They look like they’re picking Hamish up from the principle’s office.
“You cant call your teachers stupid, Hamish!”
“Why not? It’s the truth! And if I didnt, dad would!”
“He has a point, John.”
The hard wooden bench was all too familiar to Sherlock; except know he was here as one of the parents, hearing John talking to the principal inside the room, and he could feel the warmth of his son, Hamish, trying to not fidget.
They were like that. One silent and still, the other filling the room with their questions or deductions, their inspecting, and their…erm, atittude.
Hamish had sassed a teacher, proved them wrong, and had been hastily taken to the office for the thirtieth time this month. And it was only the fiftienth.
He and John fought over their son’s education. Sherlock believed in home schooling, John in public schooling, as they were constantly out for cases.
John now won the arguments, but only because Sherlock let him. His point weren’t as valid, or as strong. Yet marriage was give and take, or so ‘they’ said.
So here they constantly were, at the principal’s office more than either of them had been, combined.
“So what did you prove wrong, Hamish?”
“That the specific heat of metals with differing isotopes is different. The math Ms. Smith was teaching us had so many errors…..I was trying to help my classmates.”
So like Sherlock….but so like John. This data was wrong, but I fixed it to help my classmates.
Sherlock couldn’t contain his smile at his son’s words, and laughed a little as John came out.