Exception

John and Sherlock hadn't seen Hamish for close to two days. They didn't blame him for staying away, and if they were going to be completely honest with each other, they didn't really want to face what was going to come when he finally did show his face at the flat again.

It had all started two nights previously. Hamish had been feeling ill and had gone upstairs early. John had checked up on him around ten and found him fast asleep. Consequently, he had gone down to their sitting area where Sherlock was thinking in his armchair and planted himself into his husband's lap, grinding against him to snap him quickly out of his reverie. Things had escalated quickly between the two of them. Within two minutes, Sherlock had stood up, taking John with him, and they were sprawled on their bed divested of their clothes.

Normally, the two of them were quiet when it came to their lovemaking unless Hamish was sleeping at a friend's house or with Mycroft and Lestrade for the night. This night, though, they got careless. Hamish had taken some Benadryl before going to bed, and normally it knocked him out cold for several hours. It was because of this that the two of them began moaning as they rubbed against each other, then as John began to prepare Sherlock, and finally as John entered his husband and Sherlock arched up and cried, "Stop!" in an effort to adjust and to prolong the event.

Hamish had been stirring and heard his father's moaning, but he figured that it was just one of them feeling sick as he had. His Papa had a flair for being dramatic, and if he felt a fraction as off as Hamish did, he would moan and groan that he was dying and beg for his Dad to use his doctoring skills and make the sickness go away. He rolled over and sighed, knowing that this would probably be happening all night, and did his best to ignore it. It was when he heard his Papa cry out for someone to stop sounding like he was in pain that Hamish started to worry. He sat up and listened for some signs of something dreadful happening to one or both of his parents.

The moans continued and got louder over the next few minutes, occasionally sounding a bit more suffocated. The sound of something thumping against something hard was the final straw for Hamish. He had to go down and investigate and make sure that nothing horrible was happening down there.

John was pounding into Sherlock and Sherlock was crying out with every skillful snap of hips that drove straight to his center and sent electric sparks of pleasure up his spine. John kept capturing his mouth in an effort to muffle the moans a bit, but when that would happen, Sherlock would tighten the muscles that surrounded John and John would have no choice but to throw back his head and cry out in pleasure as well. Soon, Sherlock was begging John to go faster and harder and yes like that right there oh fuck fuck fuck yes right there like that yes John yes I love you I love- love- love- ah God yes John John John and John was batting Sherlock's hand away from his own length and was stroking him quickly in time with his increasingly erratic thrusts. Soon, Sherlock was babbling incoherently and John could feel his balls tightening against his length and they were both past the point of no return and Sherlock came in hot ropes that splattered against the headboard and it was too much as John watched that and the muscles squeezed him with just the right amount of pressure and-

"Oh my God!"

Both men's head snapped to the door and in the doorframe stood their eleven year old son, looking horrified and as if he was going to vomit.

Shit. John ripped his hand away from Sherlock's cock but there was still cum spurting from Sherlock and Sherlock had stiffened and John was stuck inside of him, still spurting into him. He was speechless and was doing everything he could to stop himself from draining himself into Sherlock but there was no way he could and apparently he was at just the right angle and was hitting Sherlock's prostate head on with every spurt and with every spurt Sherlock moaned involuntarily and clenched a little tighter around John's cock, coaxing John's orgasm out and dragging it out, forcing John's eyes to roll back into his head even though he tried so hard to stop it.

By the time that John was able to speak again, Hamish was gone. Shit shit shit. He eased himself out of Sherlock with an obscene "pop" and nearly got hard again when he saw his cum dripping out of Sherlock's ass. Not now. He threw on the boxers and undershirt they had discarded carelessly on the floor and dashed out the door.

"John!" Sherlock cried. He hauled himself up and followed his husband, not bothering with clothes and grabbing John's wrist to stop him.

"Let go of me, Sherlock!" John growled. He was not in the mood for this right now.

