Upon Return
BBC SHERLOCK
Characters: John & Sherlock, bit of Greg
Warnings: Bad language (poor John)
Spoilers: S1&2 a bit
a/n: I found this on the Google Drive this morning, totally forgot I'd written it. It's before series 3 so that's why there are plot inconsistencies. It made me laugh though, so I thought I'd share.
“Sherlock?”
No response. John cleared his throat and tried again.
“Sherlock?”
Still no response. The suspicious banging continued in the other room.
“Sherlock, what the hell are you doing? I’m not coming in there in case it’s something weird, but stop ignoring me. Sherlock! Don’t be so bloody rude!”
The clattering stopped for a minute and Sherlock’s face appeared from behind a door, a fully exasperated expression on his face that John would have commented on, but he really couldn’t be bothered, so he just raised his eyebrows and stared in a way he hoped was pointed.
“Yes, John?”
John sighed, and spoke slowly, as though he was speaking to a child, just to get his point across.
“What. Are. You. Doing?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“Banging.”
“Yes, well I can hear that much.”
“I’ll explain later.”
“You’re distracting me from reading my paper, Sherlock.”
“Can you not cope with it?”
“I’m still upset with you, Sherlock.”
It was an evil tactic to play, but John truthfully was still upset with him. In fact, upset was an understatement when the bastard had faked his own death and then nearly given John a heart attack by not only standing in the kitchen when he returned to the flat one day but actually cooking. Not to mention the cooking was so bad they had to order pizza in. Not to mention John had to pay for the pizza as Sherlock had no money ‘what with being dead and everything’.
Not to mention poor Mrs Hudson… John honestly thought she was going to keel over there and then.
As apologies went, Sherlock’s was a fairly bad one, so John didn’t allow himself to cave when his frown faltered slightly and he almost managed to look guilty. John even managed to ruffle the paper in such a way that it made a very satisfying noise.
“Okay. I’ll make less noise.”
“Less?”
“Yes, less. It’s integral for a case.”
“What case? You don’t have any cases. No one trusts you because you faked your death.”
“It’s the Moriaty case.”
John sighed again; he’d forgotten how living with Sherlock brought that out in him.
“He’s dead, Sherlock.”
“He isn’t, John. That wasn’t him. It was a puppet. The acting bit was correct.”
“Alright, alright.”
“John, all of that stuff I did was to save your life. The tarnishing of my reputation, the watching him die, the faking my death… I was protecting you.”
“Yes, I know. But you still-”
John stopped midsentence, and shook his head.
“Oh, just keep it down, alright?”
“Fine.”
Sherlock waltzed back into his bedroom, where he lowered the volume a fraction of a notch. John tried his very hardest to continue reading the paper, but the noise was drilling into his head and he couldn’t deal with it. He put the paper down on the side of the armchair, stood up, and walked over to Sherlock’s door, rapping his knuckles against it.
“That isn’t keeping it down, Sherlock.”
No response. What a surprise.
John steadied himself, and opened the door to Sherlock’s bedroom, expecting to be confronted with Sherlock hitting a bin lid with a crowbar, or bashing the walls, or hacking up a corpse on his duvet. He was thoroughly shocked to discover Sherlock was doing nothing more sinister than lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, with an MP3 of various clattering noises on in the background.
“Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?”
“John, why do you keep saying my name?”
“Because if I don’t, it’s hard to remember you’re actually real and not just some demented ghost that is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”
Sherlock smirked.
“How do you know I’m not?”
“Well, for one, you’re making the bed dip in where you’re lying. Two, everyone else can also see you. Three, you’ve nearly killed four people due to point two. Four, you brushed past me in uncomfortable proximity yesterday while reaching for something disgusting in the fridge that Mrs Hudson will probably chuck out. Five, I’m not one of the Ghostbusters, nor is anyone else, because they don’t exist, because ghosts don’t exist. I don’t believe in them, and never will. And I’m also fairly sure if I ignored a ghost, it would get bored and go away. Something you’re incapable of doing. Which brings me back to my original point. Why the hell are you listening to an MP3 of battering noises in order to help with a case?”
Sherlock thought on it for a couple of seconds.
“Would apologising help?”
John leaned against the doorframe.
“No, probably not.”
