Love of the Loveless, Part 3
Love of the Loveless
Pairing: [Sherlock/John]
Rating: T (as of right now)
Time frame: Takes place during a case lull somewhere between episodes 1.2 and 1.3, more or less AU from there.
Summary: Sometimes, the most obvious conclusions are the ones right in front of your face.... or just the one living in your flat.
Not Mine!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
If there was one thing Sherlock hated more then anything, aside from boredom, and Mrs. Hudson taking his skull-oh-and people talking-it was needing someone. And now, with his mind agitated and ever so slightly flustered, Sherlock knew he needed John. It was an odd feeling, one he never wanted to repeat, but it was undeniable.
As with most irritations in Sherlock’s life, it was all Mycroft’s fault. What with him poking his ridiculously pointy nose into Sherlock’s personal life, asking questions and making outrageous demands. If it weren’t for Mycroft, Sherlock would still be in the midst of studying John’s recurring limp.
But no. Right in the middle of Sherlock’s two-week experiment he’d received a suspiciously thick envelope. With the quality of the paper and the embossed address Sherlock had known he was holding an invitation to one of Mycroft’s many attempts at manipulating the rich and influential members of London society. Looking back, Sherlock wished he’d thrown the thing away, but no, his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he’d opened it.
Inside, like some mandate ordering Sherlock’s execution, was an invitation to a birthday party. But not just any birthday party. Oh no, that would have been too easy a problem to deal with. Instead the highly embossed cursive seemed to mock him with a type of sick glee:
You are cordially invited to the Birthday Party
Of Mrs. Emiline Holmes
Held in her honor by her two sons
Mycroft and Sherlock
There was no way to back out. He’d been had. Mycroft knew Sherlock couldn’t avoid his mother’s party, and to make matters worse, there was Sherlock’s name, printed in bold cursive for the whole world to see.
That was where Watson came in. Good old Watson. Reliable and pleasant. Sherlock needed a buffer, and with Watson at his side, maintaining conversation and using that idiotic charm of his, Sherlock could go unnoticed. The only problem was convincing him. Sherlock knew John was upset, the limp and his clipped sentences making that obvious.
Now Sherlock had been forced to change tactics and find a way into John’s good graces. Luckily the whole endeavor would be easy. The first step had been cleaning the flat, something John hadn’t even noticed by the way. The second had been remarkably simple: get John tea. Everyone loved tea.
So Sherlock watched as John gave the cup of tea a tentative inspection, his need for the hot beverage clearly outweighing any sort of suspicion he seemed to have against the tea’s maker. But Sherlock just rolled his eyes, picked his bow back up and slid it gently across the violin strings. If it was a different song John wanted, then it was a different song John would have.
He chose Mozart, knowing John had a weakness for obvious and well-known pieces of classical music. As the song begins to echo through the room, John sighed and took a nervous sip of tea. Sherlock smiles. Whatever false conclusions John had running about in his minds were exactly that: false.
Although Sherlock would have normally congratulated his friend’s well-placed suspicions, there was absolutely nothing behind them. The tea was normal. Normal, boring, and expensive as hell. Expensive because of the fee Sherlock had been required to pay a homeless man to fetch it for him.
While John had been sulking up in his rooms, making whispered, panicked phone calls to Lestrade, Sherlock had sent out for tea. It was amazing what a cell phone, fifty pounds and an old business card of Mycroft’s could do in this city. Really, it was a bit like being a God. Within minutes Sherlock had obtained one ready-made cup of English breakfast tea, exactly to John’s specifications. All that had remained was to pour the tea into one of John’s mugs and to destroy the evidence.
Sherlock gave himself one more metaphorical pat on the back for that bit of quick thinking. He’d been a bit flabbergasted when he’d seen there was no tea in the cupboards. Ever since John started living in the flat tea was always readily available. Of course the first five or six boxes had been marked ‘JOHN’ in large, red letters, but diligence and an ability to ignore even the most basic of social rules had landed Sherlock his own, never-ending supply of tea bags. The only trick is getting John to actually go about the process of turning the tea bags into ‘tea’.
“Is the tea poisoned?” John asked, “Or did you just spit in it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock replied, wondering what could possibly be gained from spitting in someone else’s tea.
“It’s just… Well, it’s a bit suspicious. I mean, tea. In the flat. Tea that I didn’t make.” John is mumbling now, almost incoherently and Sherlock puts down his violin.
“I do know how to make tea, John.” Sherlock says. “Contrary to popular belief, I am self sufficient.”
“Really doesn’t seem like it. Since I’ve been here you’ve eaten about three complete meals. Most of the time you just watch me eat.”
“You’ve been upset.” Sherlock said. It was an obvious conclusion, even for someone as self-centered as Sherlock. “And I’ve been… unpleasant” A debatable statement, but Sherlock wanted to avoid raising John’s hackles.
“So you made me tea? To apologize?” John asked slowly, as if confused by the entire scenario and Sherlock tensed slightly. The whole thing might be harder then initially anticipated.
