Prompting Part XXX
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IMPORTANT! Spoilers for aired episodes are now being
allowed on this area of the meme, without warning. If you do not want to encounter spoilers, please prompt at our Spoiler-Free Prompt Post.
( Read more... )
Hokay! Let's do this. <\small>
* * * * * *
"Shit-"
The voice cuts off just as Sherlock looks up from his book. The book is interesting, but it probably won't be as interesting as the sudden pop and whatever, rather whoever, is swearing behind the bush. Sherlock knows it can't be Mycroft because he went out with his stupid friends an hour ago and he said he wouldn't be back until tea time, and Mummy is busy cooking with Nanny, and anyway neither Mycroft nor Mummy swear. So it's just Sherlock out in the meadow by the bridge - all by himself, might he add. It's his secret hideout. Secret. Meaning nobody else knows. And he didn't bring anyone with him (who would go with him?). So why is there a person shuffling behind the bush?
"Hello? Is someone there?" says the bush. Sherlock suddenly feels shy and slightly frightened - only slightly. Nevertheless, he stands up and raises his big book to shoulder level.
"If you're a monster," says Sherlock, feeling braver now he's on higher ground, "Then I'm warning you: I'm armed. And dangerous," he adds as a precaution. The monster might be stupid (everyone is compared to Sherlock).
The bush laughs. Sherlock pouts; it wasn't supposed to laugh. But the laugh continues and only then does Sherlock realise that it isn't spiteful, that it actually sounds...nice. Like its laughing for him, not at him.
"I'm not a monster, I can assure you of that," comes the reply.
"Well, come out then so I can see you!"
The bush chuckles again and murmurs something below his breath, before speaking up again. "Um, I would, but I have no clothes on. So if you have a blanket or trousers or something, I would be very grateful if you could throw them over here for me to put on."
Sherlock considers. Then: "Why don't you have any clothes on?"
"I'll tell you once I'm decent, I promise."
Sherlock picks up the red blanket that he'd been sitting on and chucks it quickly at the bush. It doesn't quite make it - it inverts and starts to float backwards annoyingly - and so Sherlock takes a few steps closer to the bush and throws it again. A hand reaches out from the bush to grab at it and Sherlock steps backwards a couple of times again, clutching his book in his tiny hands. He fidgets for a moment and then looks back at the slightly yellowing patch of grass his blanket had previously been on and compares it to the green blades next to it, trying to figure out how long the dead grass had been dead for.
Finally, after a minute of waiting, Sherlock calls out, "Are you okay?"
A muffled "I'm fine" comes from the bush, and after some rustling of leaves, a man steps out, crouching under the twigs that are brushing his head. The blue towel is wrapped around his lower body, but other than that, true to his word, he is totally naked. He's pale even in contrast to his dishwater blonde hair and his eyes are smudged with dark bags, but the smile he's wearing is comforting enough to Sherlock to let him know that this man isn't a monster. He lowers his book slightly, but still keeps it at the ready just in case because he hasn't forgotten Mummy's lessons on strangers.
The man looks ill, so Sherlock enquires as to his health. "What's wrong with you? You're pale, but your face is paler than the rest of you, you have sleepy bags under your eyes and your left hand is shaking, all of which indicates sickness of some kind. Are you ill?"
Bush-man looks surprised and slightly proud for some reason. He brushed himself down and a scattering of leaves fall to the ground. He smiles, though Sherlock can see its a worn and tired one. "Well, I'm not usually in the best condition after I appear, but I'm fine now, don't worry."
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"Woah, slow down!" chides the man, grinning. He holds up three fingers and counts them off as he answers Sherlock's questions. "Okay, one: I usually feel sick because what I do takes it's toll on my body. Two: yeah, it's usually dizziness, nausea and headaches. And three: I feel poorly most of the time, yeah."
"You missed on the most important question!" retorts Sherlock, although his eyes are shining with the glee of having new information. "What do you mean by once you appear? HOW did you appear? Also, how did you find my secret hideout?"
