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“No, no, don’t take it off.”
John paused from his journey to the sofa and looked over at the wild curls hurrying towards him. “Sherlock? What—”
“Hamish is almost out of formula. You need to get some.”
“Sherlock, why didn’t you just pass him to Mrs. Hudson for five minutes and go get some yourself?”
“I have an experiment on infant stomachs underway. I can’t leave it for more than a minute.”
“…”
“Not on Hamish’s stomach, John. Honestly, you’d think I were about to explode our child.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Hamish chose that moment to start his cries, shrieking noises that echoed off the walls and rattled the poor fathers’ hearts. “Fine, fine. Calm him down, will you? Nothing’s going to stay down if he upsets himself like last time.”
“Yes, yes, now go.” Sherlock yanked John’s coat back over his shoulders and very nearly shoved John out the door, then turned to Hamish, assuming a face that always managed to catch the infant’s attention. “I think lungs should be next. What do you think?”