"John, I don't think now is the best time to go up there."

"I don't give a fuck what you think right now, love. Our little boy just walked in on us at the end of some mind-blowing sex. I think that we owe him some sort of explanation."

"I don't think that's entirely wise, John. Hamish just saw us both mid-ejaculation. I don't think that I could face my parents after that."

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Sherlock," he began calmly. "If you do not let go of my hand within the next two seconds, I will never have sex with you again."

Sherlock dropped his hand.

"Thank you." John then dashed up the stairs to Hamish's room.

Inside, Hamish was curled in the fetal position, trying to block out what he just saw. He knew what sex was. He knew what happened when two men had sex (he had Darren at school to thank for that useful information) and knew that his father's must be sexually active. They were some of the soppiest, romantic people he had ever seen. He had been able to not think of them doing that, though. Until now, that is. As he lay in bed wondering if there was a way that he could lobotomize himself with something in his Papa's lab, there was a knock at his door and his Dad called out his name.

"I'm asleep, Dad."

John sighed and opened the door. "Okay. I just, um, wanted to say I'm sorry. You know, that you had to see, well, that."

"Not sure what you're talking about, Dad. I'm asleep, remember."

"Sure thing, son," he responded

"Could you leave me alone, now?"

"Yeah, I can. Night, Hamish," John sighed, closing the door behind him.

He raced downstairs as fast as he could and shut their bedroom door behind him. John then stripped his clothes back off and climbed back into bed. Sherlock had cleaned himself up and had gotten his cum off of the headboard, and held out the damp cloth to John so he could clean himself up. John wiped himself off with a defeated look in his eyes, and threw the cloth onto the floor with their clothes. He then climbed into bed where six-odd feet of consulting detective curled up against him.

"I'm sorry I was so loud," Sherlock sighed, nuzzling into John's chest.

John chuckled and ran his hand through Sherlock's curls. "I'm sorry I'm so fantastic at shagging you that you couldn't help yourself."

Sherlock laughed a bit at that, but quickly sobered up. "I don't know what we're going to do about this."

"We can't just leave it," John sighed. "The same thing happened to me when I was his age and my parent's never did anything about it. I think it was just more awkward that way."

"It's going to be awkward for him either way," Sherlock said. He was silent for a moment, and then asked, "How did you deal with it?"

"Truthfully? I had just figured out what masturbation was and I was getting erections at the drop of a hat. I just went back to my room with the biggest boner I'd had to date and had a wank."

Sherlock shuddered at that thought. "Perish the thought that Hamish is having a wank over us. It wouldn't be his first time, but I would prefer that there were only two orgasms had in this flat tonight. We'll just talk to him tomorrow night."

"That's probably best," John admitted. He kissed his husband gently and they proceeded to drift off into a deep but troubled sleep.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Hamish was trying as hard as he could to block out the images he'd just seen. It wasn't working, and he ended up vomiting. He decided that tonight he deserved to take a little more medicine than he needed if it helped him sleep. When he gave it some thought, an accidental overdose on Benadryl was probably preferable to seeing his parents again.

The next morning, Hamish got up early. He got himself ready, made himself some breakfast, and packed a change of clothes and his toothbrush at the bottom of his school bag. He then left the flat two hours before he was supposed to leave for school in order to avoid seeing his fathers. He felt a pang of guilt, but then when he remembered what he had seen the night before, he picked up the pace and got as far away from 221B as he could.

John woke up at 6 and dragged himself into the kitchen. He was looking forward to a cup of tea and some toast when he spotted a piece of paper on the counter. Picking it up and squinting sleepily at it, John read the note from his son and sighed deeply, burying his face in his hand. He was completely humiliated. They knew they needed to be more careful, but he had never actually expected Hamish to walk in on them. He just thought there would be many more close calls before Hamish left for school when he turned 18.

