Fic: A Temporary Hobby
I have written Sherlock fic! Behold! Thanks to miladygrey and alabama_e for beta.
Prompt: “While John is bored stiff by being jobless, he watches telly with Mrs Hudson. She teaches him to knit (he's bored enough to watch crap telly, he's bored enough to knit). He knits a scarf for Sherlock. What's HIS reaction?”
897 words
Rating: G+ for mild swears
Warnings: Not really, mild spoiler for “The Blind Banker”
A Temporary Hobby
“Properly practiced, knitting soothes the troubled spirit, and it doesn't hurt the untroubled spirit either.” - Elizabeth Zimmerman
“KnittingHelp.com? Some sort of support group for grannies and spinsters?”
John moved to slam the laptop shut, but knew it was futile. Sherlock had seen the full screen already. “Knitting is not just for old ladies,” he replied testily. “It has been shown to improve dexterity and concentration.”
“Hmm, good for your arm, I suppose, as long as you don’t overdo it. What inspired you to take up handicrafts? Surely the brave war hero qualifies for physical therapy if you aren’t getting on well.”
“All that crap telly Mrs. Hudson and I watch. She knits the whole time. She kept trying to get me to start. ‘It’s good to keep busy, dear,’ all the time. Since my version of ‘busy’ these days tends to involve Chinese acrobat assassins I thought I should try something less stressful.”
“Bo-o-oring,” Sherlock sang out.
“It’s not that easy. It’s a wonder people didn’t freeze to death all those centuries when this was the only way to get new socks.”
“Hurrah for the Industrial Revolution.” Sherlock plopped down in the chair opposite and flicked open a newspaper.
“It’s also good distraction if you’re trying to stop smoking.”
“Fascinating,” he replied in that voice that clearly said he couldn’t be more bored. “What are you making?”
John hesitated, but knew it was useless. He reached behind the chair cushion and pulled out a lump that expanded into an oblong green and blue thing. “A scarf. It’s almost finished. I was just looking for a...” No escaping it now. He sighed. “An appropriately stretchy bind-off.”
The ridiculousness of the statement said out loud, to Sherlock Holmes and his massive bloody intellect no less, made him explode. “These women all talk in acronyms! I thought the army was bad about having code words for perfectly normal things. All I want to do is get the stitches off the damn needles! Why is that so complicated?”
“You’re quite worked up about it.” Sherlock peered around one corner of the newspaper. “I wouldn’t have expected your enthusiasm to have reached these heights.”
“I have a medical degree! I save people's lives! You’d think I could manage two sticks and a bit of yarn.”
“Well, we all have our different abilities.”
That seemed to be the end of it for now, so John returned to his computer. After watching a few videos and absorbing a highly detailed blog post, he settled on a technique. One final struggle and the thing was free of the needles. He nearly exclaimed in triumph, then muttered “Damn these ends,” and clattered downstairs to borrow a sewing-up needle from Mrs. Hudson.
She cooed over the scarf like he’d brought her a new baby. “How wonderful, dear! You must be very proud. Are you going to give it to him right away?”
“Um, what?” He had been so intent on conquering the thing that he hadn’t thought as far as who would wear it.
“I’m sure Sherlock will love it. The blues will look well with his eyes, don’t you think? Just don’t go in for a whole jumper or anything yet. If he’s commitment-phobic it might scare him off.”
He had given up on trying to convince Mrs Hudson they weren’t romantic partners, so he considered this new problem as he trudged back upstairs. He wasn’t much of a scarf man himself, and after all the effort, it would be silly to let it just drift into one of the random piles of junk that kept accumulating. Sherlock definitely liked scarves - never left without one, in fact. If he lost the one he wore now, he might be house-bound without a replacement, and that would drive them both mad. The only logical thing to do was give it to him and endure the ribbing that would ensue.
When he returned to the sitting room, Sherlock was still hidden behind the newspaper. “Uh, I’ve... finished the scarf.” No response. “And uh, well... here.” He held out the scarf to him, looking at a fascinating spot on the wallpaper as it was taken gently from his hand.
“Hmm, stitches not very even yet, but you’ll get there with practice, I suppose. Put it on the coat hook for me?”
He took the scarf back, trying not to feel wounded at the dismissal. He should have known his flatmate would be an ungrateful bastard. It was just a temporary hobby anyway, something he did to pass the time and distract him from the occasional twinges in his arm. He picked up his laptop again and sat down.
Several minutes later, Sherlock stood abruptly and tossed the paper onto a stack of others. “I have to go out. Probably won’t be back for a while.”
John saw no need for a response. He heard the coat slip on and Sherlock start for the door.
“Oh, and John, you might try switching the yarn to your left hand to help with your tension issues. And do relax with it or you’ll only make your shoulder worse.”
“What?” He turned just in time to see the blue and green scarf looped around his flatmate’s neck as he turned to go, the woven one left hanging by the door.
