"Daddy, I not able to sleep 'gain. It is too hot," Hamish frowned as he dragged Woobie and Teddy down the stairs behind him. Sherlock looked up from his laptop and sighed.

"Perhaps you're hot because you insist on wearing Winter pyjamas in the middle of July."

Hamish huffed. "Well what is not Winter ahjamies then, Daddy?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and hoisted him up to sit on his hip, carrying him back up the stairs and setting him on the floor of his little room. "It is hot up here," he said quietly, pulling the cupboard open. "Don't even worry about pyjamas. Just take off what you're wearing and you can sleep in my room. But only until it's cooled down a bit," he said firmly, helping him pull the shirt and trousers off and carrying him back down the stairs.

"It is beddy-byes for you too, right, Daddy?" he asked with a yawn as Sherlock laid him on his bed and draped the sheet over his little body.

"Not quite. I'll be in later. You go to sleep now, Hamish. Goodnight. I love you."

"Love you too, Daddy but maybe I can stay up a bit, okay?" he said hopefully, pushing himself out of bed, only to be forced back down.

"No, it's not okay. It is very much past your bedtime, Hamish. You need a big sleep because tomorrow we're going to Mummy's okay?"

Hamish frowned. "No! No no no, Daddy. Not going to Mummy's ever 'gain."

Sherlock took an even breath and slowly let it out. "Hamish, tomorrow we are going to your mother's house. You need to go to sleep please. I love you. Goodnight."

"Um... I love you too, Daddy, but not when you make me go to Mummy's. I not like it," he frowned.

"Hamish, we don't tell people we don't love them, it's unkind."

"No, Daddy," he said, sitting up. "I do love you, Daddy, but I am mad 'bout going to Mummy's house."

"It's okay to be mad, but you have to go, okay? I'll be there tomorrow. It's all okay, love. Go to sleep now, please."

"Not want ah go to Mummy's," Hamish muttered into the pillow as he drifted off.

"Daddy, I not want ah be here thank you," Hamish said as they trotted up the front steps to Jennifer's apartment building.

Sherlock sighed. "Yes. I think you may have mentioned it once or twice."

"Ahcos you not listening, Daddy," Hamish huffed. "I know! Why not we visit someone else?"

"Hamish, we can't visit someone else. We have to visit Mummy today," he said calmly, pushing the 'up' button on the lift.

"What about Nan?"

"Mrs. Hudson is in Wales again."

"What about John ah Mary? That's a good one. Let's go, Daddy," he said, moving to turn around before being grabbed around the middle and dragged into the lift by his father. "Not fair! What about Uncle Mykie?"

"No, Hamish. Today we are visiting your mother."

"No we not. What about Molly ah Baby Amelia Pond, Daddy? Baby 'Melia is lots bigger now. She can sit up!"

"Yes. I know. And I'm sure it would be lovely to see them. Perhaps another time," he said with a sigh, grabbing Hamish's hand as the lift doors opened, leading him to Jennifer's apartment.

"But, Daddy. I not want this one," he said, starting to cry, his hands coming up to rub at his eyes. Sherlock sighed and picked him up.

"It's alright. I'm going to stay. We're going to have a fine day, alright?" Hamish shook his head and Sherlock pulled him closer. "It's okay. Come on. Be a big boy for me and ring the doorbell," he said, edging over to the door. Hamish gave the button an apprehensive press, curling into Sherlock's chest.

Jennifer eventually pulled the door open with a small huff. "Yes. Come in. You'll have to leave at lunchtime. I have a meeting," she said as Sherlock stepped into the flat and pushed the door closed.

"Um... Is that going to happen a lot? Because I rely on the days I don't have Hamish to work on cases. I can't be... Coming to pick him up every five minutes because you've got a meeting."

"It will happen every few weeks, yes," she said coolly, and Sherlock sighed, setting Hamish and his backpack down on the floor.

"Hamish?"

"Yes, Mummy?" he said cheerfully, looking up from the picture of a fairy he was colouring in.

"Have you thought about what you'd like to be when you're an adult?"

He nodded and continued colouring. "Yep! A dragon."

She frowned and looked to Sherlock. "Does he... Does he realise he can't actually do that?"

"Don't be stupid," he said. "Of course he can. He can do whatever he wants."

Jennifer's frown deepened and she looked at Hamish. "Why are you colouring that in?" she asked abruptly.

