(no subject)
Title: Pop Culture
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock, John
Rating: PG
Warnings: Not very original idea
Genre: Humor
A/N: This is my first attempt at Sherlock fanfiction (sadly). I don't know that I did them justice... at all, but I wanted to start somewhere. Takes place after the first episode at that Chinese Restaurant. Please be kind
Summary: In which Sherlock learns the importance of random pop culture references.
The restaurant was exactly the way Sherlock remembered. That was an impressive feat because Sherlock definitely remembered everything, and it hadn’t moved the slightest bit. The tables were in the same places, the TV in the corner was playing the same news station, the whole room smelled like the same dish.
“Sherlock!” an excited voice called out, a tiny man hurrying from the kitchen to Sherlock and John’s table. John didn’t say anything, only raising an eyebrow at the way the small Asian man was clinging to his roommate.
“Mr. Kuo,” he greeted calmly, using his free arm to pry the man off of his shoulder. Mr. Kuo didn’t seem to take any offense to the gesture, or notice it at all.
“It is so nice to see you!” he told him, almost gushing. His accent was almost impossible to understand and it was very obvious that John was having trouble following. Apparently he didn’t want to admit it though, as he was staring very pointedly at his lap as he arranged his napkin as if Sherlock wouldn’t notice.
Mr. Kuo suddenly seemed to notice John, turning and smiling more as he explained, “This man got me off big crime. Very good man is Mr. Sherlock. Brilliant man.”
John seemed to nod because he could tell that the statement warranted agreement. Mr. Kuo, still smiling, promised, “Anything you want, for you and your special friend,” and with a wink he disappeared back into the kitchen again.
“Why does everyone think we’re a couple anyways?” John complained, sounding a bit put off by the assumption.
Sherlock thought for a minute about whether or not he was more annoyed at the assumption he was dating a man or Sherlock specifically. The man’s comments at the cafe earlier certainly showed he was uneasy about the subject in some way, but Sherlock decided to leave the final decision until later, when he could gather more evidence. It simply wasn’t wise making a ‘guess’ (in his head, the word was said with disdain because he was Sherlock Holmes and he didn’t like to guess) so early.
“It may be because we are here very late on a Thursday night alone, or because he has some preset assumptions about my sexuality,” Sherlock informed him to answer his previous question. John didn’t seem pleased and instead made another comment.
“And, do you know the owner of every restaurant owner in London?”
“No, that would be impossible,” Sherlock frowned, unsure of how John could think that. “I do know quite a few of them though.”
“Hmm, well I hope you know someone who owns a Tai restaurant because I’ve wanted to get some for a few weeks now.”
“I think I can manage.”
John nodded, looking over the menu now. As Sherlock had assured him earlier, he didn’t need any food for a few days. He did know that John would be hungry, and so he didn’t say anything while he chose. A waiter, the daughter of the chef if her shirt cuffs were any indication, came over to take John’s order before disappearing as well.
“Will every one of your cases end like this?” John asked suddenly. His expression was mildly curious but serious, as far as Sherlock could tell. He could lie of course, and say that his cases rarely ended in almost dying or people getting shot, but that was a lie he had a feeling even John Watson would see through.
“Not in this specific restaurant,” he promised.
John cracked a bit of a smile at that, which made his face brighten a little bit and it almost looked as though he was a few years younger. Sherlock wondered if his estimation of his age might be a few years off, if the sudden loss of lines on his face meant anything. “You know, something you said earlier has been bothering me. Your comment earlier, during the drug bust, you must know that psychopaths and sociopaths are the same thing.”
Sherlock allowed himself to look puzzled. “It was a joke.”
John stared him for a few moments before he suddenly burst out in a fit of hysterical laughter. “You have the worst jokes ever. No one, other than you would ever get that.”
“If you just thought a little anyone could get it. It’s hardly my fault that you’ve all chosen to be full and not think.” Sherlock insisted, thanking the waitress when ‘their’ food was brought to the table.
“Yes, of course. You certainly know how to show your new flatmates a good time
Sherlock allowed the edges of his lips to quirk into his own version of a smile. “I do try.”
John poked at his plate of food with his fork, lifting it to his mouth to chew on contemplatively. Swallowing, he asked, “Have you ever watched the movie ‘The Princess Bride’?”
