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“Hey. Do you know when Dad is due back home tonight?”

Sherlock looked up from a stack of medical journals and saw Hamish leaning into the doorway from the other room.

“After nine, I believe,” he answered.  “Is there something the matter? Do you feel ill, Hamish?”

Hamish folded his arms and looked down, pursing his lips. He’s so very John, sometimes, thought Sherlock.

“No, I just…..wanted to ask his advice about something.  I’ll speak to him tomorrow about it.”

Sherlock studied his son for a moment.  There was a pained tension in the young man’s face, and the color was already beginning to show on his high cheekbones.  “Could I be of any help?” he offered.

Hamish peered at his Father uncertainly. “Thanks, but I don’t think so, this time.  It’s kind of a ‘Dad’ thing, really.”

Sherlock closed the medical journal and steepled his fingers under his chin.  “Ah. And what sort of things fall into the ‘Dad’ category, then?”

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