"It's a fairy princess, Mummy," he said with a smile. "See? And her prince. They getting weddinged. She haves a pink dress on and he haves a pink suit," he explained. "Daddy, will John have a pink suit at ah wedding?"

"Um... I don't think so. But you'd have to have ask him to be sure," said Sherlock.

"Why is he colouring that in?" Jennifer demanded. "It's a girl's colouring book. He shouldn't have it. He's a boy. He shouldn't even want to use a pink crayon."

Sherlock glared at her. "What the hell are you talking about? He chose that colouring book because he liked the look of it. He likes pink. It's his second favourite colour. He's..."

"No, Daddy. It is my third fanourite. Blue then green then pink," he explained.

"Oh. Well it's his third favourite colour. And I fail to see what is wrong with that. He's two years old. What does it matter if he wants to colour in pictures of fairy princesses and be a dragon when he grows up?"

She frowned. "Well I just don't like it. What are you trying to turn him into?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth. "I'm not trying to turn him into anything. That's the point. It's not up to me what he 'turns into'. It has nothing to do with me. I'm here to provide him with the help and resources he needs to turn into whatever he wants to turn into. And quite frankly, I don't care if that's a dragon or the British Prime Minister. It's irrelevant to me. I just want him happy and safe."

Jennifer sighed. "Clearly I'm not going to get anywhere with this."

"Quite right," he decided, picking up a purple crayon and starting to help Hamish colour in. "Now. On Tuesday's you'll need to drop him off at nursery. It is ideal for you to drop him off on time. He hates being late and it makes him very anxious. Sometimes they go on excursions and on those days you absolutely must drop him off at the time specified on the note he receives. If he's late, he doesn't get to go. Also, on the days you have him here, I'd recommend not staying inside all day. Even going and playing outside for an hour is enough. You'll drive yourself insane if you stay inside with him, that's all."

"I'm sure I can figure all of that out for myself thank you, Mr. Holmes," she sneered from across the table.

"Um... scuse me, Mummy?" said Hamish, staring at the plate of white, spongy cubes and green leaves. "What um... What this is?"

"It's tofu with rocket. I'm on a detox," she said.

"Oh," he managed, looking up at Sherlock with wide eyes. "It not look like rockets. I give it a try, okay?"

"I hate tofu," said Sherlock, pushing his own plate away with a frown and pulling Hamish's jam sandwich out of the backpack for when the little boy's lunch was rejected.

"Daddy, that is rude. You just say, 'No, thank you. I not hungry.' You might hurt Mummy's feelings," Hamish said, picking up a small piece of tofu and popping it in his mouth, chewing it with a deep frown. "Um... Mummy... I not think this am food."

"What? Don't be stupid. Of course it's food."

"Hey!" he shouted, standing up on his chair. "I not stupid. You am stupid!"

"Hamish, please sit down," Sherlock said quietly, forcing him back down onto the seat.

"I not like it here," he said with a frown, folding his arms and snatching the sandwich from Sherlock. "I have this one instead."

Rather than it getting easier to drag Hamish to Jennifer's house, it was somehow more and more difficult each time.

"Hamish," Sherlock sighed and pressed his fingers against his temples. "Please get off the floor. We have to leave."

"I not want ah go to Mummy's!" Hamish shouted, beating at the floor with his fists.

He nodded. "I know, Hamish. I know you don't. But you have to, okay? It's just today. I will be there at four o'clock to pick you up. It's just like nursery, love."

"No it is not," he huffed, pulling his boots on and standing up, sticking his arms in the air to be picked up.

Sherlock picked him up and kissed his head. "Good man. You be good today, okay? It'll be fine. I'll call you at lunchtime," he said, grabbing the backpack and heading down the stairs.

"But, Daddy," he whimpered, sniffling and rubbing his eyes. "I not want you ah leave me please."

He sighed and hailed a cab. "I know. But it's okay. It's going to be fine. You'll have a good day."

Hamish was settled all the way there in the cab, up to the door to the building, in the lift, into Jennifer's flat, and when Sherlock set him up with his trains. He was settled until the detective straightened and said, "Right. Time for me to go now. I'll call you later. I'll be back at four," and swiftly left the flat, closing the door behind him. Hamish burst into hysterics, throwing himself onto the floor and sobbing.

"Stop that," said Jennifer, standing above him with her hands on her hips.

He shook his head and pushed up off the floor, running over to the front door and banging at it. "Daddy!"

"He's gone. You're here with me today, alright?"

