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Sherlock held Hamish's two tiny hands in his own, Hamish leading the way as they walked across the hardwood floor of the flat at a snail's pace. At ten months old he was a bundle of energy requiring constant movement, and seemed more than eager to get around on his own. He had mastered the art of crawling around the flat, turning the already chaotic home into even more disarray as he explored. Learning to walk was much the same story, though he hadn't quite learned how to balance himself on two feet yet. All in good time.
The morning sunlight streamed through the windows as Hamish stopped his movement, and therefore Sherlock's behind him. He seemed to be on a cycle of repeat; taking a step or two and then stopping to bounce himself up and down, giggling. However cute it may be, they had been at it for over twenty minutes and frankly, Sherlock's back was aching from hunchbacked walking he'd been doing.
"Really, Hamish," Sherlock began as they took another step, "I'm entirely too tall for this. It would be much more efficient for you to learn with someone closer to your own height." Sherlock paused for a moment before calling out, "John!"
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," John voiced as he entered the room.
"It's the truth, is it not?" Sherlock smirked at him as John reached down and picked Hamish up in his arms. He stood, straightening his stiff back for the first time in what felt like ages.
John shot him a quick and dirty look. Much to his annoyance, John had been going to visit Harry for the day. Still yet, he had planned on getting on with some experiments, so it wasn't a total loss, he supposed.
"Hamish," John said, addressing the baby in his arms, "kiss?"
He didn't seem to be paying attention, though, instead focusing on pulling at the collar of John's shirt. When addressed again, he looked at John startlingly as if his mind had been completely immersed in something else, unaware of his surroundings. John repeated himself and the boy instantly made a popping noise with his mouth, opening wide and leaning in, planting a wet baby kiss on John's cheek.
"Close enough, I suppose," John laughed as he passed him back to Sherlock. He straightened himself up and wiped his cheek with his sleeve. "Right, then. I'd better be off. Hamish," he called, causing the baby to change the direction of his gaze, "bye!"
Hamish opened and closed his palm a few times before John leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, causing giggles. John straightened himself once more and walked to the door, shrugging on his jacket. Sherlock followed him with his eyes, a questioning look on his face.
"John?"
"Sorry," he answered, "too short to reach you, apparently." He raised his eyebrows playfully and disappeared into the hall. "Take care of your Dad, Hamish!" And with that, he was gone.
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he placed Hamish in his walker, opting to save his back from pain for a little while longer. The baby squealed happily as he slid himself across the floor in rapid movements, frowning when he would bump into a piece of furniture. Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two sealed plastic containers. He stepped in front of the walker and held one container in each hand, presenting them to the boy.
"What do you think, Hamish?" he asked as he crouched down to be eye level with him. "Should I experiment on the toes or the eyeballs today?"
He looked between the two for a long moment before leaning in and attempting to grasp the one in Sherlock's left hand.
"I suppose you're right," he said, knees clicking as he stood up, "eyeballs are much more interesting. The toes can wait."
Hamish happily began grasping at the brightly colored toys on his walker as Sherlock started to make his way back to the kitchen. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. He became agitated at the sound, clearly not looking for a case that day.
"Go away!" he hollered as he put the toes back in the freezer. Along came a similar loud string of gurgling sounds from the living room. Hamish was trying to get the point across as well, he thought. His phone chimed from the kitchen table, and he glanced at the screen, reading the message to himself. He sighed and put the eyeballs back in the freezer as well. "Come along, Hamish," he said, picking him up. "It would seem your Uncle is being rather insufferable today. Best get it over with now."
Mycroft's home was rather large and neatly organized, unlike that of Baker Street. The two Holmes brothers had been speaking for over half an hour in the large, open sitting room tirelessly discussing a potential case. Hamish didn't seem to mind as he crawled around on the thick carpeting, inspecting everything in sight. There were various plants and abstract pieces of art abound in the brightly lit area. Every time Hamish would grasp onto something and knock it over, Sherlock would victoriously smirk at his brother. A bit of revenge for dragging them both out there.
Everything had been going fine. Well, as fine as one could hope, anyway. Soon though, Hamish sat himself on the carpet and attempted to shove the corner of a book he had found into his mouth. Sherlock saw what was about to happen and immediately leapt to his feet.
"No you don't," he said, taking the book away as he swooped him up from the floor. Whining sounds came from him as he sat down across from his brother once more, baby in his lap. Hamish began wiggling about as Mycroft began speaking again, and even started sniffling out frustration as he brought his little hand into his mouth.
"What is it?" Mycroft asked, stopping the conversation.
"He's teething," Sherlock replied, annoyed with himself that he hadn't thought to bring along any of his teething toys. Then again, he hadn't thought they'd be there that long. Mycroft to blame it is, then. Sherlock gave his brother a sarcastic look as Hamish began making muffled cries around his fist. "Got any meaningless case files he could chew on? I'm sure there's plenty," he remarked.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Oh for goodness sake!" he exclaimed as he stood and snatched Hamish out of his hands. He disappeared into the next room, leaving a confused Sherlock sitting alone. Mycroft emerged into the room once more with Hamish in tow who was happily gnawing on a vanilla sandwich biscuit. He sat back down with Hamish sitting sideways on his lap, all the while his son making mewling sounds as the tip of the biscuit turned to mush in his mouth. "Back to business then, shall we?"
Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow at him.
"Oh don't look surprised. This is hardly the first time I've cared for a child," he said as he ran his hand over Hamish's fine, loose curls. "I seem to recall another little dark haired boy who enjoyed these when he became fussy," he pointed out.
"Ah." Sherlock thought back to his own childhood and the memories he had kept from that time. The biscuits were indeed the very same kind from all those years ago, the ones Mycroft would give to him as a young child as their little secret before the rivalry began.
He saw Mycroft grin at the acknowledgement as he turned his attention back to the baby. Hamish seemed to enjoy the biscuit as well, one hand waving it about as he chewed a mushy mouthful with a smile, making gleeful sounds at the same time. His other hand was gripped around Mycroft's tie, tugging at it with all his might. He stopped abruptly and stared at his hands. Suddenly, he tore off the mushy end of the biscuit and shoved his hand onto Mycroft's tie, smearing it about. Sherlock couldn't repress a smile as Hamish drew his hands away and turned to him, an open grin upon his face as if he were presenting a masterpiece. Mycroft sighed.
"Like Father like son, I suppose," Mycroft said, glancing down at his possibly ruined clothing.
"Dad," Sherlock corrected.
"Hmm?"
"Not Father," he asserted. "Never Father."
The two sat in silence for a moment with only Hamish making incoherent noises between them. Before Hamish was even born, Sherlock told John he flat out refused to ever be called that. He refused to be associated with it whatsoever. If it were anyone else, Sherlock might have told them off for the saying. But Mycroft knew, and Mycroft understood immediately. He nodded once.
"Yes of course," he said softly, meeting his brother's gaze.
Hamish looked between the two of them quickly and mashed another piece of the biscuit into Mycroft's tie, giggling at his own work.
"Like Dad like son," Mycroft said fondly. "So it is."