Two boys were at the swings. One swing was broken, the chains twisted and rusted together. The other was occupied by a small, fragile looking boy with curly, sandy hair. Though he was seven years of age, he looked closer to four.
Their older sister Harriet was supposed to be watching them. But of course she was busy with her boyfriend. A Weasley… And if their locked lips were any indication to Hamish, his sister was going to be busy for quite a while.
It didn’t matter, though.
”Higher!” the little boy cried, and his older brother oblidged, pushing the swing just a little harder. But he was careful. He knew his little brother was small and precious.
The little one laughed happily, kicking his legs as he swung. They spent much of the afternoon this way before finally the dark haired brother coughed.
The boy in the swing nodded as his brother stepped away and they let the swing slow down until it came to a stop. Then he turned his head to look behind him, grey eyes wide and a smile on his face. “Thirsty.”
The older boy nodded, holding out his hand and waiting patiently. When that small hand slipped into his own, the pair made their way towards the water fountains. They waited for their turn patiently.
Hamish looked off towards a pavillion nearby where children were laughing and running around. Balloons signaled a party of some sort. Quickly he scanned the crowd and the decor. Easily deducing that the party was for a little girl. Birthday. Judging by the amount of gifts on one of the picnic tables it must have been her first… no, second birthday. Many of the gifts were bulky, cumbersome. Large toys then. People loved her, but weren’t around much… An abesntee father perhaps. Tying to make things up to the mother by giving their daughter big and flashy gifts.
He hadn’t noticed his brother’s hand had left his until he heard sniffling just a few paces ahead of him.
Turning quickly, he saw the boy on the ground, cradling his skinned knee.
Instantly he knelt beside him, looking him over and pulling a tissue from the pocket of his black jeans. Wiping at his brother’s eyes.
Hamish turned his head just a little. Just enough for blue eyes to scan their surroundings.
Boys were laughing. Two girls. Three boys. Obviously trying to impress the girls.
His brother sniffled again. Hamish hummed to him, trying to calm him down as he continued to wipe at his face.
“Awh, is baby gonna cry?”
“Shut up,” Hamish said, his voice devoid of any emotion. In fact, he was very angry, but he didn’t want to show it. Not in front of his little brother.
”What? You gonna-“
The taunting boy never finished that sentence. Hamish was on his feet in the blink of an eye, his shoulder slamming into the other boy and knocking him off balance before he turned to stick out a leg and trip another. The third boy came at him, but Hamish didn’t hesitate.
Hesitation, his father had told him once, can get you killed. His hand came up, fingers curled in but the heel of his palm still exposed. It connected with the boy’s nose, and he put just enough force behind it to break the offending appendage without driving it deep into his skull.
The other two, frightened by this seemingly crazed child scrambled to their feet. The girls were shouting. One in fright, one in anger.
He very calmly straightened his purple shirt, looked at the angry girl as her companions fled the scene by the water fountain. “My fathers taught me never to hit a lady,” he said, a wicked glint in his big blue eyes. “They way your language sounds, you are sounding less and less like one.”
The threat was thinly veiled, and he was ready to pounce her as well when he heard a tiny voice behind him.
He growled at the girl before his head snapped to look back at his little brother, still holding his knee. Instantly he was at the boy’s side again as the girl ran to catch up with her friends.
Shortly after Harriet and that dreadful Weasley had run over, having seen the five children running away.
“What did you do?!” Harriet demanded of her dark haired brother. “Did you see the state those boys were in?! Dad’s going to… Well, I don’t know but you’re sure as hell going to get it when we get back home.”
Hamish didn’t say a word as he helped the littlest Holmes to his feet. He hummed at him softly, and the smaller nodded, putting his arm around his brother’s waist to keep the weight off his skinned knee as they made their way back to Baker Street.