"No!" he shouted, sitting down on the floor beside the door. "Need Daddy ah come back please."

"No. He's gone. Come on now, off the floor," she said, starting to panic a little.

He shook his head and leant back against the wall, pulling his little knees to his chest and burying his face in them, his shoulders heaving.

"Fine then," said Jennifer, stomping off into the living room as Hamish continued to sob.

He managed to keep up a steady stream of tears for close to an hour, before giving up with it and heading into the living room, wiping his face and sighing. "Mummy. I sorry I shouted," he said, crawling up on the sofa next to her and pressing himself into her side.

Jennifer shifted across the seat so he wasn't touching her and nodded. "It's fine."

"Kay," he said. "Can we please play a game? That ah be fun, right?"

"I don't have time to play a game," she said, grabbing her laptop off of the coffee table. "I have work to do."

"Oh. Okay. That am okay, Mummy. I can play wif my trains. You seed my trains?" he asked, slipping down from the sofa and tipping his container of trains out onto the floor. "This one is Thomas," he said, holding one up for her to see. "See? Him haves a number one and him is blue and very very fast," he explained, before leaning over to grab another one.

"Listen, Hamish. I don't care about the trains. I don't want stupid details about each one. Please just sit quietly," she snapped, and Hamish jumped, frowning deeply and nodding as he sat down.

"Daddy likes to know 'bout my trains," he said quietly.

"Well I don't," said Jennifer.

"Mummy, where am your cat?"

She sighed. "It's 'where is your cat'. And he's probably in the bedroom. Don't touch anything if you go in there."

"Mmkay," he said, jumping up and trotting off in search of the cat.

"Daddy, it is much yucky here. You need ah pick me up now. Not ah four."

Sherlock sighed from the other end of the line. "Mish, I'm sorry. But you need to be a big brave boy and stay until four. It's only another couple of hours. What have you been doing?"

"I cried for always then I tried ah show Mummy my trains but she shouted. Now I playing wif Mister Cat."

Another sigh. "Okay, love. Well there are lots of other things in your bag to do. There's colouring and reading and I packed Teddy and Woobie if you need them. And if you're tired you could have a nap. There are some movies in there too so you could ask Mummy to watch one of those. It would make the time go quicker. Have you eaten lunch yet?"

"Yep. I had ah eat mine sandwich ahcos it was funny lunch again. But Mummy maked me a special juice in her machine!"

"That sounds wonderful. Another three hours and I'll be there, okay? You're okay. You're being a very brave boy today."

"Yes, Daddy. Ahcos I put out all of my crying when you goed so now there's no more left."

"That's good, love. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Mmkay, Daddy. Love you."

"Love you too."

He hung up and handed Jennifer the phone. "Mummy, I can please watch a movie?"

Jennifer let out a sigh of relief when the doorbell rang, standing up and pulling it open. "He fell asleep watching a film," she said simply, gesturing to the tiny figure curled up on the sofa.

"How long did you let him cry for this morning?" he asked with a frown.

"About an hour. I told him to stop and he wouldn't."

Sherlock growled and moved over to pack up his things before bundling Hamish up in his arms and giving her a nod. "Tomorrow night?"

"That's right. After he's eaten. He can have a bath here but I can't handle his fussy eating."

"He is not a fussy eater," Sherlock sighed, adjusting the sleeping boy against his shoulder. "We'll be here at seven."

He pulled the door closed behind him and moved quickly back downstairs to where the cab was waiting for them. Hamish squirmed in his arms, waking up at the sun on his face. He smiled when he looked up at Sherlock and wriggled closer. "'Lo, Daddy."

"Hello, Hamish. How was your day?"

"Rubbish. Mummy is a big meanie wif yucky food and a grumpy cat."

"That is unfortunate," he sighed.

"Yeah. But home now, right?"

"That's right."

Hamish cried slightly less the following night, perhaps only because Sherlock got him settled in a warm bath before he left. Nevertheless, he cried as Jennifer made a good attempt at washing his hair, when she pulled him out and handed him a towel, when she refused to help him with his pyjamas, and when she marched him off to the enormous bed in the spare room without tucking him in. He lay quietly for a moment before slipping out of bed and padding out to the living room. "Mummy, I need a story," he sniffled.

"If you want a story you can call your father," she snapped, dialling the phone and handing it to him. "Back to bed," she said as he held the phone to his ear. He trotted back to the bedroom and clambered up into bed.