Prompt: “While John is bored stiff by being jobless, he watches telly with Mrs Hudson. She teaches him to knit (he's bored enough to watch crap telly, he's bored enough to knit). He knits a scarf for Sherlock. What's HIS reaction?”
897 words
Rating: G+ for mild swears
Warnings: Not really, mild spoiler for “The Blind Banker”
A Temporary Hobby
“Properly practiced, knitting soothes the troubled spirit, and it doesn't hurt the untroubled spirit either.” - Elizabeth Zimmerman
“KnittingHelp.com? Some sort of support group for grannies and spinsters?”
John moved to slam the laptop shut, but knew it was futile. Sherlock had seen the full screen already. “Knitting is not just for old ladies,” he replied testily. “It has been shown to improve dexterity and concentration.”
“Hmm, good for your arm, I suppose, as long as you don’t overdo it. What inspired you to take up handicrafts? Surely the brave war hero qualifies for physical therapy if you aren’t getting on well.”
“All that crap telly Mrs. Hudson and I watch. She knits the whole time. She kept trying to get me to start. ‘It’s good to keep busy, dear,’ all the time. Since my version of ‘busy’ these days tends to involve Chinese acrobat assassins I thought I should try something less stressful.”
“Bo-o-oring,” Sherlock sang out.
“It’s not that easy. It’s a wonder people didn’t freeze to death all those centuries when this was the only way to get new socks.”
“Hurrah for the Industrial Revolution.” Sherlock plopped down in the chair opposite and flicked open a newspaper.
“It’s also good distraction if you’re trying to stop smoking.”
“Fascinating,” he replied in that voice that clearly said he couldn’t be more bored. “What are you making?”
John hesitated, but knew it was useless. He reached behind the chair cushion and pulled out a lump that expanded into an oblong green and blue thing. “A scarf. It’s almost finished. I was just looking for a...” No escaping it now. He sighed. “An appropriately stretchy bind-off.”
The ridiculousness of the statement said out loud, to Sherlock Holmes and his massive bloody intellect no less, made him explode. “These women all talk in acronyms! I thought the army was bad about having code words for perfectly normal things. All I want to do is get the stitches off the damn needles! Why is that so complicated?”
“You’re quite worked up about it.” Sherlock peered around one corner of the newspaper. “I wouldn’t have expected your enthusiasm to have reached these heights.”
“I have a medical degree! I save people's lives! You’d think I could manage two sticks and a bit of yarn.”
“Well, we all have our different abilities.”
That seemed to be the end of it for now, so John returned to his computer. After watching a few videos and absorbing a highly detailed blog post, he settled on a technique. One final struggle and the thing was free of the needles. He nearly exclaimed in triumph, then muttered “Damn these ends,” and clattered downstairs to borrow a sewing-up needle from Mrs. Hudson.
She cooed over the scarf like he’d brought her a new baby. “How wonderful, dear! You must be very proud. Are you going to give it to him right away?”
“Um, what?” He had been so intent on conquering the thing that he hadn’t thought as far as who would wear it.
“I’m sure Sherlock will love it. The blues will look well with his eyes, don’t you think? Just don’t go in for a whole jumper or anything yet. If he’s commitment-phobic it might scare him off.”
He had given up on trying to convince Mrs Hudson they weren’t romantic partners, so he considered this new problem as he trudged back upstairs. He wasn’t much of a scarf man himself, and after all the effort, it would be silly to let it just drift into one of the random piles of junk that kept accumulating. Sherlock definitely liked scarves - never left without one, in fact. If he lost the one he wore now, he might be house-bound without a replacement, and that would drive them both mad. The only logical thing to do was give it to him and endure the ribbing that would ensue.
When he returned to the sitting room, Sherlock was still hidden behind the newspaper. “Uh, I’ve... finished the scarf.” No response. “And uh, well... here.” He held out the scarf to him, looking at a fascinating spot on the wallpaper as it was taken gently from his hand.
“Hmm, stitches not very even yet, but you’ll get there with practice, I suppose. Put it on the coat hook for me?”
He took the scarf back, trying not to feel wounded at the dismissal. He should have known his flatmate would be an ungrateful bastard. It was just a temporary hobby anyway, something he did to pass the time and distract him from the occasional twinges in his arm. He picked up his laptop again and sat down.
Several minutes later, Sherlock stood abruptly and tossed the paper onto a stack of others. “I have to go out. Probably won’t be back for a while.”
John saw no need for a response. He heard the coat slip on and Sherlock start for the door.
“Oh, and John, you might try switching the yarn to your left hand to help with your tension issues. And do relax with it or you’ll only make your shoulder worse.”
“What?” He turned just in time to see the blue and green scarf looped around his flatmate’s neck as he turned to go, the woven one left hanging by the door.