The subject change was sudden and seemingly random. Sherlock wondered if all conversations went this way, since he didn’t have a lot of experience in conversations with people he didn’t want to scare too badly. It wouldn’t go well if he scared off his new flatmate so quickly. “No, I don’t think I have.”
“It’s an American movie, I remember an old friend of mine at Uni watching it with me,” John told him calmly, stabbing more of his food to eat.
Sherlock rapped his fingers on the table, already beginning to feel the boredom set in, pricking at the edges of his brain and keeping him on edge. Irritably, he observed, “There does not seem to have been a point to your comment.”
John smirked, something Sherlock admittedly had not been expecting. “Iocane powder.”
“There is no such thing.”
“Not in real life,” John admitted. “But that isn’t the point. In the movie, the main character challenges another man to a contest to guess the poisoned cup of wine. He ended up winning, and can you guess why?” He didn’t give Sherlock any chance to answer before he continued. “He was immune you see. So he put the poison in both cups.”
Sherlock chose this time not to answer, fingers no longer tapping but smoothing out the wrinkles on the table cloth. He kept his eyes down but he could still feel John’s smug grin without needing to look. “Is that what you think?”
“You have to admit, it’s the only logical explanation.”
“It is not the only explanation. He was a ‘proper’ genius you know.”
“Yes, but you know I’m right.”
John Watson looked very smug and Sherlock decided he didn’t like that look on him at all. He let his brain think over the new information and was distressed to find that John’s answer was very probable. After all, the cab driver could easily take small doses of the poison until it no longer affected him.
“You really are an idiot sometimes.”
“John, can you hand me your phone?”
“My phone?” John repeated, and Sherlock was pleased to see that his pleased expression melted away into one of confusion and what looked to be slight irritation. “Where is yours?”
“In my coat pocket,” Sherlock dismissed, extending his hand to take John’s. When none was given to him he added, “Quickly now.”
Sighing, John handed over his phone. Sherlock took it with two fingers and slouched down as John went back to eating, secretly pouting slightly as he texted DI Lestrade the full solution to the case.
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock, John
Rating: PG
Warnings: Not very original idea
Genre: Humor
A/N: This is my first attempt at Sherlock fanfiction (sadly). I don't know that I did them justice... at all, but I wanted to start somewhere. Takes place after the first episode at that Chinese Restaurant. Please be kind
Summary: In which Sherlock learns the importance of random pop culture references.
The restaurant was exactly the way Sherlock remembered. That was an impressive feat because Sherlock definitely remembered everything, and it hadn’t moved the slightest bit. The tables were in the same places, the TV in the corner was playing the same news station, the whole room smelled like the same dish.
“Sherlock!” an excited voice called out, a tiny man hurrying from the kitchen to Sherlock and John’s table. John didn’t say anything, only raising an eyebrow at the way the small Asian man was clinging to his roommate.
“Mr. Kuo,” he greeted calmly, using his free arm to pry the man off of his shoulder. Mr. Kuo didn’t seem to take any offense to the gesture, or notice it at all.
“It is so nice to see you!” he told him, almost gushing. His accent was almost impossible to understand and it was very obvious that John was having trouble following. Apparently he didn’t want to admit it though, as he was staring very pointedly at his lap as he arranged his napkin as if Sherlock wouldn’t notice.
Mr. Kuo suddenly seemed to notice John, turning and smiling more as he explained, “This man got me off big crime. Very good man is Mr. Sherlock. Brilliant man.”
John seemed to nod because he could tell that the statement warranted agreement. Mr. Kuo, still smiling, promised, “Anything you want, for you and your special friend,” and with a wink he disappeared back into the kitchen again.
“Why does everyone think we’re a couple anyways?” John complained, sounding a bit put off by the assumption.
Sherlock thought for a minute about whether or not he was more annoyed at the assumption he was dating a man or Sherlock specifically. The man’s comments at the cafe earlier certainly showed he was uneasy about the subject in some way, but Sherlock decided to leave the final decision until later, when he could gather more evidence. It simply wasn’t wise making a ‘guess’ (in his head, the word was said with disdain because he was Sherlock Holmes and he didn’t like to guess) so early.