"Yes? What's wrong?"

"Daddy, it is Hamish."

"Oh. Are you okay? Ringing to say goodnight?"

"Ringing for a story, Daddy."

"A story? Did you ask Mummy?"

"Yeah. She says I haves to call you for my story."

"Oh. Um... Alright. What story would you like? Actually. Hold on one minute, Hamish. I'm going to video call you back, okay? So you can see the pictures. When the phone rings again, you just press the green picture, okay?"

He nodded. "Yep. Mmkay, Daddy. I wait," he said. Sherlock hung up and quickly called him back. "'Lo, 'gain, Daddy. I can see you now!"

"Good. Now which story would you like?" he asked softly, moving up to Hamish's room and holding the phone in front of the bookcase.

"Um... Ah one about ah giants please, Daddy," he said quietly, clambering under the covers and holding the phone in front of his face as Sherlock started to read.

Sherlock finished the story and turned the phone around to face himself. "Are you okay to go to sleep now?"

"Please stay, Daddy," Hamish whispered, rolling over and holding the phone close to his face. Sherlock sighed.

"Alright. I'll stay on until you're asleep. It's okay. Close your eyes," he said gently, starting to hum. He stayed on until the little boy was asleep, before hanging up and sitting on Hamish's bed in the little attic room.

The next week, Jennifer had a string of apparently very important meetings, which would have suited Hamish just fine except that her flat had air conditioning and 221B Baker Street did not.

"Daddy, it is far too hot," said Hamish from where he was sprawled out on the cool kitchen floor in his pants.

"Have another ice lolly," said Sherlock from the sofa, also in his pants.

"They not helping. Maybe you can make me an ice lolly suit, Daddy."

"No, I can't, sorry. It's too hot to do anything."

"What about the seaside?"

"What about it?"

Hamish stood up and trotted over to him. "We can go to ah seaside and go swimming!"

"Neither of us have swimming costumes."

"What about John ah Mary's. They haves a sprinkler! Last week I went ah John's house and we played wif ah sprinkler."

Sherlock sighed. "I'm not moving from this spot. If we were going to go somewhere we'd have to put actual clothes on."

"Oh dear," said Hamish. "What about a cold shower?"

"That is an excellent idea."

"Hamish, isn't Daddy here yet?" Miss Abby, his nursery teacher asked.

Hamish shook his head and sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest. "Daddy sayed Mummy is getting me today. Miss Ella knows," he said, pointing at the other teacher, who nodded.

"His mum's meant to be getting him. She's half an hour late. I'm going to call Daddy, okay, Hamish?" Hamish nodded and stood up to lean against her leg. "It's okay, love," she said gently, dialling Sherlock's number.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Oh. Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. This is Ella from the nursery. It was my understanding that Hamish's mother was to pick him up this afternoon but she's still not here yet. Do you know if she's on her way?"

"For God's sake!" he shouted into the phone. "I'll be ten minutes."

Sherlock ran through the front door of the nursery and Hamish grinned, giggling when he was scooped up. "Mummy is a meanie, Daddy. She not camed to get me!"

"I know, love. I'm sorry. We'll go home, alright? Get your things," he said gently, giving the teachers a smile. "Thank you. Apologies."

"Not at all. Not your fault, Sir."

After the nursery incident, Sherlock decided to stick to Jennifer having Hamish at her flat when she deigned to do so. Usually there was only a small number of dramas, none catastrophic enough for her to bother calling him about it. So one afternoon when he was working on some sort of not-safe-for-a-two-year-old experiment, his phone rang and Sherlock knocked his tea over.

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes."

"This is Doctor Hall calling from Bart's Hospital in London. We have you listed as the next of kin for Hamish Watson Holmes, age thirty months?"

"Yes, I'm his father. Is something wrong?"

"We've got him in intensive care for extreme heat exhaustion and dehydration."

"What?" He stood, leaving his tea dripping onto the floor as he rushed from the flat, grabbing Woobie on the way out.

"He was left locked in a car in the sun. And today's heat…"

"Bloody hell. Where's his mother?"

"We don't know, Sir. Was she in charge of him today?"

"Yes of course she bloody was. I don't even own a car, and I'm not stupid enough to… Is he alright?"

"Like I said, Sir, he has heat stroke and he's incredibly dehydrated. He was barely conscious when he was eventually pulled from the car and he had multiple seizures in the ambulance. It's likely that he'll have suffered some brain and kidney damage but neither of those things have presented themselves just yet."

