Hamish was getting impatient. He had been up for at least two hours, had gotten himself dressed (his sweater vest was on backwards and the buttons were half undone, but he was dressed!) and had even tried to wash his hair by himself. He only had hand soap and a bottle of water at his disposal, but it was a valiant effort!
He sighed and knocked on his father’s door. He had known Sherlock was long gone at eight in the morning since he had patted him on the head on his way out, making a face at the substance that now stuck to it.
“Daddy! Let’s go!” he whined, tapping the toe of his nice new shoes against the door. “I wanna go to school!”
John was making sure he had everything for his day at the clinic, after the late night he and Sherlock had had on the case they were working on. He heard the knock, and looked at his watch and swore under his breath, grabbing his case. He hurried out of the bedroom and found Hamish waiting for him, looking like he’d tried so hard.
"Hamish.. Christ. Come here, let me fix your shirt," he said, kneeling down to straighten the buttons and took off his vest to turn it right side out. He took a look at his hair and pulled a comb out of his case to comb his hair to something looking more resembling a good hairstyle, and not too geeky. "Alright, love. Where’s your backpack?"