Author's Note:

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, hints of Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

Note: Based on a Tumblr post.

Warnings: None

Disclaimer:Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steve Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing and make no money from this story.

Hamish wasn't sure why he couldn't sleep. It could be because of the streetlights glowing from beyond his curtains, or the way the flat creaked ever so softly in the cold night. It could have been the itchy new pyjamas that Nana had bought him, or the plot still whirling around his mind from his bedtime story. He really, really wanted to know if Harry defeated Voldemort, but Papa wouldn't let him skip ahead, and Dad told him to either wait to finish the story or deduce the ending from what he'd read so far.

Huffing slightly, Hamish finally rolled over, hoping that maybe curling up on his side, a pillow tucked against his chest, would help him sleep.

No dice.

Hamish giggled slightly. He'd heard Doctor Molly teasing Uncle Greg about using those words. They were funny, Hamish thought.

Hamish peered at the clock sitting on his bedside table. The dull green lights proclaimed that it was 12:06am, and Hamish sighed softly. Papa and Dad would be upset if they knew that he was still awake. Papa was constantly berating Dad for staying up all night, and they'd argue good-naturedly for a while before Dad apologised by kissing Papa. Hamish always giggled at the pink cheeks Papa sported for a while after. Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg liked teasing Hamish's fathers, too.

Sitting up in bed, Hamish scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at the clock again. 12:07am. Maybe time had stopped. Maybe that was why Hamish couldn't sleep. The world had been frozen by aliens from outer space and Hamish was the only one out of the loop.

Dad would chastise him for thinking up such a ridiculous story, but would then play with Hamish when he thought up more things, like characters and a plot and evil villains with Hamish as the hero. Dad was always the villain, and Papa always watched them with amusement when he found them sprawled on the living room floor completely out of breath. One time Dad even fell asleep and Hamish and Papa left him there.

It was useless, he was never going to get to sleep. Pushing the covers back, the six-year-old climbed out of bed and carefully padded across to his partially open door. He widened the crack just far enough so that he could slip through and down the stairs. Papa would be upset that he was awake, but he'd let Hamish crawl into bed with him and Dad if Hamish pouted. Dad always said that Papa could never resist a Holmes pout.

Hamish had planned on slipping through the door that led to the kitchen, and then going down the hallway to his fathers' room. But there was a soft glow coming from beneath the living room door, faint shadows indicating that somebody was moving about.

Hamish puffed out his chest in pride; he'd made a deduction! Dad and Uncle Mycroft would be proud. Sneaking closer, Hamish noted that the door was open, but not enough for him to see in. As he pushed his small hands against the wood, he became aware of a soft sound; music? Hamish frowned and nudged the door open very, very slowly, aware that it creaked because Dad was always barging in, throwing the door into the wall and annoying Papa.

It was classical music; that was all that Hamish could tell. He'd only just started playing the viola and couldn't name any pieces from just hearing them. Holding his breath, and fearing that he'd be caught, Hamish carefully stuck his head through the gap between the door and frame.

The living room was in shadows, the only light coming from the fireplace, flames flickering brightly in the hearth. Dad's laptop was sitting atop his work table, flipped open with the screen black. The music was coming from the laptop, and Hamish finally recognised it as one of his dad's favourite pieces.

Glancing around the room, Hamish finally spotted his parents.

Dad and Papa were standing close together, Papa's right hand joined with Dad's left. Papa's free hand was on Dad's hip, and Dad's was on Papa's shoulder. They were moving slowly around the living room, heads bowed, eyes completely focused on each other, and Hamish blinked when he realised that they were dancing.

Every so often, after a certain spin or step, they'd change spots so that Papa was leading instead of Dad, and then they'd switch back again. Hamish didn't know if they were doing any dance in particular, but it looked fun.

They were both smiling. And their eyes were bright. Hamish could see Papa whispering things every now and then, but the music drowned out his words. Dad would laugh, though, and give Papa that small, soft smile that only Dad's immediate family were privy to; like he could only show that side of himself to Papa and Hamish and sometimes even Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg and Doctor Molly.

The song stopped, having reached its end, and in the sudden silence Dad and Papa paused, Dad's head bowed so that he could rest against Papa's. They were grinning at each other now, and Papa whispered something else that made Dad chuckle for quite a while. When the sound petered out Dad pressed his lips to Papa's short hair, like he did when Hamish had made him proud, and stayed there, eyes closed, just resting on Papa's head. Papa's hands dropped from his dancing pose to wrap around Dad's waist, and Dad didn't even hesitate to wrap his own around Papa's shoulder.

Another song sounded, this one softer and much slower. Papa and Dad started moving again, slower than before, more swaying from side to side and around than really dancing.

Hamish couldn't help but grin as he continued to watch, crouched down before the door so that his dads wouldn't see him. It was almost impossible to sneak up on Dad, but Uncle Mycroft had been teaching Hamish how to do so, so Hamish was confident that he'd remain unseen. Plus, there was only one thing that could distract Dad completely; Papa.

Hamish watched until the song ended, but Dad and Papa didn't break apart. They just stood still again, enjoying hugging each other. Hamish pouted. Papa gave the best hugs, and Dad's were pretty awesome, too.

Suddenly Dad turned, eyes narrowed as they rested on Hamish, who froze. Damn.

'Hamish, what are you doing up?' Papa demanded in what Dad called his "no-nonsense captain-voice".

''m sorry,' Hamish mumbled, finally standing and pushing the door wide open. 'I couldn't sleep,' he admitted.

'Why not?' Dad asked.

Hamish shrugged and looked down at his socked feet. He didn't have an answer, because he didn't know.

Sighing, Dad said, 'Come here, Hamish.'

Hamish slowly shuffled into the room until he was standing between his fathers. 'Why were you dancing?' he asked, curious.

Dad's cheeks turned pink and Papa laughed. 'Your dad loves dancing,' Papa told Hamish, a bright smile on his face.

'Really?' Hamish asked, turning wide eyes on his younger father. He'd thought that Dad only loved his family and solving cases.

'I merely enjoy it,' Dad huffed. 'You're exaggerating, John.'

Papa just grinned.

'Would you like to dance, Hamish?' Dad asked suddenly.

'Can I dance with both of you?' Hamish asked hopefully.

'Sherlock, he needs his sleep,' Papa sighed, but Dad rolled his eyes.

'Apparently he couldn't sleep, and sending him back to bed won't help. He was coming to find us, weren't you, Hamish?' Hamish nodded, and Dad turned triumphant eyes on Papa. 'See? Maybe dancing will wear him out.'

Papa groaned but agreed, and then Hamish giggled when he was suddenly lifted. Dad was tall, and Hamish felt like a giant as he looked around the room, firmly set on Dad's hip. He was too old to be carried, he always insisted on that, but Hamish felt that sometimes it was okay.

Music was still playing from Dad's laptop, and Dad started moving about slowly, humming the tune under his breath and making Hamish giggle again. Suddenly Papa was behind him, one arm wrapped around Dad's shoulders, his free hand resting on Hamish' arm.

Hamish smiled and snuggled into both his dads as Papa pressed closer. He already felt sleepy, and happy, and just warm.

Papa whispered something, and Dad kissed him on the cheek, both of them smiling warmly. But Hamish didn't hear, because he was already fast asleep.


Author's Note: So, yeah... there was a post on Tumblr where an anon wrote this prompt about Hamish not being able to sleep and then finding his dads dancing in the living room. And it sounded adorable and fluffy so I tried.