"I'm on my way."

"Thank you, Sir."

Sherlock hailed a cab and shouted at the driver before sitting and trying to calm his breathing a little. He called John. "John, I need you to meet me at Bart's"

"What? Why? Case?"

"No. That stupid woman left Hamish in the car in this heat and he's…"

"Hey, Sherlock, it's alright. Calm down and talk to me. Where are you?"

"I'm in the cab."

"Okay, what did they say?"

"He's… heat stroke and… he had seizures on the way to… and he… they said brain damage."

"I'm on my way, Sherlock. It's okay. He's going to be okay."

The second the cab pulled up, Sherlock threw his money at the driver and jumped out, running into the hospital. First to the information desk, then up the stairs to the ward, to Hamish's room, and over to the little cot they had him in. He looked tiny, tubes coming out of his arms and on his face, alone in the middle of the cot in a small yellow hospital gown with dogs printed across it. A nurse stood over him, checking his IV, and he'd started to stir.

"Are you the father?"

A nod.

"He's going to be okay."

Another nod.

"You can hold him if you like, he's about to wake up. Just be careful with his IV."

"Thank you." He leant over the cot and carefully pulled Hamish out, cradling him in his arms. The little boy was still quite hot, and his hair was wet with sweat. His thumb was planted firmly in his mouth, and the little fingers of his free hand instantly curled around Sherlock's wrist. "It's alright, Hamish. I'm here now. Daddy's here, it's okay."

Hamish continued to stir, his little hands opening and closing and his eyes fluttering beneath closed eyelids. Finally, his eyes opened a little, then closed again, and Sherlock waited. When Hamish opened his eyes the second time, he kept them open, said, "Daddy?" and started to cry.

"It's alright, it's okay, Hamish." Sherlock lifted him up to hold him against his shoulder and stood, rocking slowly and trying to settle him a little. "I'm here now, it's alright. Daddy's here now."

Hamish desperately grabbed onto him and started babbling. "Mummy… Mummy leaved me, Daddy… in ah car… it am very very hot, Daddy."

"I know, love."

"I am stuck and Mummy not coming. My head ah hurting, Daddy."

"I know, Hamish. It's alright now, love."

"I scared, Daddy."

"I'm sure you were, Hamish, but it's alright now, okay? Everything's okay now. I love you, Hamish, you're alright."

"Love you too, Daddy," he said quietly, leaning into him. Hamish rested silently in Sherlock's arms for a few minutes before smiling and pointing to the door. "John!"

John grinned at the sight of him up and awake. "Hey, little man. How are you feeling?"

"Hot," he said, rubbing his red eyes. "My Mummy leaved me in ah car, John."

"Yes, mate, I heard," John said gently, touching a hand to his bright red cheek.

"But it is okay now ahcos Daddy is here."

John grinned and gave Sherlock's back a rub. "That's right, little man."

"John, could you please get him a drink of water?"

Hamish was sitting on Sherlock's lap, leaning heavily into his chest and drinking cups of cool water at an almost alarming speed when Mycroft burst into the room. "What in God's name is going on?"

"That idiot woman left him locked in her car," Sherlock said, holding Hamish protectively to him and frowning. "He's never going anywhere near her again."

"It's okay, Sherlock," John said, patting his shoulder a little and trying not to get right up and go after Jennifer Hamish himself.

"No it isn't okay. He could have died!"

"Sherlock!" John reached across him to cover Hamish's ears and the little boy frowned.

"It was very very hot, Myc," Hamish told him with a very serious look on his little face. "And now I am spinny."

"Are you?" Sherlock's turn to frown.

"Yep. It is spinny, Daddy."

"I'm sorry, Hamish." Sherlock kissed the top of his head and stopped the gentle rocking he was doing.

"It is okay, Daddy, ahcos now you and John and Myc are here. Is it a party?"

"Not really," said Sherlock.

"Why not?"

"Well… There aren't any balloons, or cake."

"Can you please get some, Daddy?"

"Maybe tomorrow, love." He kissed his forehead and shifted him slightly so he could lie down in his arms. "You need to have a bit of a sleep now, Hamish. You're a very tired little boy."

Hamish looked for a moment as if he might protest. Instead, he sighed and leant into Sherlock, sticking his thumb back in his mouth and closing his eyes. Sherlock held him close as he fell asleep and then set him in the crib, sitting back in the seat and burying his face in his hands.

