[Fanfic] An Old Friend (USUK, Johnlock, PG-13)
Because I wanted to break my writer’s block by writing BBC Sherlock fanfiction, but I don’t want to stray away from my Spades series, so what I decided to do was to mix the both of them in some ridiculous manner that is absolutely fantastic.
meaning: Spadesverse!USUK with BBC Sherlock. Dear God, I love crossovers. ughhh
TITLE: An Old Friend
ARTIST/AUTHOR: bukku_oosa
RATING: T for some things being mentioned that aren't quite child-friendly.
WARNINGS: Warning! Contains Mpreg and Past!Mpreg. ALSO, this is set in my Spadesverse, uh, think post-Spoiled Rotten.
PAIRING/S: USUK, Alfred/Arthur(America/England); Johnlock, (John Watson/Sherlock Holmes)
SUMMARY: Arthur has a chat with an old friend.
The sound of the door opening caught Arthur’s attention and the blonde Queen turned his head, a smile blossoming on his beautiful face as he looked at the tall, lanky man who just entered the room, closing the door behind him.
“Sherlock.” He smiled.
“My Queen.” The man turned and bowed his head, his elegant ebony curls shifting slightly over his shoulder as his head lowered. The man straightened up and Arthur flicked a finger dismissively. A candle lit up on the bedside table.
“Have a seat,” Arthur gestured at the chair he had pulled up next to the bed he was lying down on. The black-haired man did as he was told, the whisper of air leaving the cushion on the chair slightly tousling the silk sheets of the bed Arthur was currently confined to. The two shared glances, icy clear blue meeting glistening emeralds, and the stoic exterior on Arthur’s guest’s face melted into one of warm fondness.
“I see you’re getting on quite well,” Sherlock nodded in his deep baritone voice, ringing slightly in Arthur’s unusually sensitive ears (it wasn’t that often his senses get this heightened, after all,) and the blonde nodded, rubbing the small lump that had began to form on his abdominal area. “I hope you have been healthy? Eating well?”
“Yes, yes,” Arthur chuckled, “My, you’re beginning to sound like your husband John.” A smile graced Sherlock’s face and the man chuckled, shaking his head fondly.
“What can I say? He fussed over me the same way His Majesty does you.”
“Military doctor,” Arthur smiled at the black-haired man. “He’s seen far too many deaths. Of course he’d fuss over you.”
“Wouldn’t change it for the world,” Sherlock nodded, looking down at his clasped gloved hands. The two laughed lightly, before falling into a comfortable silence.
“… Hamish still being a handful?” Arthur asked. Sherlock lifted his head to look at his Queen.
“Yes,” he nodded, his smile widening slightly.
“So I have deduced.” Arthur smiled knowingly. “Also, you visited your husband in the hospital first before you got here,” the Queen of Spades’ eyes raked over Sherlock, who chuckled, leaning back into his chair, “And from the looks of it, you’ve helped out a bit. Birthing room, perhaps?”
“Correct.” The man nodded, “It seems you’ve caught on very well, Your Highness.”
“Arthur, please.” Arthur shook his head. “We’ve been friends long enough.”
“True.” Sherlock nodded, “So, let me relish in delight at how well I’ve taught you. Explain your deduction to me.”
“For Hamish, you have slight eye bags under your eyes, I know you hardly sleep, but that’s beside the point. You usually don’t get eye bags at all, unless you’re terribly stressed in the wee hours of the morning-most likely you were being disturbed either from something you’re used to doing, playing the violin, experiments and whatnot, or your sleep has been disturbed, by something-or someone; Hamish. He’s still a baby, prone to waking up at ungodly hours, crying and screaming and such.”
“Go on.” Sherlock now had his chin resting on top of his interlaced fingers, looking at Arthur with cat-like eyes, a small smirk on his pale lips.
“You’re definitely not used to that. Hamish is your first child, right?”
“First and only, I imagine.” Sherlock replied, “John and I are busy enough with our jobs and raising Hamish, I can’t possibly imagine raising another child.”
“Why not leave them with your brother?”
“And have them grow up to be cake-eating politicians who won’t ever butt out of my business?” At this, Arthur laughed; he was perfectly aware of Lord Mycroft Holmes’ obsessive cake-eating habit, “Of course not.”
“If you say so,” Arthur chuckled, “Moving on, you smell of lavender-a common disinfectant here in Spades, and I am perfectly aware that hospitals use exactly that. John’s a doctor, and I know he’s been assigned to a hospital rather near to the castle.” Sherlock nodded. “And, I detect chamomile? Soothing tea for the mother giving birth, am I right?”
“Spot on.” Sherlock nodded. “I knew I was teaching you well.”
Arthur laughed. “Thank goodness I’ve been doing it right. I’m going to give Alfred the fright of his life when he comes home, now that you’ve taught me how to rat off every little detail my eyes can see.”
“At the speed of a steam train,” Sherlock added, “John tells me I go even faster sometimes.”
Arthur laughed. “I can’t say I can argue with that.”
“Your Highness.” Sherlock sighed, and Arthur smiled, waving it off. “Well, on to pressing matters at hand. Why did you call for me?”
“Well, it’s for a simple reason, really.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and Arthur grinned at him. “I’m bored.”