Family Deductions

Hamish whistled an unknown tune as he climbed the stairs to the flat of 221B. Swinging open the door to the sitting room he was surprise not to find Sherlock, who usually spent most of the day lazing on the couch, no where to be seen. "I'm home." he called half-heatedly before dumping his school bag on the kitchen table and making himself some tea. John would be still at the surgery, he thought, but Sherlock was no where to be seen- unusual. He didn't have a case at the moment, the criminals seemed to have taken a holiday, so he had no idea where he was. Unless he had found a case while Hamish had been at college; his heart leaped a little with that age-old excitement.

Where's the case? -H

He punched send to Sherlock before firing off another message to John.

Dad's found a case. No more bullets in the wall it seems! -H

John's phone text alert sounded. He viewed the text while waiting for his last patient of the day. He sent back a reply.

Brilliant. Wall needs a rest. I'll be home soon. J

Sherlock was out at St Barts morgue collecting some fresh body parts for experiments. It had been a slow kind of week with no work. Since Lestrade's retirement things seemed to have dried up slightly, and Sherlock got the impression the new young Inspector Hopkins didn't trust him properly yet. He was holding out his hopes for a nice murder to set the record straight.

He saw the text message from Hamish and smiled, proud of his son's deductions even if they were slightly off. He'd obviously come home, noticed the empty sofa where Sherlock normally reclined, and came to the conclusion that a case must have come through. He grinned and quickly text back:

No case sadly. On my way back from Barts. Did the post arrive? Expecting a package - SH

Hamish made his way up to his room and slumped down on his bed, reaching for his laptop. His phone buzzed and he quickly read the two messages.
Damn. His dad really needed a case, they all did. It was going to be a long weekend without one, that was for sure. 'Normal' family activities in the Watson-Holmes household were pretty much non-existent- they'd never managed to finish a game of Cluedo without someone storming out- and travelling to France to solve a crime was the closest they'd ever got to a holiday. But Hamish liked it that way; normal stuff was just so dull.
He replied to John's first, knowing that Sherlock would probably be in the middle of musing over a cadaver or something.

Ergh, I spoke too soon. Seems he's just experimenting. -H

And then to Sherlock,

Package? Didn't notice one. -H

Sherlock groaned in frustration when he saw the message. He'd been waiting for ages. When was it going to arrive?

Muttering to himself, he grabbed the box of supplies and headed outside, hailing a taxi to take him back to Baker Street.

"Hey" Hamish called down from his bedroom as he heard the click of the door and the familiar long strided footsteps of Sherlock.
"Anything going on at the hospital?"
He really did hope they'd get a case sometime soon, being stuck around his parents was bad enough, but without one it would be unbearable. Maybe he'd try an invite himself to one of his friends houses tomorrow night perhaps if nothing came up.

"I'm not shouting up the stairs," Sherlock called out to his son as he entered the living room, temporarily placing the box down on the coffee table whilst he took off his coat and scarf, draping them over the back of the chair. "Come down if you want to talk."

He stretched his arms and pottered through to the kitchen, filling up the kettle and switching it on, checking his watch. John would be home soon, he thought with a happy smile.

Hamish groaned loudly, hoping Sherlock would hear, before grumpily making his way downstairs and sitting down in the armchair opposite the telly. He turned it one, flicking threw a few channels before admitting defeat and putting it onto mute.
"The hospital, interesting was it?" he asked plainly, trying not to sound like he was giving the conversation much attention.
After all, he was getting suspicious about this important parcel which was due to arrive, and he hospital was probably to do with it.

John got the text alert from Hamish in the back of his taxi home. To say he was disappointed that Sherlock hadn't turned up a case was an understatement. It was their own fault though, they had been very successful at chasing criminals high and low. He eased his aching shoulder by rubbing it and typed a reply:

Ah damn. Cheer up, one will turn up. I'm in a taxi now put the kettle on in 5 minutes please. J.

"Hospital was fine," Sherlock mumbled and found some clean cups in the cupboards.

