HOLY SHIT! HE’S NOT EVEN ON THE DAMN SHOW! I DIDN’T THINK IT WAS POSSIBLLLLEEEE!
You know what, he thinks he’s so smart, I’m going for Alex next…
(borrowed with permission from literaryvacuum.tumblr.com)
“Hello, Hamish…I’m your Dad…”
(via valeria2067)
“Too Close” - John/Sherlock featuring Hamish
“Father will collect me from school today?”
John finished cutting the sandwich and began wrapping it for Hamish’s lunch. ”That’s right, Hal. Do you think you can help him mind his manners and behave?” Each of them shared a conspiratorial grin.
“Yes, Dad. It’ll be okay. Ms. Davis only cried for a few minutes that time. And she has a nice new boyfriend, now.”
“So does her old boyfriend, I expect,” muttered John.
John: I just want one nice picture of the two of you, so can we please not do this this time?
Sherlock: Do what?
John: You being all mysterious with your - cheekbones and your hands. And turning your back to the camera and posing like you’re a bloody fashion model.
Hamish: We don’t do that.
John: Yes, you do. Must be hereditary.
“Father?”
“Hamish, go back to your room.”
“I miss Dad. I want you to call him. I want you to tell him you’re sorry.”
“He’ll be back home with you in two days. He’s just giving me time to gather the things I need before I leave.”
“Why are you doing this, Father? Why are you going to live at Uncle Mycroft’s house instead of with us?”
“Hamish, I can’t possibly explain this to you. It’s far too complicated, and I’m busy right now.”
“You’re not busy. You’re watching telly.”
“And I’ve told you before: never make assumptions without facts. I might be watching something very important for a case.”
“You’re not, though. And I didn’t assume, Father. I can see part of the screen reflected in your glass on the table. You’ve spent the last hour watching your wedding video over and over. And your eyes are wet from trying not to cry.”
“Just go to bed, Hamish. Please.”
![valeria2067:
“Shall I tell you a Fairy Tale, Hamish?”
“YOU know Fairy Tales, Father?”
“I know one at least, and it’s a story I think you need to hear. Would you like to hear it tonight?”
“Yes, please, Father!”
“All right. Well. Once Upon a Time, there lived a Consulting Detective - the only one in the world, in fact. His hair was curly and black as ebony, and some even said his skin was white as snow.”
“He sounds like you!”
“Mmm. This Consulting Detective considered himself married to his work, until one day, a handsome Army Doctor came into his life.”
“Like Dad!”
“Indeed. However, what the Consulting Detective didn’t know was that he was being watched by the Evil King of the criminal underworld. Every day, the Evil King would look into the internet and ask, ‘Who is the greatest genius of them all?’ And every day, the answer came back, ‘YOU are, my King.’”
“Just like Snow White’s Evil Stepmother!”
“Yes. And, of course, one day, the answer was different. One day, the internet answered, ‘You are a great genius, my King, but, alas, there is one in the land who is far more clever than you.’ The King called his henchmen and said, ‘I want you to set traps for this man. And I want him to stop being clever. If he doesn’t, I want you to burn him. Burn the HEART out of him.’”
“That’s horrible!”
“And some time later, while the Consulting Detective was working on a particularly messy and difficult case, he received a strange visitor at his flat.
“It was the Evil King, asking if he could sit down and have some tea. ’I have something for you,’ the Evil King said. ‘Look.’ And there, stuck onto the end of a pocket knife was a large red apple. The Evil King had carved a design into it: I. O. U. ’I owe you,’ the Evil King said.
“Soon after the Consulting Detective held the apple, everything began to turn upside-down. He was helpless to do anything as his image, his work, even his ability to protect his friends crumbled around him.
“And then, very soon, he was falling…falling very fast from a very high place.”
“Did he die?”