“Oh. Well, if you must know I’m-”
“If you say bored, I’m going to shoot you.”
“I’ll come back and haunt you just to prove you wrong.”
John sprang across the room, unplugging the MP3 player and putting it down his boxer shorts. He then ran for the doorway, pausing only to say,
“I don’t doubt you would.”
Sherlock wondered how badly John would take him going into his underwear to retrieve the MP3 player and concluded he would probably take it badly. Since he was already skating on thin ice, he thought it probably best to avoid that argument for a couple of days, and so resorted to glowering at his figure through the doorway and plotting the best way to convince John that their flat was indeed haunted.
John sat down, picking up his paper and sliding his phone out of his pocket at the same time hoping that Sherlock couldn’t see him and notice. He couldn’t cope with this for much longer, he’d end up going crazy and shooting the buffoon. He had to do something, and Mycroft would be no help so there was only one person to go begging to…
To: Greg
Mate, can you not just give in and get Sherlock on a case? I know it’d look bad, but he’s driving me crazy.
He placed his phone on the arm of the chair, where it lit up a couple of seconds later.
I am working on it, but it’s difficult. What’s he doing this time?
Oh, nothing much, you know? What’s an MP3 of someone banging a metal drum played at full volume between friends?
I wish I could help, John. For your sanity. Just don’t kill him. I don’t want to have to deal with that mess.
I’ll try my best.
John sighed inwardly, trying to think of other things he could do to occupy the former detective who was now banging his foot against the bedframe. John could feel his hands balling into fists, and placed the paper down again, standing up sharply and grabbing his coat and Sherlock’s.
“Right!” he exclaimed, throwing the coat over Sherlock’s head. “Come on!”
“Come on where?”
“I really don’t care. We’re just going out.”
“I’m not-”
“You are. That’s the end of it.”
Sherlock reluctantly sat up and put on his coat. John smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile.
“Good stuff.”
He grabbed his keys and ushered Sherlock out of the door.
“Great.”
………………………………………….
They were sitting on a bench in the park eating Greggs’ finest pasties and staring blankly off into the middle distance. It was chilly, and damp, but John would be damned if he was going home without him calming Sherlock down to some extent.
An attractive woman walked past, and managed to catch John’s eye. Yes, she was staring at Sherlock, who was completely ignoring her, but John was willing to take second fiddle because, let’s face it, Sherlock wasn’t gonna go for it. She glanced at Sherlock again, and then at John, and gave him a reluctant smile.
“Alright?” John said.
The woman nodded.
“Yes, thanks. How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
Sherlock snapped back to the conversation and narrowed his eyes.
“John, I was ignoring her because she is married.”
The woman looked affronted.
“You shouldn’t look at other men in that way when you have a husband at home.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Oh, but I think you do.”
The woman stalked off, and John blinked at Sherlock a couple of times.
“Why did you do that?”
“I’m saving you some heartbreak. You’re rubbish at doing it for yourself.”
“Sherlock, you saving me heartbreak involves ruining every date I ever go on.”
“She was looking at me.”
“I don’t mind. She talked to me.”
“Only because I didn’t speak to her! You should let me choose.”
John shook his head and stared back at the manmade lake, the surface rippling in the breeze.
“You want me to let you choose my life partner. Alright.”
“Why is that a bad idea?”
“Because you’ll choose no one and I’ll be stuck with you forever.”
“Are you saying I’m not your life partner?”
“Of course you’re not! You’re a man!”
“And?”
“Are you actually gay?”
“Irene.”
“That proves nothing. She could be a beard.”
“She didn’t have a beard anywhere.”
“Well, yes. Unfortunately I know that too.”
John sighed.
“You’re winding me up again, aren’t you?”
Sherlock smiles that smile John knows only he and Mrs Hudson see.
“You’re very easy to wind up.”
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes.
“You should let me choose for you though.”
“Oh, shut up, Sherlock. I don’t get any choices. Everyone thinks I’m banging you.”
Sherlock chuckled.
“It’s not funny.”
“It is. Slightly.”
“It’s not.”
Sherlock laughed more and John glared at him. Which made him laugh more still.
“Oh, you’re a wanker.”
But John had started to laugh too. And in doing so, had let Sherlock off the hook.