(Love you too darling! I hope you like this!)
Hamish sat on his bed, looking at his new uniform cap in his hands. The khaki seemed right at home in Baker Street - the hectic nature of the flat was akin to a war ground, especially when Sherlock was raving about a case. Guns and danger - Hamish was used to that. He turned the cap over in his hands, tracing the edge of the sewn-on patch. John still kept his military outfit in a box under his bed. Hamish had seen it once, when he was little and nosing around because he was bored. A shiny medal had rested atop a pile of khaki - Hamish had been intrigued, but when he questioned John, the man went red and told him never to go into the box again.
Hamish wanted his own box. His own khaki. His own medal. He wanted to be like his dads, to make them proud. But of course, they wouldn’t be proud. John would probably be furious. Hamish glanced over at his suitcase, in which his new uniform and spare clothes and things were packed. The letter informing him of his tour of duty rested on top, like the medal on top of John’s uniform.
He hoped his parents wouldn’t be too angry. He had to do this. He had to.
A knock on the door made him jump. “Hamish? Are you in there?”
Hamish sighed in relief - it was just Sherlock. “Yeah. Come in.”
Sherlock opened the door and stepped in gingerly. He knew his son didn’t like people being in his room. “All packed?”
Hamish frowned slightly. “How did you know I was packing?”
“It was simple, Hamish.” Sherlock scoffed. He sat down on the bed next to his son and put a hand on Hamish’s knee, looking at the cap in his hands. “You received a letter yesterday that got you excited. You wouldn’t tell us what the letter was about - obviously it’s something we wouldn’t approve of. You flat-out ignored your dad too, which was very rude of you. You were asking where various things were, like the spare toothpaste. We only use the spare toothpaste when we go on trips. Therefore, you’re going somewhere away from us that may have been specified in your letter. So, I deduced that it was either a girl or something more… dangerous.” Sherlock’s eyes sparkled. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”
Hamish bit his lip. “I should have known you’d figure it out.” he sighed. “I applied to be an officer. I’m going to be in the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers. I thought that would be sort of ironic, since Dad was in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. But Dad won’t like it, will he?”
“Of course not. He’ll be furious.”
Hamish put his head in his hands. “Oh God… I don’t want to disappoint him, but I need to do this! I want this!” he glanced up at Sherlock. “Do you… like it? Are you okay with it?”
“I don’t like it, no.” Sherlock said slowly. “But you want this. You want to do this.”
“Then I’ll respect that.” Sherlock smiled. “It’s your life, Hamish. You go if you want to. Explore the world, fight bad guys like in those spy movies you and your dad like. Just make good decisions, do what you think is right. And, most importantly… come home safe.”
Hamish looked into Sherlock’s eyes - the man was tired, older than Hamish had ever seen him. Hamish sniffed back a tear and hugged his father tightly, burying his face into Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’ll miss you.”
“We’ll miss you too.” Sherlock murmured.
“I’ll tell Dad when he gets home.” Hamish said.
“We’ll tell him together.” Sherlock smiled. “If he gets mad at you, don’t worry. I’ll tell him about the legs in the washing machine…”