"It's okay, Sherlock. He's going to be okay," John said.

Mycroft moved over to the crib, touched a hand to Hamish's cheek, and then straightened. "She will never be put in charge of him again, Sherlock. I assure you. In fact, she'll be lucky if she ever sees him after this. He could have…" He cleared his throat and looked at the floor. "I'll be in contact." And with that, he marched out of the room.

Their next visitor, arriving just minutes after Mycroft had waltzed out of the door, was Jennifer Hamish.

"Get out," said Sherlock, standing up and placing himself between her and his sleeping son.

She took a small step and John grabbed Sherlock's forearm so he wouldn't do anything stupid. "I just wanted to…"

"No! You are not even looking at him. Leave. Now."

"I just want to say goodbye to him. I don't... It doesn't matter anymore. I don't... I don't need him anyway."

John let go of Sherlock at that, not caring what he did to her at this point. Sherlock froze and said, "What?"

"I can't fit him in any more. I need more time for my work and he... Something had to be sacrificed. It's not... I didn't mean to hurt him, obviously. But I couldn't have him in that meeting. It was important."

Mary had been standing in the doorway, waiting for an opportunity to make herself known, and this seemed to be the time. She stepped forward and slapped the other woman across the face. "You could have killed him! That beautiful little boy could have died because of you! Out! Get out!"

"But, I want to…"

"You don't get to say goodbye to him. You don't get to ever see him again. Go! Now, before I make you!"

That woke Hamish up and he sat up in the crib, reaching out for Sherlock who quickly lifted him up and pulled him against his chest.

"Daddy, are you shouting?"

"No, love, it's just…"

"It is my Mummy," he said quietly, pointing to the woman standing in the doorway.

She spoke up, "I'm here to say goodbye to you, Hamish."

"Just for today?"

"No. Forever."

He frowned and his grip on Sherlock's shirt tightened. "Why?"

"Because I'm not going to see you again."

"Ahcos you leaved me in ah car?"

"Yes."

"But it is okay if you are sorry, Mummy."

"I'm sorry that I hurt you," she said, and then, before anyone could stop her, "But I don't want to see you again."

"Out!" Sherlock said, holding Hamish firmly against his chest, his head buried in his father's neck. "Get her out now."

"Daddy, what..?"

"It's alright, Hamish. It's okay."

John escorted Jennifer to the lift, waiting until the doors were closed before he returned to the room where poor little Hamish was sat on Sherlock's lap, looking very confused.

"But what I did?"

"You didn't do anything, love. It is Mummy that has the problem."

"Is it ahcos I am naughty?"

"You're not naughty, Hamish."

"I am and Mummy gives me a smack."

"Well you know we don't do that in our house. We don't hit each other, alright? Why did Mummy give you a smack?"

He shrugged. "Can't 'amember, Daddy," he muttered, holding tightly onto him.

Sherlock sighed. "It's okay now, love. It's all over. And you know what? When you're feeling a bit better, we're going to go looking for a handsome suit for you to wear at John and Mary's wedding."

"Oh," he said. "But, Daddy. I already know what I ah wear."

"Oh? What is that?"

"Mine jeans, mine Thomas shirt, and my boots!"

Sherlock took a breath. "That is a lovely outfit. But um... I think a suit would be nice for the wedding. We'll talk about it later, okay? You need to go back to sleep."

"No. I not tired. We can go for a walk?"

He sighed. "Yes, alright. I'll carry you though. I don't want you wearing yourself out," he said gently, picking him up and grabbing the IV pole.

"I not really like ah hop-hots-hostible, Daddy," he managed.

Sherlock nodded and held him a little tighter. "I know you don't. It's quite unpleasant. But we'll be home soon."

"Now?"

"Not right now, no."

"Later?"

"Yes."

"Later today?"

"Probably not. Maybe in a few days."

Hamish sighed. "Not fair. Why Mummy hurted me?"

"Because she's an idiot."

"Rude, Daddy."

"Well... She wasn't good at looking after you. That's all. And I'm sorry that I put you in danger."

Hamish shook his head and leant on Sherlock's shoulder. "No, Daddy. You beed careful. Mummy forgetted ah be careful."

"I shouldn't have let you go to her in the first place."