By this point, Sherlock had noticed that his body pillow was no longer there and was unable to remain asleep. He followed John into the kitchen and saw his husband leaning over the counter, clearly distressed from his posture. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and pressed a kiss to his neck.

"Morning, my love," he whispered into John's ear, nuzzling the back of his head.

"Hamish has already left for school," John sighed. "This doesn't bode well for us."

Sherlock hummed. "He's embarrassed, as he should be. As I am and as I am sure you are."

"Well, yes, but we can't just go about pretending it didn't happen," John moaned. "We have to face each other eventually."

"Just give him some space, and he'll eventually be able to look us in the eye again."

John groaned. The last time he had looked his son in the eye was as he was emptying himself into Sherlock. This was not going to be easy at all.

Sherlock could feel John tensing up, and he kissed the back of John's neck and around onto his throat a few more times. "You know," he began. "Hamish is already gone, and today is your day off. We could try what we tried last night again, but with a different result."

"After our son walked in on us as we were finishing?" John chuckled. "I don't think that I ever want to have sex again."

Sherlock frowned, but he knew how to get to John. He slid his hands down slowly and began to stroke the inside of John's thighs and cupped his groin. John groaned and arched back into Sherlock's touch, his resistance crumbling.

"No, Sherlock. This is really, really wrong," John panted, doing everything he could to make sure that his hips didn't cant up and completely give away the fact that he couldn't resist the tall man behind him.

Sherlock wasn't giving in, though. He nibbled at John's ear and licked the outside of the shell, causing shivers to run up John's spine. The next thing Sherlock knew, John had pressed his lips hard against his, and Sherlock smiled into the kiss.

"I hate you," John whispered, never breaking contact with John's mouth.

"I can live with that," Sherlock replied, tugging John up by the nape of his dressing gown and leading him the short distance back to the bedroom.

Sherlock and John spent the rest of the day having mind blowing sex without any fear of interruption. Hamish spent the rest of the day feeling sick to his stomach.

When he got out of school, Hamish had arranged it so he could go to his friend Andy's house for a sleepover. He wanted to avoid his flat for as long as he could. He called his Dad once he got to Andy's house to tell him he wasn't coming home.

His Dad sounded absolutely buggered out when he picked up the phone. Hamish hoped it was because he was as nervous as he was and not because he and his Papa had been shagging all day.

"Hi Dad. I'm going to sleep over at Andy's house. I packed all of my stuff this morning so no need to come over." No need for us to actually have to look at each other yet because I really don't think that I can look you in the eye ever again.

"I wouldn't want to impose on Andy's parents-"

"Oh, his mum said it wouldn't be any trouble. I'll get all my homework done and I'll see you sometime. Bye Dad!"

"Hamish-" John tried to continue their conversation but the line was dead. He lay back on the bed and groaned deeply.

"You know, I really prefer when I make you produce those sounds. It is a much nicer sound mid-coitus," Sherlock sighed, rolling over onto his husband and pressing a kiss to John's good shoulder.

"Hamish is sleeping over at Andy's tonight. He packed some stuff this morning and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. If he doesn't find another friend's house to sleep at."

Sherlock tensed. "I don't know how I'm going to handle it when we finally see him. I'm not very good at this stuff."

John chuckled. "Actually, if we're going to be completely accurate about this, you're shit at this type of thing. We've got to talk to him, though. He can't keep running away from us. The sooner we address this, the sooner it will be less awkward for all of us."

They lay there for several more minutes in silence until John said, "I think we should just pick him up from school tomorrow. That way he can't avoid us."

"Do I have a choice in this? You were the one who was doing the majority of the deed when we were so inconveniently interrupted."

"No, you don't. If you don't stand by me during this I will kill you and get your brother to help me cover up the evidence."

Sherlock seemed to ponder this for a few minutes. Finally, he conceded. That may have had something to do with John massaging his scalp in that way that he just couldn't resist.

