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"I can't believe we missed his birthday," John said, sighing as the cab came to a stop outside 221B.
"We haven't," Sherlock argued as they got out.
"Yeah, twenty minutes left in the day, Sherlock! Twenty bloody minutes!" He scrubbed his hand over his face in a annoyance.
"You're overreacting," Sherlock told him calmly as they walked to the door. "He's still awake and we still have time."
Frustrated, John rounded on him. They had left out of London early in the morning two days before, Sherlock promising him they would be back for Hamish's birthday, no matter what. John reluctantly agreed and had been regretting it ever since. Hamish had been left in good hands, of course. He had no doubts that Mrs. Hudson had taken good care of him. But, the fact that they had missed this day of all days - it was eating at him. He turned and put his hand up near Sherlock's chest, stopping him from going any farther.
"That's not the point," he hissed, his anger bubbling to the surface as his eyes narrowed. "The point is that today was important, is important. All I asked for was this day. And you," he said, pointing at him, "you'd rather be off on some godforsaken case than to spend this one day with our son."
Sherlock tore his gaze away from John. "You know that's not true," he said quietly, his face contorted with conflicting emotions.
John let a breath out through his nose and dropped his arms to his sides, regretting his words in an instant. It wasn't true, not at all. Sherlock was fantastic with Hamish, just as John knew he would be, but much to the surprise of everyone else. Not once had he put the work before him, and he had always been there from day one. John shook himself as he realized his emotions over the sentiment of the day were getting the best of him, getting him too worked up.
"We can talk about this later," John told him as he turned the key in the lock.
"Agreed," Sherlock replied. "It's not the most important thing right now."
John caught a glimpse of his face. One part determined, one part downcast. He didn't have time to think about it, so he just nodded as they pushed open the door.
The lights were on and the heavy aroma of baked goods drifted through the air as soon as they stepped over the threshold.
"There you two are," Mrs. Hudson beamed as she walked in the room, robe pulled around her frame.
"Sorry we're so late," John apologized as the clock neared midnight.
"Oh no don't be silly. Better late than never," she tutted. "Now, some friends of yours have been by today with gifts, but he hasn't opened them. I thought you'd want to be here for that, so I left them up in your flat."
Suddenly, as if he knew what was being discussed, Hamish toddled into the room barefoot with dark blue trousers and a plain white shirt. His infectious smile overtook his face as he saw John and Sherlock, his loose dark curls falling over his forehead. He attempted somewhat of a run to them, but still being the excitable toddler that he was, he nearly tripped over his own two feet. Quicker than he could even blink, Sherlock was there, catching Hamish mid-fall in his hands and scooping him up in his arms.
Mrs. Hudson leaned in close to John. "He's had dinner," she told him, "but I left a cake upstairs for you all. Can't celebrate without it."
John smiled warmly at her. "Mrs. Hudson, you're a saint."
"Oh you," she blushed. "I'm off to bed, now. Have a nice time with them, won't you? Don't be too hard on him," she motioned, indicating Sherlock.
"Of course," he sighed. "Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson."
John watched as she went over and tugged Sherlock's arms down. She gave Hamish a kiss on the cheek, bidding them all goodnight. John started his way up the stairs with Sherlock and Hamish in tow behind. Hamish babbled on, making all kinds of noises as they walked into the kitchen.
"Put him in his highchair," John instructed as he walked over to the counter.
"You want to do this now?" Sherlock asked, indicating the time.
"Might as well," he shrugged. "Special occasion and all. Besides, his sleeping pattern is about as good as ours right now, won't make a lick of difference." Sherlock did as he instructed and peeled off his coat and scarf. John shrugged out of his jacket and picked up the cake Mrs. Hudson had baked. It was a decorated round cake with white icing and blue piping around the bottom and top edges, a simple 'Happy Birthday Hamish' written in the same blue across the top. He brought it over to Hamish, sitting it in front of him on his tray.
Sherlock stood next to him as John glanced at the clock and back to his son. "Do you know what today is, Hamish?" John asked as he bent down to his level. "It's your birthday! You've been here an entire year, what do you think of that?"
The boy watched John carefully. He glanced down at the cake in confusion. He motioned at it with his hand and made questioning noises as he looked back at John as if he had an answer.
"No, not yet," John said as if he understood. He turned away and rummaged through the kitchen drawers with Sherlock and Hamish both watching them. "We would have done this earlier, but, well, this case..." he trailed off, shooting Sherlock a quick look.