He frowned slightly and lifted his head to look up at him. "No. You sayed it was ah rules, Daddy," he said, waving a dismissive hand at him. "Toys!" he shouted, clapping his hands and pointing to the play area. Sherlock set him on the ground and followed close behind him, trailing the IV pole beside him while Hamish sat and started putting some train tracks together. "Ah police comed, Daddy, and a amb-ambl-ambliance," he said cheerfully.

"Is that so?"

"Yep! I in Mummy's car and crying ahcos it ah hot. And a big man camed and looked in ah window then he wented away and camed back wif a big thing and he hitted ah window and broked it and I not able to stop crying, Daddy," he said, and Sherlock pulled him into his lap.

"Then what happened?"

"He getted me out of my seat and holded me till ah policemans came, and a policelady too. Ah policelady was very very nice and gived me to ah ambliance man when they getted there. Then I camed to ah hotspital all by my own, Daddy."

"I know," he sighed. "You were very very brave. How long do you think Mummy was gone for?"

"A week," he said confidently, handing him a train. "You play too, okay?"

"Okay."

"I haves a sore tummy, Daddy," he said, rubbing his belly.

Sherlock nodded and sighed. "I thought you might have. It's because your body got too hot, okay?"

"Not like it," he sighed, leaning back on Sherlock's chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, wrapping an arm around his middle and kissing his curls. "It's okay now. All over. We'll just have to stay here for a few days to make sure you're doing fine. But you've got lots of lovely friends who will come to visit, okay? And there are all these new toys to play with."

"Yeah. But I like home better. It smells funny here, Daddy, and everybody wears ah same clothes."

He nodded. "It's called a uniform. It's so we know they're doctors and nurses, love."

"Also, Daddy, I am in a dress," he said with a frown.

Sherlock chuckled. "It's okay. You look very handsome."

Hamish shrugged. "Cold and shivery too."

"It's because you're unwell. Try not to worry. We have to keep you cool at the moment, okay?"

"I not cool, I cold, Daddy. Need some ahjamies."

"Not right now, love. Just play with the trains for the moment."

Hamish slept soundly in the little cot, thumb in his mouth, Woobie in his free hand. Sherlock stood by the window, staring down onto the street while John talked.

"That was really close. That was so close. It's... When I was in A&E, the amount of babies we had in that we... lost because they'd been left in there thirty seconds too long. I can't believe she... Why did she not leave a window open? The poor little kid must have been so scared. And he would have been in pain..."

"That is enough!" Sherlock snapped. "Stop talking about those things. What difference does it make? It's done now and once again he hasn't died, so what's the point of talking about it?"

"Sorry," John muttered, sitting down. "You'll have to call the nursery. He won't be in at least this week. They should know anyway. I don't know what's going to happen to him... psychologically from this."

He nodded and sighed, turning around and leaning against the windowsill to look down at the tiny boy. "Did you call Mrs. Hudson?"

John nodded. "She'll be around a little later. She's sorting things out at the flat."

Sherlock swallowed. "If he was any younger..."

"I thought there was no point talking about it."

He sighed and nodded. "I know. Sorry. I just can't... I can't lose him."

"Of course not," John said softly. "He's your son. Of course you can't. But you're right. There's no point thinking about what might have happened. Because what happened was that he got hurt, but he's okay now."

"I want to find that man," he whispered, staring at the floor.

"What man?"

"The man who pulled him out of the car. I want to... t-to thank him."

"How do you know what happened?"

He shrugged. "Hamish told me. He thought it was wonderful that the police and the ambulance came."

"Always the optimist isn't he?" John smiled. "Bless him."

Sherlock nodded and sighed. "I'm going for a walk. Can you watch him?"

"Course. Take your time. Go home for a bit if you like. We've got him."

"I'll let you know how long I'll be. I may be while," he said on his way out of the room.

John sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Sherlock's okay," Mary said softly. "He just needs a minute."

John nodded and chewed on his lower lip. "I hope Mycroft's watching him. He's not... It's not good when he gets like this."

"John, he's not going to do anything now he's got Hamish. You don't need to worry anymore."

Hamish woke slowly and stood up in the cot. "John. Out me please," he said quietly, rubbing his eyes as John pulled him out onto his lap. "Where Daddy is went?"

"He went for a walk, love. He'll be back soon."

"Him is very mad," he sighed.

"Not at you though. At your mother."

"I know. But when my Daddy feels mad he forgets to smile. I not like it."

John kissed the top of his head and held his hand. "Do you know what, Hamish? Before we got you, Daddy didn't used to smile very much at all. But you make him feel so so happy inside that he smiles loads now."