They spent the rest of the day, a good portion of the night, and some of the morning having sex. At one point between their third to last and second to last romps, John joked that they should be sated until Hamish moved out in a few years. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view), Sherlock still had some difficulty separating sarcasm from seriousness and pounced, fucking John within an inch of his life. After they were done, John managed to choke out that he had been joking, but if Sherlock wanted to do that to him on a fairly routine basis, he wouldn't complain.

Despite all of the sex they were having, John was still feeling incredibly guilty. Sherlock could tell, and as much as he was enjoying the sex, his main motivation was to distract John from his thoughts. As soon as he could see John start to focus on the fact that they had just has some pretty fantastic sex, he pounced and would start another round.

When they had first brought Hamish home, Sherlock had caught John one day holding their sleeping son in his nursery talking to the infant. Sherlock couldn't initially understand the significance of the act. After all, Hamish was four days old and would not remember anything that John was saying to him. Then he realized exactly what John was saying and it squeezed his heart.

John's childhood hadn't been incredibly easy. His father was an alcoholic who would occasionally take out his frustration on his son, which was one of the main reasons that John had such a huge problems with Harry's drinking. They hadn't had a lot of money, and John's father had had some difficulty holding down a steady job. His mother had died when he was twelve, and with her, his protector had died too.

On that cold Thursday afternoon, John had sat on the floor of the room that had previously belonged to him holding their newborn. The baby was cooing a bit in his sleep and would occasionally move a limb as he was dreaming, almost as if he was responding to everything John was saying to him. John had sat on the floor, promising Hamish that he would never let anything awful happen to him, that he would love him no matter what happened, and that he would make sure that he had the childhood he deserved, free of demons and abuse and sadness.

Sherlock stood in the doorway as John pressed his forehead down onto Hamish's and cried a few silent tears. He then wiped the wet spots on their son's skull and kissed him as he stood and placed him back in his bassinette.

When he turned around and saw Sherlock in the doorway, he looked a bit sheepish. Sherlock had walked in and embraced him. "He will be so loved, John."

"I know he will," John sighed into Sherlock's chest.

They stood there for a few more minutes, and then Sherlock said, "I love you more than I could have ever fathomed loving another being. You are so incredible, John, and with you as a father, Hamish will have the greatest life that anyone could ever give a child."

John's breath caught again at that, and he just clutched Sherlock like he was a drowning man holding onto a life preserver.

It was this day that made Sherlock extra cautious of how John was dealing with the aftermath of their little mishap. He felt obligated to distract John at every opportunity that presented itself. It was a selfish way to distract himself, but it was getting the job done and that meant Sherlock would shag John until his dick fell off if it meant distracting him.

They finally had to right themselves and go pick their son up. As they sat in a cab on their way to Hamish's school, John said, "Thank you for taking my mind off of things."

"I don't know what you're talking about, John," Sherlock responded, staring out the window.

"Okay, we can go with that if you want. But thank you, anyways. If it wasn't to distract me, then thanks for some fantastic sex." John patted Sherlock's knee and smiled at him. Sherlock cracked a small smile but never took his eyes off of the view out the window. He did reach out to grab John's hand, and didn't let go even as they got out of the cab.

They made sure that they got to the school early enough that he couldn't slip past them. Despite the ridiculous amount of sex they had taken part in over the past 36 hours or so, they we incredibly tense, and Sherlock was gripping John's hand that John was considering slipping off to Bart's to beg Molly to give him an x-ray.

Hamish was one of the last students to leave the school. He was talking to one of his friends who he was planning to stay over with when he spotted his parents and froze. John waved weakly at him. Hamish closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then he began to walk over to them.

"Hi Dad, Papa. What are you two doing here?" he asked.

"Well, we hadn't seen you in a few days and figured-"

"Oh, yeah, about that. I'm going to sleep over at Sam's-" he gestured to the scrawny boy beside him "-so I'll see you two sometime soon, okay?"

