The Tumblr Crackficlets Headcanon - Hamish’s Evil Fairy Godfather
If one were to ask John H. Watson who he’d nominate for sainthood without missing a beat, he would have said, prior to Hamish’s third Christmas, that it would have been Greg Lestrade.
Certainly, the man deserved it, for not being driven completely round the bend by Certain Stroppy and Obnoxious Consulting Detectives. Also, he somehow managed to put up with Certain Meddling Older Brothers Who Pretend Not to be MI6 with considerable aplomb. John still cherishes the picture he took of a blushing and utterly flustered Mycroft Holmes when Greg suddenly started flirting with him during Hamish’s second Christmas and ended the affair by kissing Mycroft under the mistletoe.
(Yes, John has that picture too. Sherlock reacted by wondering if it were actually possible to produce Real Life Brain Bleach and would’ve started in on his experiments, were he not sufficiently distracted by the Most Excellent Snogging Skills of one Determined Army Doctor.)
Needless to say, Mrs. Hudson won a rather significant amount in the ongoing betting pool. So did John, by the way.
Mummy, of course, was absolutely ecstatic.
Of course, John really should have suspected that there were significant hidden depths to a Certain Dishy (Mycroft’s term, not John’s) Detective Inspector.
This was finally revealed when Greg, in his capacity as little Hamish’s godfather, presented him with his Christmas present. Gleefully, the little boy ripped away the wrapping paper…. only to find a parka-clad figure of that popular children’s toy, “Bob the Builder.”
Hamish, being his father’s son, observed it immediately. Proudly, he held the toy aloft, “Look, Da! It’s you!”
The adults present, which included Mrs. Hudson, were obviously comparing the toy and John himself and naturally, started, in vain, to hide their laughter. Sherlock, having gained some wisdom in his years of marriage to one surprisingly short-tempered Army Doctor, was wise enough to temper his laughter with very sweet kisses to his disgruntled husband, who still stoutly affirmed that he was not a hobbit, a hedgehog and now, God help him, a bleeding children’s toy.
Despite the fact that he was, right now, rather enjoying getting snogged thoroughly by his amused husband, John swore that he was going to get Greg Lestrade for this.
This meant war.
Note the First: Obviously, I blame the previous reblogged post for this madness.
I just hit google for Bob the Builder. As for the “John in Parka” picture, this was
reblogged from gamwise-samgee