“It certainly appeared so. And when the faithful Army Doctor saw what had happened, he stood beside the Consulting Detective’s grave and wept. As strong as he was, the pain of losing his friend made him break down and cry. But the Army Doctor didn’t know one very important thing: the Consulting Detective wasn’t really dead.
“He wasn’t?”
“No, Hamish. He was only waiting.”
“What was he waiting for, Father?”
“He was waiting for justice and love to break the spell.”
——
source: [x]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6d5re3OXk1ql4a4ko1_r2_500.png)
“Shall I tell you a Fairy Tale, Hamish?”
“YOU know Fairy Tales, Father?”
“I know one at least, and it’s a story I think you need to hear. Would you like to hear it tonight?”
“Yes, please, Father!”
“All right. Well. Once Upon a Time, there lived a Consulting Detective - the only one in the world, in fact. His hair was curly and black as ebony, and some even said his skin was white as snow.”
“He sounds like you!”
“Mmm. This Consulting Detective considered himself married to his work, until one day, a handsome Army Doctor came into his life.”
“Like Dad!”
“Indeed. However, what the Consulting Detective didn’t know was that he was being watched by the Evil King of the criminal underworld. Every day, the Evil King would look into the internet and ask, ‘Who is the greatest genius of them all?’ And every day, the answer came back, ‘YOU are, my King.’”
“Just like Snow White’s Evil Stepmother!”
“Yes. And, of course, one day, the answer was different. One day, the internet answered, ‘You are a great genius, my King, but, alas, there is one in the land who is far more clever than you.’ The King called his henchmen and said, ‘I want you to set traps for this man. And I want him to stop being clever. If he doesn’t, I want you to burn him. Burn the HEART out of him.’”
“That’s horrible!”
“And some time later, while the Consulting Detective was working on a particularly messy and difficult case, he received a strange visitor at his flat.
“It was the Evil King, asking if he could sit down and have some tea. ’I have something for you,’ the Evil King said. ‘Look.’ And there, stuck onto the end of a pocket knife was a large red apple. The Evil King had carved a design into it: I. O. U. ’I owe you,’ the Evil King said.
“Soon after the Consulting Detective held the apple, everything began to turn upside-down. He was helpless to do anything as his image, his work, even his ability to protect his friends crumbled around him.
“And then, very soon, he was falling…falling very fast from a very high place.”
“Did he die?”
“It certainly appeared so. And when the faithful Army Doctor saw what had happened, he stood beside the Consulting Detective’s grave and wept. As strong as he was, the pain of losing his friend made him break down and cry. But the Army Doctor didn’t know one very important thing: the Consulting Detective wasn’t really dead.
“He wasn’t?”
“No, Hamish. He was only waiting.”
“What was he waiting for, Father?”
“He was waiting for justice and love to break the spell.”
——
source: [x]
![“Hamish” - a Sherlock/John ficlet
Pairing: Sherlock/John [well-established relationship]
Rating: G [Romantic and familial love and Awwwwwwwwww]
————-
Sherlock himself had never wanted this, never expected it, actively avoided it at all costs. But then the Universe had presented John Watson, and suddenly every fibre of Sherlock’s being had been infused with new desires, new life.
And even, to his immense surprise, the desire FOR new life. Something he could call forth into being. Something new.
Mycroft had been less skeptical than either he or John might have feared. Thank God his older brother nurtured a sentimental streak underneath his exterior of tweed-covered steel. And thank God, too, that Mycroft had always felt guilty for his complete refusal to produce darling, photogenic grandchildren for Mummy.
Over a series of weeks, Mycroft and Sherlock had winnowed the list of potential surrogates down to five, then three, then two. John was given the final choice. Sherlock had hoped John would pick the blue-eyed woman with hair nearly John’s color and skin which hinted at the rose hue he saw in John’s face during the man’s most tender and beautiful moments. Instead, predictably, John had chosen the slender, pale, dark-haired woman — the one who most resembled the love of John H. Watson’s life.