"Nice to meet you Sam," John said with a smile to the other boy. He then turned back to his son and said, "Nice try, but no. You're coming home."

Hamish grimaced. "I would really like to hang out with Sam tonight."

"Yes, and your father and I would really like you to come home," John smiled.

"I-"

"We're the parents, you're the kid. Home. Now," John was still smiling, but he entered soldier mode and commanded that Hamish come home. Hamish knew better than to argue with him when he used that tone of voice. Meanwhile, Sam had shrunk a bit (If that was at all possible. Dear God, did that child's parent's feed him? Sherlock wondered.) as the waves of authority rolling off of John hit him.

"I, uh, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" Sam mumbled.

"Sure, see you then," Hamish said miserably.

Once the three of them were standing alone, John suggested that they get a cab and just go straight home. Hamish nodded, looking as if he were about to walk to his death.

The three of them were silent on the ride home. It was incredibly awkward for everyone. Even the cabbie could have cut the tension with a knife.

Once back at the flat, Hamish attempted to run up to his room.

"Hold up, kiddo, we haven't even talked. Come back down now," John demanded.

Hamish turned and looked like he was about to be shot. He looked completely miserable as he sat down at the kitchen table.

John looked at Sherlock to see if he wanted to begin the discussion, but Sherlock just kept his eyes fixed on the floor. Right, no help there. Should have known, John thought. He sighed and began talking.

"Hamish, about the other night-"

"Please, Dad, I really can't talk about it. Can't we just, I don't know, not?"

"Your Dad feels that if we address the issue, we will all feel less awkward," Sherlock supplied.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but sitting here about to talk to my parents about catching them in bed is just about as awkward as it can get in my book. So maybe if we ended the discussion, we could just all feel less awkward now," Hamish suggested.

"Nice try," John smiled. "Listen, Hamish, we really feel awful about the fact that you had to see that. We really have tried to keep that aspect of our relationship between the two of us since you came into our lives. I, um, well, I just feel like I've failed as a parent because I wasn't able to protect you from that." John's voice got a bit thicker there and Sherlock took this opportunity to clasp his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. He didn't relinquish his grip on it, though. He caressed the knuckles with his thumb. "I've just felt like shit the last few days because of this and I'm so, so sorry."

"It isn't your fault, John, don't be silly. We are both to blame," Sherlock said softly.

John gave Sherlock a small smile, but quickly turned his attention back to his son. "Look, when I was your age I walked in on my parents and we never talked about it. I felt awful about it and I wished they had said something about it just to make me feel marginally better. I swore when you were born that I would protect you from some things that I wasn't protected from as a kid, and this was one of those things. It sort of pales in comparison to things like alcoholism, but it still was on my list. I'm so sorry that I failed you."

"You didn't fail at anything, Dad," Hamish sighed. "I just wish that I could forget it."

"You and me both, Hamish."

"Could I go upstairs now?" Hamish asked hopefully.

"Do you forgive us?" John asked.

"Yeah. I mean, you weren't doing anything wrong. I guess I'm just glad you still do it. So many of my friend's parents are getting divorced, so in a way it's nice to know that you two still love each other so much. Just make sure to lock your door or something like that when you're, you know…"

"We will definitely do that," John smiled. "Feel like hugs?"

"I won't be allowed to leave until I do, will I?"

"Spot on."

Hamish walked around the table and gave Sherlock a hug. Sherlock buried his face in his son's curls and kissed the top of his head.

"Too much sentiment in this conversation for you, Papa?" Hamish joked into his Papa's chest.

Sherlock chucked deeply. "More like a lack of expertise in the area. I love you very much, son, and I'm sorry about this."

"Love you too," Hamish sighed into Sherlock's chest. Sherlock squeezed him a bit tighter and John could have sworn that he saw a bit of wetness in Sherlock's eyes.

Finally, Hamish moved over to John. John clung to his son like his life depended on it. "I love you so much," he said thickly, kissing the top of his son's head.