"Ah, well," says the man, still grinning, "Perhaps we should make introductions first, Sherlock, before I tell you my secret. My name is John." He bends down and offers a hand for the little boy to shake.
Now Sherlock is really, really curious!
"How do you know my name?" he blurts out, totally ignoring the offered hand.
John drops his hand in lieu for placing both of them of his knees as he bends down to Sherlock's height. His eyes are twinkling, like Sherlock's does when he's really looking forward to something.
"Because I'm a Time Traveller, Sherlock."
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John sits on the grass carefully, arranging the towel so it still covers his modesty. "Yeah, like Doctor Who? Uh, yeah, sorry, I'm a bit of a rubbish Time Traveller compared to The Doctor."
"You're strange. I'm leaving," says Sherlock, scrutinising the man sat down in front of him.
John blinks and looks a little disappointed. Then he waves his hand. "Okay, I'll catch you next time maybe."
Sherlock doesn't move. Then with a big, melodramatic sigh, he plops down on the grass opposite John. "I would leave, but you're just too interestin- I, well, I still have questions to ask."
John smiles. "Okay, shoot."
"Right, now really how do you know my name? Are you friends with Mycroft? You look too old to be. Scratch that. Are you friends with Daddy?" says Sherlock, his last question finishing on a high, hopeful note.
"I'm...well, I've never met your dad and I wouldn't exactly say I'm friends with Mycroft. Acquietences, I guess," replies John. "And I've told you, I'm a Time Traveller. I'm not lying to you, Sherlock. And I'm not that old, am I?"
Sherlock smiles slightly. "Well, of course you're old." He watches as Johns face crumples into a comical frown. "Just to me of course, because I'm only seven and three-quarters. I'm sure to Mycroft you wouldn't be that old," he hurriedly adds, desperate to appear polite in front of this strange, wonderful man.
"You're seven?"
"And three-quarters," corrects Sherlock. "How can I believe you? You have no proof."
"Well then, lets see. You've never met me before, but I've met you lots in the future, which is how I know that you're Sherlock Holmes, that you have a brother named Mycroft and, at this age, a fish called Hank. Your birthday is 6th January 1976. You live with your parents in Sway, Hampshire. Your favourite colour is blue and you want to be a pirate. Oh, and you're very, very smart. Top of your class," replied John.
Sherlock is more than a little dumbfounded. Then he shakes his head. "Mycroft could have told you that. Give me more proof!"
"Okay," says John, leaning in and surveying the young boy, "Does Mycroft know about the frogs you've been keeping under your bed? Or about your lovely friend Anna?"
Sherlock blushes furiously. "No, he doesn't. No one does. How did you..." he trails off.
John smiles, fondly remembering how he was told about Sherlock's primary school crush and temporary pets. He leans forward again though, determined to impress the little boy. "And if you want even more proof, stick around and I'll vanish in front of your eyes."
The boy's eyes sparkle and he fidgets excitedly. "Really?"
"Yep."
"Can you do it now?!"
"I'm afraid not," John replies, watching the boy's face drop, "I don't get to choose when I come and go. But I'll let you know when I'm feeling like I'm going to disappear, okay? It shouldn't be too long, I'm feeling a bit queasy again. Always a tell-tale sign."
Sherlock squishes his mouth to the side as he contemplates waiting for the man to magical vanish. He decides it would hurt to wait. It's only polite after all. "Oh, okay, yeah, sure."
John smiles at the little boy. "Right. Say, Sherlock, have you got any food with you? Only time travelling makes me a little hungry."
The bag next that lies next to them is upended as Sherlock searches for food. He comes up with a bag of raisins and some squashed mini ham sandwiches. "Will this be alright?"
"That's great, thanks," smiles John. The boy grins proudly back. "
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John sputters slightly and finishes his mouthful. "I do not!"
"Yes you do," replies Sherlock, grinning. He plucks the orange juice from underneath the bag, where he chucked it after retrieving the food, and chucks it at John. "Do all time travellers eat like that? Is it because you still feel ill? Were you sick?"
