. Sherlock was as eager to get down to business as he was, the desire widening his pupils. He licked his lips and joined them with John’s, his hand…
Thud!
The sound of a five-year-old boy unable to reduce his speed in time and banging the palms of his hands against the door. A half second pause and the handle moved, pressed with far more force than necessary.
“Papa! Daddy!” A shrill scream full of joy, and then Hamish dashed onto the bed with the speed and impact of a torpedo, his hair sticking out in every direction.
John and Sherlock had milliseconds to abandon their heated embrace, adjust their clothes and train their expressions to show nothing but innocence.
“Hi, Mishy. You should be still asleep at this hour,” John said, trying not to speak through his teeth. After all, it wasn’t Hamish’s fault that he had terrible timing. That must be a universal trait of all children. “Why are you up?”
“Sleeping is boring,” came the reply, which elicited in John an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Sherlock’s pout made everything even better.
John burst out laughing. The great detective's pout became even more prominent.
“Why is Daddy angry?” asked Hamish, his blue eyes moving from one father to the other.
“He’s not angry,” said John, petting Hamish’s head. “He’s simply Sulk McGrump today.” He smiled, seeing the big grin on his son’s face. “But Papa knows how to un-sulk Daddy.”
“Yeah?” Hamish looked at him expectantly as if John was about to share some forbidden knowledge with him.
“A shower.”
“A shower?” Hamish was surprised. The same comical befuddlement appeared on Sherlock’s face. Only under John’s meaningful gaze did the spark of understanding shine in the detective’s eyes.
“Yeah, that’s right. A shower. Papa will help Daddy wash away the grouchiness and everything will be fine once again.”
“Can I help wash Daddy too?” asked Hamish naively, earning an adamant and flustered ‘No!’ from both of his fathers.
“Ehrm… Stay here, will you, Mishy?” John asked. Hamish nodded. John smiled and kissed his head. “Love you.”
Hamish watched as Papa took Daddy’s hand and lead him to the bathroom. The door closed after them and a moment later the boy heard the steady hum of water that couldn’t entirely muffle Papa’s giggles and Daddy’s deep rumbling chuckle.
Hamish shook his head and flopped on the bed, spreading his arms and legs like a starfish. His parents could be so silly sometimes. It wasn’t hard to figure out that they were kissing and cuddling in there. After all, Hamish wasn’t stupid, he was quite good at thinking. For some reason Papa and Daddy sometimes liked to snuggle without clothes although the purpose of that still eluded the boy. If they couldn’t get pregnant and get him a brother or a sister then what was the point? Weren’t they cold without their pyjamas? Cuddling with your clothes on was nice too. Adults were weird, they liked to complicate things to an absurd degree.
Several minutes later, when Hamish was nearly dozing off again from boredom, Papa and Daddy finally emerged from the bathroom. Both were still dripping water from their badly dried hair, both had reddened skin and on both faces he saw the same happy smile with a hint of something naughty.
“Better, Daddy?”
“Yes, better.” There could be no mistake that Sherlock was telling the truth because as soon as he approached the bed, he fell down, gathered the boy tightly to his chest and started to tickle him. Hamish shrieked and wriggled, trying to free himself, or at least pretending too. In truth, he liked it.
“Today is a very nice day, Mishy. How about we go to the park later?” proposed John, when the tickling match ended in a draw and Hamish could breathe again. The boy lay right between them on his side, his head propped on his hand.
“Yeeees!” boomed Hamish, bouncing excitedly on the mattress and punching the air with his tiny fist. “Maybe we can go on a picnic?”
“A picnic, huh?” John pondered upon the idea, wondering simultaneously where Hamish had even heard about such a thing as a picnic. Must be Mrs Hudson.
“Yeah! We can take a blanket, a basket and eat something yummy on the grass!”
Seeing the radiant grin on his son’s face, John simply had to smile himself as well.
“Well, I don’t know. Daddy, what do you think?” John asked his husband.
It was clear that Sherlock wasn’t as eager to leave the house as the youngest member of their family, but his defences melted under Hamish’s pleading gaze.
“Oh, okay, okay. We can go…”
“Yaaay!”
“Get dressed, Mishy,” said John. “I’ll make breakfast in a minute.”
The boy sprang out of bed and sped out of the room like a motorboat.
Sherlock smiled and shook his head.
“We’re spoiling him.”
“I don’t see how a family picnic can be considered spoiling. You’re just lazy, face it.” John sweetened the criticism with an affectionate kiss to Sherlock’s cheek. The great detective seemed content.
“I’d rather shower again than go to a park…”
John nudged him playfully.
“Maybe later. It’s easy to get dirty in the park, after all…”
“Daddy!” A loud and impatient shout didn’t allow Sherlock to respond.
The detective sighed. One had to forget about flirting when children were at home.
“Go and help him.” John kissed his husband once more and sat up, patting Sherlock's thigh to urge him to move. “He’s probably tangled in his jumper again. I’ll fix us some breakfast and then raid the cupboards to see what we can take with us to the park.”
Grudgingly, Sherlock left the warm bed and shuffled barefoot to Hamish’s room to save his son from a fabric disaster.