“Ummm…. Yes.” Sherlock said, deciding to keep things simple. It was always best to keep deception as short and to the point as possible.
John seemed to study Sherlock for a few minutes and Sherlock kept a perfectly uninterested look on his face as he resumed playing the violin.
“Well, thank you.” John said. Sherlock ignored him and continued with the violin. He had already played his hand today. There is no reason to push his luck. John may be unobservant about the rest of the
world, but he has an uncanny ability to read Sherlock. At least better then other people.
“Sherlock?” John asked after he’s finished the tea down to the dregs. Sherlock grunted in response. “Why have you been hiding my things?”
“What?” Sherlock set the violin back in its case, giving up on the entire endeavor. If John wanted to talk, Sherlock was currently forced to listen.
“Hiding all of my stuff? I can’t find anything.”
“Maybe because I put it away?” Sherlock said
.
“What?” John asked in a slightly amazed voice “You did what?”
“I put the things away. Well, when I say ‘away’ I mean off the floor.”
“Then where is my striped jumper?”
“Under your seat cushion.” Sherlock replied and John just stares at him, mouth open before fishing around under and pulling said jumper out.
“I don’t understand,” John mumbled as he picked lint balls off his favorite article of clothing.
“I put it away. Isn’t that what flatmates do? Take turns tidying up? You know social interactions really aren’t my area, John.” Sherlock replied calmly. Somehow he had miscalculated and John was upset again.
“I don’t think you understand what ‘tidying up’ means.”
“It means off the floor. Look at the floor. Do you see anything on the floor?” Sherlock was getting a little irritated. He had spent a good twenty minutes of his time trying to find places to hide all the stuff littered on their floor and furniture. He could have been doing an experiment, or taken a bored nap, but instead he’d been fumbling about like a maid.
“You really don’t see the problem here?” John replied and Sherlock shook his head. “Alright. I get that you were trying, which I appreciate, but maybe you should just not clean. At least not my stuff. You could do something else. Like the dishes.”
“You want me to do the dishes?” Sherlock asked just a little too quickly and John’s brows rose in confusion. Damn.
“What’s going on Sherlock?” John asked, the wheels in his head obviously turning. Sherlock panicked ever so slightly, knowing there was no way out of the situation now. The only thing left to do? Well, as with all social situations Sherlock doesn’t like, he ran.
“Nothing. Just going to go stop by the Yard and bother Anderson. He’s probably gotten a little complacent without me around. Bye.” And with that, Sherlock grabbed his jacket and effectively dashed from the room.
AN: Want more? Review and you'll get your wish!
Read on! Go to Part 4
Pairing: [Sherlock/John]
Rating: T (as of right now)
Time frame: Takes place during a case lull somewhere between episodes 1.2 and 1.3, more or less AU from there.
Summary: Sometimes, the most obvious conclusions are the ones right in front of your face.... or just the one living in your flat.
Not Mine!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
If there was one thing Sherlock hated more then anything, aside from boredom, and Mrs. Hudson taking his skull-oh-and people talking-it was needing someone. And now, with his mind agitated and ever so slightly flustered, Sherlock knew he needed John. It was an odd feeling, one he never wanted to repeat, but it was undeniable.
As with most irritations in Sherlock’s life, it was all Mycroft’s fault. What with him poking his ridiculously pointy nose into Sherlock’s personal life, asking questions and making outrageous demands. If it weren’t for Mycroft, Sherlock would still be in the midst of studying John’s recurring limp.
But no. Right in the middle of Sherlock’s two-week experiment he’d received a suspiciously thick envelope. With the quality of the paper and the embossed address Sherlock had known he was holding an invitation to one of Mycroft’s many attempts at manipulating the rich and influential members of London society. Looking back, Sherlock wished he’d thrown the thing away, but no, his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he’d opened it.
Inside, like some mandate ordering Sherlock’s execution, was an invitation to a birthday party. But not just any birthday party. Oh no, that would have been too easy a problem to deal with. Instead the highly embossed cursive seemed to mock him with a type of sick glee:
You are cordially invited to the Birthday Party
Of Mrs. Emiline Holmes
Held in her honor by her two sons
Mycroft and Sherlock
There was no way to back out. He’d been had. Mycroft knew Sherlock couldn’t avoid his mother’s party, and to make matters worse, there was Sherlock’s name, printed in bold cursive for the whole world to see.
That was where Watson came in. Good old Watson. Reliable and pleasant. Sherlock needed a buffer, and with Watson at his side, maintaining conversation and using that idiotic charm of his, Sherlock could go unnoticed. The only problem was convincing him. Sherlock knew John was upset, the limp and his clipped sentences making that obvious.
Now Sherlock had been forced to change tactics and find a way into John’s good graces. Luckily the whole endeavor would be easy. The first step had been cleaning the flat, something John hadn’t even noticed by the way. The second had been remarkably simple: get John tea. Everyone loved tea.
So Sherlock watched as John gave the cup of tea a tentative inspection, his need for the hot beverage clearly outweighing any sort of suspicion he seemed to have against the tea’s maker. But Sherlock just rolled his eyes, picked his bow back up and slid it gently across the violin strings. If it was a different song John wanted, then it was a different song John would have.