"Ah, so you believe I'm a Time Traveller now then?" says John. He finished off the sandwiches and licks his fingers before opening the raisin packet. He offers one to the little boy, who declines with a shake of his head, finding it more fascinating watching the man eat.
"Well, of course I'm going to need more data to fully believe it," says Sherlock, eyes wide and curious, "but I'll humour you for the moment."
That deep chuckle reaches Sherlock's ears again, and he thinks for a second how good it feels to just sit here with somebody and chat. God knows Mycroft is too busy to nowadays.
He doesn't realise he's said that out loud until he sees John frowning. John pops another raisin into his mouth and asks, "Where is your brother at the moment anyway?"
"With his school friends."
"Why aren't you with your friends?" John asks, although he's already knows what the answer will be.
Sherlock pouts. "I don't need friends. Everyone's boring and stupid at school." He crosses his arms. "I'm perfectly happy."
Just the answer John had been predicting. He tries to smile warmly and asks, "Could I be your friend?"
Sherlock considers. Friends are boring, but having a time traveller as a friend would be pretty wicked. And although he won't admit it, being by himself does get a bit, well, lonely sometimes. Maybe a friend would be good.
"Yes," says Sherlock, delivering his words as if he were a king, "You can be my friend."
John lights up. It's the only way Sherlock can really explain it, its like the man was actually very happy at being Sherlock's friend.
"Ah-" murmurs John. A shiver runs up his back as he stomach churns. "Time to get going."
"What? You're leaving?"
John takes one look at the little boys familiar face and feels his heart break slightly. "It's okay, I'll be back." Suddenly, he remembers what he has to do. "Sherlock, have you got a notebook and a pen on you? I just need to write down some quick dates. It'll tell you when to expect me down here next. It'll also be good if you could bring some trousers and a shirt or something. Food and drink wouldn't go amiss either. Don't get me wrong, I like this blanket, but I like my creature comforts too."
While John was talking, Sherlock was rooting through his bag for a pen, having fished a small notebook out already. He finds a kind of blunt pencil, but John says it'll do, so Sherlock hands the pen and paper to the time traveler and sits on his hand, jiggling his knees up and down restlessly.
"Okay, so the next date you have to look out for is near Christmas. It's the 20th December at 4:00pm, okay?" says John as he hastily writes down the dates he's memorised from the very same notebook he has at home in his own time period. "Now I may appear older, or I may appear younger. I'm sorry I haven't had enough time to explain how time works. But I'm sure you can research about it, you're a clever lad! And if not, then I'll explain it to you next time, okay?"
John can really feel himself going now. He holds out his hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Sherlock Holmes."
Sherlock stands up and edges forward, eyes shining. He takes John's hand and shakes it slowly, solemnly. John gives one last smile as his body starts to disappear from his toes and works its way upwards. It is a pleasure to see Sherlock absolutely floored in wonder, and it is the last thing John sees before he is taken from Sherlock's childhood.
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You. Are. Brilliant. This has already surpassed anything I could have hoped for.
I've read many a kink fill, many a fic. I can honestly say that in just these few parts this fic has reached my list of "best ever".
I am in tears (now that my eyes are back in place).
Thank you. Thank you, thank you.
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Thank you :p
I'll probably be updating this whenever I get inspiration, but it'll definitely have a new chapter every week. Is that okay?
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You've made me so, so happy.
Take whatever time you need. A new chapter a week!! Eek! I'm so overwhelmed. Thank you!!
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And I'm so happy I managed to get both universes smooshed together correctly! I've changed a few things (the next part I'm about to put up explains things slightly), but other than that it's really fun to write both Sherlock and Time Travellers Wife. It's one of my fav books (yours too? :D) so I hope I'm doing it justice! (Same goes for Sherlock.)
Right, another chapter on the way. ;D it won't be like this every day, I swear! It's just too much fun! Thanks for an awesome prompt, OP! <3
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