Omegaverse!Hamish has Sherlock’s curls but in John’s blonde.
And he would have Sherlock’s eyes but John’s softer bone structure like wow precious baby angel.
And he wears glasses.
He’s an omega but not a roll-over omega like (insert your own headcanon for which half of Johnlock is the omega). He is self-sufficient and all that jazz. And he totally hooks up with Irene and Molly’s alpha daughter.
Omegaverse!Hamish has Sherlock’s curls but in John’s blonde.
And he would have Sherlock’s eyes but John’s softer bone structure like wow precious baby angel.
AU - Parentlock / Post Reichenbach
Months after Sherlock’s death, John starts dating Mary Morstan. Hamish isn’t too happy about it.
Parentlock: Hamish’s first crime scene.
AU - Just Having A Little Domestic
└ Don’t worry, Doctor. One day someone will name their child after you.
Love me a good doomslock crossover gifset.
John H. Watson, thirty-one, father, widower, a lord in right, and a doctor by profession. Rather, he had been a doctor until his father passed away and he inherited the house and title.
John is an asset to his queen and country, a man with a brilliant mind but a poor reputation among his peers. Since his wife’s death less two years earlier, his focus is entirely set on his work and his young son, Hamish. With an international summit about to begin, the last thing he needs in his life is a brash young soldier as his bodyguard. But that’s exactly what he gets.
Read in full at AO3:
Many thanks to all my readers and supporters! Your patience has been appreciated.
✘ Z
Sherlock, JohnLock, ParentLock, RetirementLock
I may have squealed a bit.
So…. I made this graphic of John & Hamish….
I don’t know…seems like John is reading something “funny” out of that book…I’ve no idea XD
Is there any lovely, talented writer that would like to make a ficlet out of this? something! please? :)
“Working on your homework, Hamish?”
“Oh no, Papa, I’m reading one of your medical books.”
“Oh, that’s lovely, one of my…what?!”
“It’s fascinating!” Hamish pointed to the graphic illustration of intestines. “Emergency medicine is so interesting.”
“Hamish, a young boy should not be reading about penetrating abdominal trauma.” John leaned over his son angrily. He studied the page. “Where did you even get this?”
“Father gave it to me.” Hamish pointed at the photo of a cholecystectomy. “Did you ever do this stuff? In the war?”
“I’ve told you I don’t like talking about that.” He wiped a hand over his face. “Normal boys like playing video games, you know.”
“I don’t want to be a normal boy.” Hamish stuck out his tongue. “I think I’d like to be a doctor like you, Papa.”
John sighed, ruffling Hamish’s dark hair. With a smile, he went to the bookshelf, pulling out a copy of “Color Atlas of Anatomy”. “I think this might be a little more appropriate. No graphic trauma photos until you’re at least 13.”
“But Papa…”
“I said no. Sometimes I swear your Father has no idea what is appropriate…”
“He told me I could help Auntie Molly with an autopsy this afternoon if I read that one.” Hamish whined, pointing to the book John had just taken away.
“SHERLOCK!!”Sometimes John, you are no fun.
Lord John Watson and Sherlock Holmes have been attached for a decade now. While the outside world looks down at this relationship and the lord’s reputation, their home life is pleasant. Hamish has taken to Sherlock, and those employed on the Watson Estate have no qualms about their master’s unconventional relationship. Even Mycroft won’t deter Sherlock’s happiness, until his brother comes with news about an old ghost from Sherlock’s past.
Read in full at AO3.
Information on and the link to Iacta Alea: Cast the Die, I. Summer can be found here.
NB: This does not take place in the 21st century. This does not take place in the UK, or any real country that we know. It’s “realistic” but, ultimately, an entirely different universe from our own.
“Are you watching, Father?” Hamish called from the saddle.
“Regretfully,” John shouted back. He was sitting on a raised bench, his right leg stretched out. On the far side of the arena, where his fifteen-year-old-son was smiling wildly, Sherlock gave him a few last instructions. The winter breeze blew upwind to them, so there was no chance John would catch what they were whispering about. John tugged his coat tight and rubbed his gloved hands together.