Each of the men had provided their “contributions to the cause,” as John had jokingly put it. To be honest, Sherlock had nearly considered opting out of that; yes, he wanted to create new life, but for him, that life could just as easily flow from John’s DNA and still be, without a doubt, part of Sherlock’s body and soul. Every living part of Dr. John H. Watson was connected to Sherlock’s body and soul, now. Connected inextricably. Forever.
Sherlock didn’t ask for DNA testing at any stage. And somehow, he even managed to pretend that he was glad when the child arrived with a mass of dark curls, prominent cheekbones, and an obvious pale cast to his skin. The love pouring from John at the moment they first held their son radiated out of John’s fingertips and tear-filled eyes, out of every beautiful pore, and it softened the stabs of disappointment Sherlock felt.
“Hamish,” Sherlock had whispered. ”His name will be Hamish, after you.”
John didn’t bother to wipe away his own tears. “No, Sherlock, we’d already decided—”
“He’s your son, John. Our son. Let me give him this part of you, too.”
John had only swallowed and nodded, too overcome to speak.
Sherlock studied the small creature in John’s arms. Truly, the child was beautiful, even now. He could see him growing into a slender, brooding, well-dressed young man. Sherlock would be “Father,” no doubt. John had claimed “Dad” with Sherlock’s full blessing.
Gently, Sherlock caressed the tiny face. The baby’s eyes would be blue for a while yet, but Sherlock knew what they would become. He could only hope that the eyes would not have the coldness that had plagued the man who was obviously the boy’s biological father.
He will have my physical form, even, perhaps, my intellect, Sherlock thought. But please, he pleaded to an unknown and unseen force in the Universe, Please let him have John’s heart.
.
.
—-
Just going back to the beginning. Sentiment.](http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/197/18668800.jpg/)
“Hamish” - a Sherlock/John ficlet
Pairing: Sherlock/John [well-established relationship]
Rating: G [Romantic and familial love and Awwwwwwwwww]
————-
Sherlock himself had never wanted this, never expected it, actively avoided it at all costs. But then the Universe had presented John Watson, and suddenly every fibre of Sherlock’s being had been infused with new desires, new life.
And even, to his immense surprise, the desire FOR new life. Something he could call forth into being. Something new.
Mycroft had been less skeptical than either he or John might have feared. Thank God his older brother nurtured a sentimental streak underneath his exterior of tweed-covered steel. And thank God, too, that Mycroft had always felt guilty for his complete refusal to produce darling, photogenic grandchildren for Mummy.
Over a series of weeks, Mycroft and Sherlock had winnowed the list of potential surrogates down to five, then three, then two. John was given the final choice. Sherlock had hoped John would pick the blue-eyed woman with hair nearly John’s color and skin which hinted at the rose hue he saw in John’s face during the man’s most tender and beautiful moments. Instead, predictably, John had chosen the slender, pale, dark-haired woman — the one who most resembled the love of John H. Watson’s life.
Each of the men had provided their “contributions to the cause,” as John had jokingly put it. To be honest, Sherlock had nearly considered opting out of that; yes, he wanted to create new life, but for him, that life could just as easily flow from John’s DNA and still be, without a doubt, part of Sherlock’s body and soul. Every living part of Dr. John H. Watson was connected to Sherlock’s body and soul, now. Connected inextricably. Forever.
Sherlock didn’t ask for DNA testing at any stage. And somehow, he even managed to pretend that he was glad when the child arrived with a mass of dark curls, prominent cheekbones, and an obvious pale cast to his skin. The love pouring from John at the moment they first held their son radiated out of John’s fingertips and tear-filled eyes, out of every beautiful pore, and it softened the stabs of disappointment Sherlock felt.
“Hamish,” Sherlock had whispered. ”His name will be Hamish, after you.”
John didn’t bother to wipe away his own tears. “No, Sherlock, we’d already decided—”
“He’s your son, John. Our son. Let me give him this part of you, too.”