He leaned against the doorway and frowned slightly at Hamish. "More to the point how was college? What did you learn?" Sherlock was extremely keen for his son to do well in his studies and always liked to keep tabs on how he was progressing.

I am cheered up. I might go out tonight. And yeah sure. -H

Hamish tapped back a reply before responding to Sherlock.
"Good. And I learnt lots dad." he rolled his eyes to himself. "You'll be please to know I got an A in that chemistry practical." he sighed. His success at school had become rather a boring subject and sometimes he even wished that he would perhaps fail something just to spice things up a bit, but also so his classmates wouldn't regard him as the boffin for once.
"Oh,Dad says make him some tea."

John was livid that the road had been blocked off and his taxi had to make a detour and got stuck in traffic. He opened the door of 221B and raced up the stairs. "No bomb alerts or gas explosions were there?" he asked.

"An A in chemistry, well done you. I know it bores you when it's just all too easy" he beamed and gave his son a playful shove.

"Hi you" he said to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around his lover's waist. "How was your day?"

The corners of Sherlock's lips curled up slightly in a smile when he heard that Hamish had done well in college again.

"Good," he muttered, pouring out some hot water into the mugs of tea. "So you should." Shortly after he heard John's footsteps on the stairs, his heart lifting. Even after all these years he still got excited about John coming home.

He sighed happily when he felt the other man's arms and turned round to give him a short peck on the lips. "Hi," he smiled. "Good day at work? Made you some tea." He indicated the tea with a proud wave of his hand, then called through to the living room. "You want tea Hamish?"

John noticed the box on the kitchen table but didn't mention it. Morgue cardboard box so Sherlock would take it down to his lab.

Hearing Sherlock's little sigh of contentment, just coming home to his partner, the brief peck on his lips all made John feel ludicrously happy. He truthfully replied “Better day now.” thinking that he was a very lucky man to have both Hamish and Sherlock in his life. “Tea as well” he smiled at Sherlock, taking a mug, appreciating that he had made it. “Right, who fancies Chinese takeaway tonight? Hamish?”

Hamish pretended to gag a little at his parent's show of affection, but secretly he was pleased there had been no arguments recently.
"Chinese, yeah sure." he smiled back at them, making a mental note that he perhaps shouldn't prioritize takeaways over friends as he cancelled his arrangements for the evening.
"What's in the box?" Hamish got up from the armchair and wandered over to the parcel which had just appeared on the table. It was a box from morgue with a 'human tissue' warning sticker stuck half heatedly on the top. And then there was a hand written note- Molly's- so probably something that shouldn't be sat on the kitchen table, especially as it was too big to just be a few fingers or eyeballs.

Sherlock detached himself from John's arms and picked up the box a little protectively. "Need to take this downstairs," he mumbled. "Lungs, kidneys, hearts. I'm measuring the effects of different poisons on the internal organs. Chinese would be great."

Balancing the box in his arms he headed off out of the kitchen towards the stairs, pausing at the top to call back, "Hamish have you done your homework yet?"

"Nice..." Hamish regarded the box in his father's arms with a cautious look- despite his curiosity he'd quickly learned to be wary of the various things that entered their home in boxes from the morgue.
"I've got all weekend!" he called back in annoyance, doubting Sherlock could still hear him as he rushed off down to the lab. "...and I'm sixteen." he muttered, looking up at John with an exasperated expression.
"Kill anyone today?" he joked, grabbing a packet of biscuits from the cupboard and settling back in front of the TV.

"Hamish," warned John, "homework first, no I didn't kill anyone today but the day's not over yet" a smile bubbled up from below the surface. He finally managed to take his jacket off and drink his tea.

Sherlock struggled with the heavy box down the stairs and into the lab. It was almost 8 years ago now that John and him had bought the rest of the house off their old landlady Mrs Hudson. She'd now moved to the local care home where she was still going strong in her 90s, and Sherlock had converted the downstairs flat into his own laboratory.

