"No, you moron! He didn't shoot himself! Why would one of the greatest criminal masterminds since Moriarty willingly shoot himself? Even if Moriarty wasn't in cahoots with Jacobs last night, they'd still have more brains than all of you lot combined! " Sherlock raged at Anderson, the idiotic copper.
The Consulting Detective shifted awkwardly, Hamish was uncomfortably heavy on his hip... Where was John?
The small toddler rubbed his clenched fists on his eyes and then thrust one of them into his fathers hair, entangling it in the mane of raven curls. He nestled his head into Sherlock's neck. A crime scene was no place for a small child, especially when Anderson was there, who knows what kind of rubbish would leak into the brain of his son?
"Come on John!" Sherlock snarled under his breath, Lestrade was grinning at him like an idiot and Donovan wasn't taking him seriously.
"Daddy?" A small voice chirped up in the room which had previously fallen silent after the Consulting Detective's rant.
"Yes Hamish?"
"I need..."
His small face coloured as he noticed the others around them.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked, panic grazing his voice. He would do anything for his child.
"I just need... Potty" The Holmes-Watson boy whispered.
The whole room began to snigger. Rage flashed in the Detectives eyes.
"Shut up, Anderson, at least he knows when he needs to go to the toilet, unlike some people who just..." Sherlock paused for effect
"...go anyway."
His remark about Anderson was partly true, he had wet himself, and he was standing in the middle of the living room, his lower half coated in his own urine. The incident had occurred, however, when one of Moriarty's chums had a gun pressed to his forehead, but Sherlock didn't care, nobody laughed at his son!
"We'll be right back." The tall man said and with a swoosh of his coat, he left the room with his son.
"What a pair!" Anderson hollered at Donovan as a door clicked shut behind them.
"My God!" The woman laughed, tears pouring down her face.
"Could it get any better?"
"I doubt it!" Anderson guffawed, "but then, with that phyco, who knows!"
There was a click of a gun behind them and the laugher suddenly ceased.
"If I were you..." Came a gravel-like voice. "I would shut up, because that happens to be my husband and son you are mocking." The voice was slick with sarcasm and you could almost hear the anger drip off it, like beads of water.
"Do you have anything to add to that, Greg?" Watson snarled. His gun was still loaded. The police officer shook his head.
"Good." John growled. With a swift motion, he clouted Anderson over the head with the butt of his gun, he swayed and dropped to the floor, John glared at Donovan.
"That was your warning."
"Dad!" Hamish cried upon reentering the room with Sherlock.
"Hey kiddo!" John whispered, picking up his boy.
"Sherlo-" Greg began.
"Moriarty shot him. He had finished with his partner and decided to kill him off. Really, Lestrade, it wasn't that hard, in fact I'm surprised Anderson didn't work it out. By the way, you should probably have him seen too. Good day." He bobbed his head.
Sherlock's lips met John's in a quick kiss before he grasped his hand and they left, Sherlock scooping up Hamish as they prepared to return to their home at 221B Baker Street.
Leaving the two conscious members of the Police Force gawping in their wake...
