"Daddy, daddy!" The young boy's voice rings from the next room, and John feels something hard collide with his knes. He bends down with a laugh, enveloping his son in his arms.
"Hey, Hamish! How was your day?"
The little boy grins, his dark curls bouncing. "Father and me played games!"
"Father and I, Hamish." The deep voice calls out from the sofa, and the mere sound of it lifts John's lips. He makes his way into the living room, rolling his eyes as he spots his life partner sprawled on the furniture, wearing nothing but a bed sheet and three nicotine patches.
"Sherlock, I'm home." John's voice is rather pointed, and he raises his eyebrows.
"Yes, I heard you. I texted you. You didn't answer."
John rolls his eyes, exasperated. "For God's sake, Sherlock, I've been at work, you know – trying to bring in money." He reaches into his pocket, sighing irritably; he opens the text message and his expression softens.
'1 new message, Sherlock. "I miss you. Teaching Hamish the real rules of Cluedo. I love you."'
"Oh, Sherlock." Moving carefully around the furniture in the cluttered, rather messy flat, John makes his way over to Sherlock, collapsing on the sofa next to him. Sherlock greets him by pulling him close, enclosing him in the safe haven of the blanket; John closes his eyes as he feels Sherlock's lips press gently against his forehead.
The couple lies there silently for several minutes, until their peace is disturbed by their giggling son diving on top of them, his chubby hands reaching. He grins up at his parents, joy clear on his face. "Daddy? Father? You love each other?"
John and Sherlock exchange a glance, then John says, without hesitation: "Yes."
"More than anything," Sherlock adds, pulling both Hamish and John closer towards him, completing their little perfect family on that sofa.