"Are you still going on about that?" Sherlock asked as Hamish began squealing from his high chair.
"Still? Yes I'm still going on about that." Finally, he pulled out a small solitary candle and placed it in the cake. Sherlock's arm shot out in an instant with a lighter ready, giving flame to the candle. "Go on," John urged him, ignoring Sherlock. "Make a wish and blow it out."
Hamish's eyebrows knitted together as he stared at the flickering flame. John blew air through his mouth as an example. Hamish tried, but instead all that came out was a wet raspberry sound.
"I wish that you'd stop being ridiculous," he heard Sherlock mutter from behind.
John turned to face him as Hamish kept on with his raspberries, eventually stringing together sounds as he spoke again. "Ridiculous?"
"Yes," Sherlock said a little louder than usual over Hamish, straightening himself up a bit. "You're upset, John, but it's misdirected. It's hardly my fault that this case was -"
"Kay!"
"Precisely, Hamish, this case -"
John and Sherlock both immediately froze in place, their eyes locked on one another. They both turned to Hamish in shock at hearing what was potentially his first word. The candle had been extinguished, and Hamish had his hands together, looking between the two of them with a lopsided grin.
John blinked at the boy. "Did he just -"
"I believe so," Sherlock said steadily. "But there's not enough data."
"Not enough data," he echoed.
"Yes. If we recreate the circumstances he might do so again. John," he said sternly, "bicker at me."
"What?" John turned to him in disbelief.
"You heard me."
"I'm not going to stand here and -" Without warning, his jumper was met with a smattering of icing. "Sherlock!"
"What?" Sherlock asked, the evidence covering his fingers.
John let out a noisy breath. "First, we get caught up on this case, and now you take our son's cake and -"
"Kay!" Hamish bellowed.
Sherlock grinned at John, his theory being correct. John looked between the two of them. "Is he saying case or cake?"
"Oh good Lord," Sherlock groaned, "he's been spending far too much time with Mycroft."
John looked at Sherlock with his arms crossed. He had a plan in place - albeit not a very good one, but a plan still. He inclined his head slightly, urging him to follow along. "Would you like some cake?"
"Cake? I would love some cake."
They both paused and waited, but nothing came. In his mind John was laughing at how ridiculous it must seem. Here they were, two grown men trying to outsmart a toddler, and Hamish was dead silent. John made his way around the kitchen, Hamish following him with his eyes. He got out a couple of plates and a soft knife, going on with the charade.
"So about that case, Sherlock," he urged.
"Ah, yes. Well the case was -"
"Kay!"
John sat the things down and was instantly at Hamish's side along with Sherlock "I can't believe it, he said it. His first word." He paused briefly, realized just in fact what the word was. Most children, of course, start asking for their parents. But with case being thrown around multiple times each day, it ended up being the word Hamish clung onto. It was fitting, really, and John couldn't be any more proud.
With the way Sherlock was grinning at Hamish, he was certain he felt the same way. His smile overtook his face - much like Hamish's usually did his own - and his eyes crinkled at the corners with delight. Hamish beamed up at them both, seemingly happy with his accomplishment. In a moment of clarity, John saw an opportunity for revenge and decided to take it without a second thought. As quickly as he could, he tore away a piece of the cake and smashed it into Sherlock's face.
Sherlock pulled away and glared at him. White and blue icing covered his face and tangled in his hair, bits of vanilla cake falling to the floor. John, still crouched at the side of the highchair, cocked his head to the side and feigned innocence.
"What? You said you wanted some cake," he shrugged. Sherlock gave him a wicked glance. "No," he warned, a mirthful grin playing at his lips as he saw Sherlock marching over to him, "don't -" but it was too late. Before he knew it, Sherlock had pulled him in by the waist and plowed another piece of the sweet dessert in his face. He spluttered around and grabbed another handful of it, and an all out war broke out in their kitchen.
Pieces of cake went flying across the kitchen in different directions. Some landed on Sherlock's experimental equipment and such, but he didn't seem to care. They were both laughing like maniacs as they chased each other around, Hamish clapping and squealing all the while. When Hamish began yelling, they both stopped to look at him. He froze for a heartbeat before grinning and smashing his face down into the remnants of his cake, seemingly copying his parents. He giggled as he looked back up with icing clinging to his curls and covering the tip of his nose.