“It may be because we are here very late on a Thursday night alone, or because he has some preset assumptions about my sexuality,” Sherlock informed him to answer his previous question. John didn’t seem pleased and instead made another comment.
“And, do you know the owner of every restaurant owner in London?”
“No, that would be impossible,” Sherlock frowned, unsure of how John could think that. “I do know quite a few of them though.”
“Hmm, well I hope you know someone who owns a Tai restaurant because I’ve wanted to get some for a few weeks now.”
“I think I can manage.”
John nodded, looking over the menu now. As Sherlock had assured him earlier, he didn’t need any food for a few days. He did know that John would be hungry, and so he didn’t say anything while he chose. A waiter, the daughter of the chef if her shirt cuffs were any indication, came over to take John’s order before disappearing as well.
“Will every one of your cases end like this?” John asked suddenly. His expression was mildly curious but serious, as far as Sherlock could tell. He could lie of course, and say that his cases rarely ended in almost dying or people getting shot, but that was a lie he had a feeling even John Watson would see through.
“Not in this specific restaurant,” he promised.
John cracked a bit of a smile at that, which made his face brighten a little bit and it almost looked as though he was a few years younger. Sherlock wondered if his estimation of his age might be a few years off, if the sudden loss of lines on his face meant anything. “You know, something you said earlier has been bothering me. Your comment earlier, during the drug bust, you must know that psychopaths and sociopaths are the same thing.”
Sherlock allowed himself to look puzzled. “It was a joke.”
John stared him for a few moments before he suddenly burst out in a fit of hysterical laughter. “You have the worst jokes ever. No one, other than you would ever get that.”
“If you just thought a little anyone could get it. It’s hardly my fault that you’ve all chosen to be full and not think.” Sherlock insisted, thanking the waitress when ‘their’ food was brought to the table.
“Yes, of course. You certainly know how to show your new flatmates a good time
Sherlock allowed the edges of his lips to quirk into his own version of a smile. “I do try.”
John poked at his plate of food with his fork, lifting it to his mouth to chew on contemplatively. Swallowing, he asked, “Have you ever watched the movie ‘The Princess Bride’?”
The subject change was sudden and seemingly random. Sherlock wondered if all conversations went this way, since he didn’t have a lot of experience in conversations with people he didn’t want to scare too badly. It wouldn’t go well if he scared off his new flatmate so quickly. “No, I don’t think I have.”
“It’s an American movie, I remember an old friend of mine at Uni watching it with me,” John told him calmly, stabbing more of his food to eat.
Sherlock rapped his fingers on the table, already beginning to feel the boredom set in, pricking at the edges of his brain and keeping him on edge. Irritably, he observed, “There does not seem to have been a point to your comment.”
John smirked, something Sherlock admittedly had not been expecting. “Iocane powder.”
“There is no such thing.”
“Not in real life,” John admitted. “But that isn’t the point. In the movie, the main character challenges another man to a contest to guess the poisoned cup of wine. He ended up winning, and can you guess why?” He didn’t give Sherlock any chance to answer before he continued. “He was immune you see. So he put the poison in both cups.”
Sherlock chose this time not to answer, fingers no longer tapping but smoothing out the wrinkles on the table cloth. He kept his eyes down but he could still feel John’s smug grin without needing to look. “Is that what you think?”
“You have to admit, it’s the only logical explanation.”
“It is not the only explanation. He was a ‘proper’ genius you know.”
“Yes, but you know I’m right.”
John Watson looked very smug and Sherlock decided he didn’t like that look on him at all. He let his brain think over the new information and was distressed to find that John’s answer was very probable. After all, the cab driver could easily take small doses of the poison until it no longer affected him.
“You really are an idiot sometimes.”
“John, can you hand me your phone?”
“My phone?” John repeated, and Sherlock was pleased to see that his pleased expression melted away into one of confusion and what looked to be slight irritation. “Where is yours?”
“In my coat pocket,” Sherlock dismissed, extending his hand to take John’s. When none was given to him he added, “Quickly now.”
Sighing, John handed over his phone. Sherlock took it with two fingers and slouched down as John went back to eating, secretly pouting slightly as he texted DI Lestrade the full solution to the case.