“You need to talk to him,” John said firmly, crossing his arms and giving Sherlock a look, making sure the man knew how serious he was.
“You know I’m no good at these sorts of things,” Sherlock says, but John shakes his head.
“No. You’re the one he wants to talk to right now. Go.”
Frowning, Sherlock follows after his son’s steps up to the boy’s room.
“I don’t want to talk,” Hamish mumbles into his pillow when he hears his father at his door.
“You’re old enough to know better than to pout, Hamish.”
“‘M not pouting,” the boy mutters again, but he rolls over and sits up on his bed. “I don’t want them.”
Sherlock steps inside the room and nods. “But you need them.”
Hamish shakes his head. “I don’t. I’m fine.”
“You can’t see the board at school.” Hamish doesn’t answer. Sherlock’s frown deepens as he takes a careful seat next to his son. “Why don’t you want them?”
“…What if they laugh at me?”
It is then Sherlock understands why John sent him up here to talk. In hopes Sherlock will be able to give him advise on bullies.
He remembers Mycroft’s words to him as a child. Coming home after dealing with imbeciles all day. It is the price of genius, he supposes. No one else understands. And no one likes what they can’t understand. Mycroft always told him he was better than the rest of them, something he still generally believed. With a few obvious exceptions. Unfortunately, he doesn’t think this is the lesson John wants him to teach their son.
Hamish is like Sherlock enough to be the target of bullies, but not like him enough not to mind. Hamish wants to be friends with the other children at his school.
“Don’t listen to what others say about you, Hamish. Who are your friends?” Hamish is quiet for a long time.
“…There is one boy,” he whispers finally. He still hasn’t looked his father in the eye. “He told Carter off.”
Sherlock wonders, briefly, what it might have been like if he met John as a child. If he had a friend on his side. He dismisses this thought quickly.
“If he likes you, he won’t mind if you wear glasses. And people like Carter aren’t worth any worry you have for their opinion. They are worthless.”
Hamish manages a weak smile. “…Alright, I’ll try them.”
Sherlock pulls the glasses from his pocket and holds them out. Hesitantly, Hamish takes them from his father’s hand.