He chose Mozart, knowing John had a weakness for obvious and well-known pieces of classical music. As the song begins to echo through the room, John sighed and took a nervous sip of tea. Sherlock smiles. Whatever false conclusions John had running about in his minds were exactly that: false.
Although Sherlock would have normally congratulated his friend’s well-placed suspicions, there was absolutely nothing behind them. The tea was normal. Normal, boring, and expensive as hell. Expensive because of the fee Sherlock had been required to pay a homeless man to fetch it for him.
While John had been sulking up in his rooms, making whispered, panicked phone calls to Lestrade, Sherlock had sent out for tea. It was amazing what a cell phone, fifty pounds and an old business card of Mycroft’s could do in this city. Really, it was a bit like being a God. Within minutes Sherlock had obtained one ready-made cup of English breakfast tea, exactly to John’s specifications. All that had remained was to pour the tea into one of John’s mugs and to destroy the evidence.
Sherlock gave himself one more metaphorical pat on the back for that bit of quick thinking. He’d been a bit flabbergasted when he’d seen there was no tea in the cupboards. Ever since John started living in the flat tea was always readily available. Of course the first five or six boxes had been marked ‘JOHN’ in large, red letters, but diligence and an ability to ignore even the most basic of social rules had landed Sherlock his own, never-ending supply of tea bags. The only trick is getting John to actually go about the process of turning the tea bags into ‘tea’.
“Is the tea poisoned?” John asked, “Or did you just spit in it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock replied, wondering what could possibly be gained from spitting in someone else’s tea.
“It’s just… Well, it’s a bit suspicious. I mean, tea. In the flat. Tea that I didn’t make.” John is mumbling now, almost incoherently and Sherlock puts down his violin.
“I do know how to make tea, John.” Sherlock says. “Contrary to popular belief, I am self sufficient.”
“Really doesn’t seem like it. Since I’ve been here you’ve eaten about three complete meals. Most of the time you just watch me eat.”
“You’ve been upset.” Sherlock said. It was an obvious conclusion, even for someone as self-centered as Sherlock. “And I’ve been… unpleasant” A debatable statement, but Sherlock wanted to avoid raising John’s hackles.
“So you made me tea? To apologize?” John asked slowly, as if confused by the entire scenario and Sherlock tensed slightly. The whole thing might be harder then initially anticipated.
“Ummm…. Yes.” Sherlock said, deciding to keep things simple. It was always best to keep deception as short and to the point as possible.
John seemed to study Sherlock for a few minutes and Sherlock kept a perfectly uninterested look on his face as he resumed playing the violin.
“Well, thank you.” John said. Sherlock ignored him and continued with the violin. He had already played his hand today. There is no reason to push his luck. John may be unobservant about the rest of the
world, but he has an uncanny ability to read Sherlock. At least better then other people.
“Sherlock?” John asked after he’s finished the tea down to the dregs. Sherlock grunted in response. “Why have you been hiding my things?”
“What?” Sherlock set the violin back in its case, giving up on the entire endeavor. If John wanted to talk, Sherlock was currently forced to listen.
“Hiding all of my stuff? I can’t find anything.”
“Maybe because I put it away?” Sherlock said
.
“What?” John asked in a slightly amazed voice “You did what?”
“I put the things away. Well, when I say ‘away’ I mean off the floor.”
“Then where is my striped jumper?”
“Under your seat cushion.” Sherlock replied and John just stares at him, mouth open before fishing around under and pulling said jumper out.
“I don’t understand,” John mumbled as he picked lint balls off his favorite article of clothing.
“I put it away. Isn’t that what flatmates do? Take turns tidying up? You know social interactions really aren’t my area, John.” Sherlock replied calmly. Somehow he had miscalculated and John was upset again.
“I don’t think you understand what ‘tidying up’ means.”
“It means off the floor. Look at the floor. Do you see anything on the floor?” Sherlock was getting a little irritated. He had spent a good twenty minutes of his time trying to find places to hide all the stuff littered on their floor and furniture. He could have been doing an experiment, or taken a bored nap, but instead he’d been fumbling about like a maid.
“You really don’t see the problem here?” John replied and Sherlock shook his head. “Alright. I get that you were trying, which I appreciate, but maybe you should just not clean. At least not my stuff. You could do something else. Like the dishes.”
“You want me to do the dishes?” Sherlock asked just a little too quickly and John’s brows rose in confusion. Damn.
“What’s going on Sherlock?” John asked, the wheels in his head obviously turning. Sherlock panicked ever so slightly, knowing there was no way out of the situation now. The only thing left to do? Well, as with all social situations Sherlock doesn’t like, he ran.
“Nothing. Just going to go stop by the Yard and bother Anderson. He’s probably gotten a little complacent without me around. Bye.” And with that, Sherlock grabbed his jacket and effectively dashed from the room.
AN: Want more? Review and you'll get your wish!
Read on! Go to Part 4