"I think Hamish wants some cake, too," John said.
"I believe so."
They both walked over to him, each crouched on either side of the highchair. The cake was an absolute disaster by that point. John took up some icing and smeared it across Hamish's cheek as Sherlock did the same on the other side. He looked like a victorious warrior in the battle of birthdays, giggling all the while. Hamish grabbed at both of them, pulling them in closer to one another. He grabbed a tiny handful of the stuff and threw it in their general direction, laughing when it only landed in front of him. He proceeded to pick up a giant piece and began to shove it into his mouth, savoring it to his heart's content.
"Mrs. Hudson is going to murder us," John said, shaking his head as he took in the mess they'd made.
But in the end, it didn't matter. He would get up early and clean it up, but not now. Total chaos always goes hand in hand with pure joy, and it's always worth it.
Later on that night, John was giving Hamish a bath in the kitchen sink. He had peeled off his covered jumper and shoes, leaving him in his jeans and light grey t-shirt. He saw Sherlock come over out of the corner of his eye. He had done away with his shoes as well, and his suit jacket was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his usual black shirt had been pulled up to the elbows and untucked. His clothes were still covered from their impromptu battle. There was still icing sticking in his hair, and John was certain his looked much the same.
He leaned back against the counter top to John's right side with his arms supporting his weight. John continued giving Hamish a bath as Sherlock stayed silent. Bubbles piled up around the boy as he splashed around.
"Missed a spot," Sherlock mumbled, his finger pressing down on John's cheek.
John turned his head slightly to get a better look at him. Sherlock swiped down the side of his cheek and showed John the icing covering his finger. Sherlock paid him no attention as it disappeared into his mouth only to emerge clean once more. The nature of it wasn't flirtatious, but more of a peace offering of sorts. John knew that look in Sherlock's eyes, the careful, calculated glances from under his curls. A silent way of asking, 'Do you forgive me?'
John turned his attention back to Hamish. It hadn't been Sherlock's fault, not really. They had got on with the case as planned, but it was the getting back to London that stalled them. For whatever reason, whether it be them against the world, the trains hadn't cooperated that day, leaving them no choice but to get in that night. He needed to vent his frustrations, and unfortunately, Sherlock had been the target. He scooped up some bubbles from the sink with his hand. He playfully flicked them at Sherlock, a corner of his mouth tugging upwards with his own silent gesture of 'Yes,' and, 'I'm an idiot, sorry' simultaneously given.
Sherlock smiled softly before he sauntered up behind him. He lightly moved his arms around his waist and rested his chin on his left shoulder near the crook of his neck. John ran the shampoo through Hamish's hair, adding more bubbles to the scene as he babbled on. It was only a matter of time before he started stringing words together.
John shook his head as a breath of laughter escaped. "I can't believe his first word is 'case.'"
"Kay," Hamish echoed, "kay, kay, kay, kay." He searched around the sink, seeking out the toy he had lost amongst the bubbles and smiled wildly when he found it again.
"I believe the Watson side of him is showing," Sherlock said as Hamish started babbling once more.
"Oh?" John asked, surprised. Hamish was almost nearly a spitting image of Sherlock. Though even with the dominant genes, his hair was a touch lighter, his eyes a bit darker, and his nose wasn't quite the same, but the resemblance was undoubtedly there. Hamish made pleasant gurgling sounds as he brought his rubber duck up to his face, chewing on it happily.
"Mmhmm," he resonated.
"How d'you figure?"
"Of all the days in the year, he waited, John. He waited for the perfect moment. It's his birthday, and he gave us a surprise," Sherlock explained. "Stubborn, selfless, and unpredictable as ever. Definitely a Watson," he murmured softly.
John momentarily leaned his head against Sherlock's in contentment at the notion, a grin blooming across his face. Sherlock moved in closer until they were cheek to cheek and hugged his waist tighter. Hamish dropped his duck, plopping it down into the soapy water with a splash. He looked surprised for a moment at what transpired, looking to Sherlock and John for guidance, bubbles covering the tip of his nose. He broke out into a smile and began giggling at them for no apparent reason other than happiness. John could feel Sherlock's smile curving against his skin and his own shoulders shook with laughter at the sight. Perhaps it wasn't the ideal birthday celebration, but for them, it was nothing short of perfect.