Finally got the next chapter up of my selkie fic.
November 1931 – Hamish is growing up fast, and John relies on him when they go out for a rescue.
teaser below the cut
John carried in an armload of wood, quickly shutting the door against the cold sleeting rain. The radio played softly, some wordless music while Hamish leaned over his maths homework. John couldn’t help but smile as he watched his son and crossed to the fireplace. Hamish had reached that gangly stage of thirteen when he was all limbs and nothing seemed to work together quite how it was supposed to. Putting the logs down and feeding one into the fire, he spoke without looking over at him. “How are you doing?”
“Not bad,” grumbled Hamish, fisting his hands in his curly hair. “At least maths make sense.”
“Don’t neglect your literature though,” said John, standing and thumping a thick volume by Hamish’s elbow.
Hamish rolled his eyes and picked up his pen again. John ruffled his hair and Hamish batted his hand away. Still smiling, John reached over and turned the radio up as the news came on. More bad news about factories closing and unemployment going up. John was very glad he didn’t have to worry about that. There were rumors Mycroft might close the factory in town, but so far he’d been making every effort to avoid it. John took fewer supplies from Mrs. Hudson and slipped a little extra money into the woman’s pocket. He was considering asking Mycroft to reduce his stipend. After all, everyone needed to pitch in.
He picked up some sewing and settled in by the fire. Hamish was growing so fast John was half-tempted to put him in a skirt. Already it was clear he’d be taller than his father, not that it was particularly hard to do. He turned the work towards the light of the fire, listening to the storm kicking up stronger outside, body tensing as he knew this was just the sort of weather they got called out in.
Sure enough, the wireless crackled to life. “John.” John dropped his sewing and went to answer while Hamish turned off the radio and got up to fetch their supplies.
“Here, Mrs. Hudson, what is it?” answered John.
“Family of five was due up here an hour ago from a village south. They never arrived.”
“We’re on it,” said John, taking his mackinaw from Hamish. At least they had a powered little boat now that made it much easier in weather like this. He quickly banked the fire before heading out, ducking his head against the driving weather, Hamish on his heels.
In a few minutes they were heading out, Hamish manning the spotlight up front while John steered the boat. The wind and waves whipped cold and salty around them, making it difficult to see. “There,” shouted Hamish over the roar of sea and engine, pointing at Sherlock’s dark form, barely visible above the crashing waves. A faint bark carried above the noise and Hamish shouted directions to his Dad as Sherlock led them across the stormy bay, light of the village just visible in the distance off to the right.