Hamish smiled. "Daddy makes me feel happy inside too, John."

"I'm glad, little man. And you know what? If you want to wear your Thomas shirt to the wedding, that's okay, mate. I just want you there."

"Hamish. Look, love. You've got a special visitor."

Hamish looked up from his colouring and beamed. "Angus! How you knowed where I am?" he said happily, slipping down from Sherlock's lap and running over to hug him.

Angus hugged him back and smiled, his mother moving over to shake Sherlock's hand. "Sherlock? I'm Rhiannon. Thanks for calling me. How's he doing?"

He shrugged and nodded. "He's okay. He's improving."

"Mummy told me you had to come to hostibitle. It's real yucky here, Hammy," Angus told him.

"Daddy sayed only a few of days," Hamish sighed, sitting on the floor and handing Angus a train to play with.

"This is John," Sherlock said, pointing to him. "And Mary."

Rhiannon smiled and shook their hands, sitting in the spare seat. "Bless them," she said softly as she watched the boys play. "I was worried about Angus when I first sent him to nursery. He's... He's a character. I was worried he wouldn't have friends."

"Seems they were made for each other," Sherlock whispered. "I never thought Hamish would be able to make a friend so easily. He talks about Angus constantly at home."

"And Angus about him," she smiled. "You too, actually. They don't... My kids' Dad left a couple of years ago. Angus is very into male role models at the moment. Which is good. But you're the talk of the house."

Sherlock looked up at her with a small frown. "What do you mean?"

She smiled. "'Hamish's Daddy is very tall, Mummy,' 'Hamish's Daddy took him to the museum, Mum. Can we go to the museum?' 'Hamish's Daddy is so clever, Mummy. He even knows about bugs.'"

Sherlock flushed slightly and cleared his throat. "Well it's. Hamish liked bugs so I read up on it." He shrugged and fiddled with his hands. "Thank you for coming. Hamish was starting to get a little miserable."

"Kidneys are fine, brain function is fine. His liver is dramatically improving. He'll be a little unsteady on his feet for a few days so just watch that. Other than that he's completely recovered, rehydrated. Fine to go home."

"Yay!" Hamish shouted from the cot where he was reading a book. "Yay yay yay, Daddy! Home now, thank you," he said, standing up and sticking his hands in the air. The doctor chuckled and handed Sherlock the discharge papers.

"A nurse will be in shortly to deal with the IV," the doctor said, ruffling Hamish's hair on his way out.

"Home home home now, Daddy please," Hamish whined, jumping up and down on the mattress.

Sherlock smiled and pulled him into his arms. "Soon. We need to take the needle out of your arm, love. Then home. Will we get some clothes on you?"

"What about not, Daddy?"

"What about just some shorts and no shirt?"

He thought for a moment, his thumb in his mouth, and eventually gave him a nod. "Mmkay but I can choose, okay?" he said, wriggling until Sherlock put him down. Hamish rummaged through the bag and pulled out a pair of Buzz Lightyear pyjama shorts. "This ones?"

"Those are fine," Sherlock said, sitting on the floor and helping him pull them on.

John and Mary stepped into the room carrying drinks and sandwiches. "Home!" Hamish shouted. "Ah doctor sayed home home now. I haves to get out my needle first."

Mary smiled and started tidying the room. "That's great news, Hame," John said with a grin as a nurse knocked on the door, moved across the room, and started to remove the IV. Hamish started crying when she pulled the needle out, and he gave her a glare.

"That ouched. Naughty," he said, frowning and holding onto Sherlock's shirt.

"Sorry, love," she said, sticking a blue plaster over the spot and smiling. "All done. Ready to go."

"Yay! Done done, Daddy. Done done done," he smiled, kissing the nurse's cheek as he stood up. "Thank you," he said as she smiled and took the papers Sherlock had filled out. "Come on, Daddy," he said, grabbing the bag and dragging it towards the door.

Sherlock scooped him up and slung the bag over his shoulder, Hamish leant into his chest and sucked his thumb, and John and Mary followed them out of the room, down the corridor, and out into a cab.

Once the cab pulled out, John passed Sherlock a sandwich. "Eat. Please. I know you haven't since before this happened," he said softly as the detective took the food and had a few bites.

"Daddy, that is naughty," said Hamish. "I always telling you to have lunches and you always forget," he mumbled around his thumb before drifting off to sleep.