"I love you too, Daddy. You didn't fail, I promise," Hamish said sweetly.

That was too much for John. He squeezed Hamish a bit tighter and a few tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. Sherlock moved over to the two of them and embraced them. John grasped the back of his neck and Sherlock used one hand to stroke Hamish's curls and the other to wipe away the tear tracks from John's face. It was a really sweet moment until Hamish said, "Um, Daddy? Papa?"

"Yes, son?" Sherlock asked.

"I love you two, but considering the reason we just had this little family meeting, I feel a little awkward being between the two of you. Could I go upstairs now?"

Both Sherlock and John laughed. "Sure thing. We'll see you at dinner," Sherlock said.

Hamish retreated up the stairs. Sherlock closed the gap where their son had stood and embraced his husband tightly, rocking him to keep him calm.

"We aren't out of the woods yet," Sherlock remarked.

"No, but I would rather be at this point than where we were before," John said, nuzzling his head into the space where Sherlock's shoulder met his neck.

They stood there for several minutes more. Sherlock finally broke the silence by saying, "Promise me you'll stop comparing yourself to your father. You are a wonderful parent, John, and you have given Hamish everything you promised him that day in the nursery the day after we brought him home." Sherlock could feel a bit of wetness on the skin of his neck. This crying was incredibly unlike John, and it scared Sherlock. Nonetheless, he kept talking. "I couldn't have asked for a better partner to raise a child with, let alone a partner in life. You are the light of my life, and without you I would be so lost. I know you doubt yourself frequently, but you have no reason to. You are too wonderful to have those doubts, and I hope one day you realize just how fantastic you are."

John was crying in earnest into Sherlock's shoulder by this point. Silently, of course, but the emotion was still there. He squeezed Sherlock in a silent response and the remained there for hours. They only broke apart when Hamish came downstairs and said, "I thought we were going to have dinner. Have you two moved from that spot since I went upstairs?"

Things were still awkward for a while after their discussion. Sherlock and John had to be careful about showing too much affection in front of Hamish for a while because whenever they would, he would blush a furious shade of fuchsia. Sherlock and John didn't have sex for several weeks because they were so worried about being caught. Thankfully, the amount of sexual tension between the two of them was worse than the few months before they began dating and Lestrade decided it would be wisest to have Mycroft send them away for a weekend and they would watch Hamish. Sherlock and John agreed to this after Mycroft and Lestrade promised that under no circumstances they would have sex.

Slowly, though, the tension in the flat dissipated and things got back to normal. It was almost as if the whole ordeal hadn't happened. Sherlock and Hamish wouldn't admit it, but the talk that John had forced them to have made things much less awkward for them, and deep down they were thankful for it. John knew this, despite the fact that his husband and son did their best to hide it from him, and he didn't gloat about it out loud.

One thing that they did know, though, was their already strong relationship was rock solid now. It warmed John's heart, the sentiment confused Sherlock but ultimately made him happy, and Hamish felt incredibly loved. The circumstances that had caused this could have been better, but they were thankful that the end result of the whole ordeal was so positive. Everything in 221B Baker Street was just fine.

A/N: Remember when I said it would probably take me an extra day to get this up because I wanted to make sure it was perfect before I posted it? Well, clearly I'm just a big fat liar and you shouldn't listen to anything I say ever.

That's it! I hope that y'all enjoyed reading this a fraction of how much I loved writing it! Thank you to everyone who has supported this story. I means so much to me. I can't even begin to describe how wonderful it makes me feel. Thanks so much for reading!

I think I'm still obligated to say nothing here is mine (except for Hamish. I made that shit up. Not the name, just the kid's personality.) and that I am really, really sorry to ACD and Moftiss for ruining all of their hard work with my little drabbles. Sorry, boys.

Update: please be sure to read "Big Kisses" by fantasybean, which was inspired by this story!