John had only swallowed and nodded, too overcome to speak.
Sherlock studied the small creature in John’s arms. Truly, the child was beautiful, even now. He could see him growing into a slender, brooding, well-dressed young man. Sherlock would be “Father,” no doubt. John had claimed “Dad” with Sherlock’s full blessing.
Gently, Sherlock caressed the tiny face. The baby’s eyes would be blue for a while yet, but Sherlock knew what they would become. He could only hope that the eyes would not have the coldness that had plagued the man who was obviously the boy’s biological father.
He will have my physical form, even, perhaps, my intellect, Sherlock thought. But please, he pleaded to an unknown and unseen force in the Universe, Please let him have John’s heart.
.
.
—-
Just going back to the beginning. Sentiment.
(via hamish-watson-holmes)
Based on this ficlet by valeria2067: http://hamish-watson-holmes.tumblr.com/post/19651761426/hamish-1
(via valeria2067)
“Stars” - featuring Hamish Watson-Holmes
“Hurry up, Hal, and don’t disturb your Father; he’s working. Here, let me help you with that jacket, Okay?”
John knelt down and fastened the toggle-and-loop buttons on Hamish’s jacket - the one he couldn’t help call ‘Paddington’s Coat’ no matter how much it upset a certain Consulting Detective.
A few feet away, Sherlock looked up and caught John’s eye.
“What’s this? Hamish should be in bed asleep, John. Where are you two going?”
Hamish offered a broad grin that showed off the new gap at the bottom. “We’re going to look for my TOOF!” he announced.
“Your tooth?”
“Yes, Sherlock, that’s right. We won’t be a minute. Come on, Hal, here we go,” Despite his best efforts, John wasn’t able to drag Hamish out of earshot in time to end the conversation.
“Hamish, your tooth is -“
John made a loud “whiiiishhhhht!” sound through his teeth and shook his head at the man who shared his life, and who was now sitting on the leather sofa, surrounded by stacks of files and (most likely gore-filled) photographs.
In only three bounds, Hamish was halfway to the coffee table, bursting to share his happy news: “Daddy says that the Tooth Fairy takes our baby teeth away and uses them to make the stars!”
“SOME of the stars, Hal.”
“Some of the stars! We’re going to see if we can see mine tonight!”
Piercing silver eyes darted from Hamish to John. “Is that what your Daddy says?”
“Sherlock….” John’s voice was filled with warning.
The eyes shot back to Hamish. “And what do you think, Hamish? Do you think that sounds possible?”
Hamish frowned for a moment, looked down, then looked up at his Dad. “I don’t know.”
“Right. Okay. Remember, Sherlock Holmes, you brought this on yourself.” John bent down, tousled Hamish’s dark curls, and said, “Hal, ask your Father to tell you what the stars really are, and how they got in the sky, and why they don’t fall down on us. Oh, and why they make different patterns depending on where you are when you look at them.”
Big, silvery-blue eyes turned on Sherlock. “Father? What are the stars REALLY, then? How did they get up there in the sky?”
If it hadn’t been for the strict ‘no-swearing-in-front-of-the-boy’ rule in their house, Sherlock Holmes might have impressed even his ex-Army partner with the phrases that seemed to be forming on his lips. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut for a few seconds, narrowed his eyes at the smug, sandy-haired object of his rage, and picked up another file from beside him on the sofa.
He opened it, began reading, and did not look up when he answered.
“It’s possible some are baby teeth.”
Hamish nearly jumped up and down with happiness. “Will you come help us look for mine?”
“No. Thank you.”
John took Hamish by the shoulders and bundled him toward the door. He turned to look over his shoulder at Sherlock.
“Be right back, then, my darling, my love,” he said with a devilish wink.
As he turned back he thought, though he couldn’t be sure, that he caught a glimpse of the world’s only Consulting Detective sticking out his tongue.