It was great for him to be able to have his own space. Somewhere he could work, think, relax, not get on John's nerves. And John was overjoyed to reclaim the kitchen as a place for cooking and eating, not for doing experiments. Sherlock even had his own fridge to keep his body parts. It was an arrangement that worked out well for everyone.

He set the box down on the work surface and opened up the fridge door, removing the organs one by one and placing them inside, before throwing the empty box into the corner and washing his hands. He smiled and jogged back upstairs to relax before dinner.

Hamish had reluctantly made his way back upstairs and completed his homework. He didn't like to be bossed around- something he probably took from Sherlock- but this time he had given in and did it anyway. It was a biology project- genetics- all about Gregor Mendel and the discovery of inheritance. It was easy of course but he couldn't help wondering just how many of your characteristics you would inherit from one of your parents. Of course there wasn't a set number or anything, it just would be nice to know how much he looked like his anonymous surrogate mother.
But the thought was chased away as soon as he heard John going out for the Chinese. He made his way downstairs to find some more out about these organs- as he'd learnt that behind everyone of his dad's bizarre experiments there was always a link to a case. Jogging down to the second floor he found that Sherlock was in fact in the lounge. The experiment must have been short after all.
"Find what you were looking for?" he asked, letting his dad deduce the rest as he slumped into an armchair.

John had set the kitchen table and put plates in the microwave ready to warm up before doing the 5 minute walk to their favourite restaurant. Not for the hundredth time he thought that buying the house had been worth every penny to have a well equipped lab for Sherlock to work in. Sherlock was happy with his own space and it had just made it so much easier to cope when Hamish was little. He came back with a selection of Chinese food and set to dishing up.

Sherlock came back to the living room to find the place empty. He spotted the laid spaces on the table and deduced that John had gone to collect the chinese and that Hamish had followed orders to do his homework.

Just as he was thinking this, his young son re-emerged into the living room. He smiled at him briefly, glancing him up and down. "You've been awful quick," he remarked. "You just wanted to watch my experiments didn't you?" He grinned, happy Hamish always took such an interest. He would make a wonderful consulting detective, once his training was complete. John hated him referring to it as training, but it was only Sherlock's unique way of parenting.

"After dinner," he said kindly. "But you'll need to wear your gloves, we'll be messing with some poisons."

John only caught the last part of the conversation and grinned. He and Sherlock had the same high hopes for their son. It was important to him that Hamish never felt that he was forced to follow in his father's footsteps.

"Oh, good, after dinner I get rid of both of you for a little bit" John put in. He was pleased about Sherlock and Hamish doing something together. He smiled too as he remembered how much time Sherlock had spent training him.

"Speaking of which, dinner, and chemistry, which is what cooking is, the chef put in a new pickle for us to test drive."

"Test drive pickle?" Hamish laughed through a mouthful of spring roll.
He was pleased that Sherlock planned to include him in the experiments, as recently he'd begun to give in to John's nagging about how he should be 'training' his son into a consulting detective. Which was ridiculous of course, it was perfectly fine with Hamish, even if he didn't end up following in Sherlock's footsteps.
"What poisons are these exactly?" he asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Sherlock sat down at the table and helped himself to some of the food. He'd put on nearly a stone since he and John first got together. He was always so well looked after, and John insisted on him eating at least one meal a day, so much so he'd even got used to it himself, although he still would never eat if he was on a case.

"Remember the file I gave you on Jim Moriarty," he asked Hamish, his eyes dancing slightly with excitement when he spoke of his old nemesis. "Botulinum. He used it on several occasions with great success. There's been two murders recently which I am led to believe involved a particular strain of botulinum. I need to test my theories on some human organs to compare the effects with the effects on the actual victims. I have the case notes from Scotland Yard downstairs."

Sherlock sighed slightly, his mind wandering off to remember his old nemesis. There was a part of him that missed Moriarty, and he had to admit, since the consulting criminal was committed to a mental asylum ten years ago, the world had been a much duller place.