Holiday Cheer (fill)meredyddDecember 23 2010, 19:28:31 UTC
Holiday Cheer
It was too late; Sherlock knew, as soon as he tumbled (all limbs and angles) from the cab and through the door at Baker Street, that he was too late. John had already seen, he already knew. Ignoring the cabbie’s shouts, he launched himself through the door and up the stairs, the door to their flat banging open, bouncing off of the wall as he hurtled into the den. “John!” Silence. That still kind of silence that let one know they had just entered a space that had been unoccupied for some time. Taking a breath, calming himself, Sherlock took stock of the situation: the breakfast dishes were still on the coffee table, a mug of tea from earlier in the day remained on the floor by the comfy chair, and, most importantly, no new mail had been added to the pile on the sideboard. Sherlock allowed himself a brief, rueful chuckle (no one was there to hear or see, after all...) and lowered himself onto the sofa. John, he reasoned, must have had other errands to run aside from shopping. He also, he mused, never opened the mail before reaching the flat. Therefore, Sherlock finished smugly, he would have plenty of opportunity to retrieve the card before John saw it. Glancing at the small, overly-lit tree which John had put (rather emphatically) in the window, Sherlock shook his head and cursed the boring, idiotic practices in December before taking up John’s laptop and powering it up.
It was an hour later when John came in, whistling off key and heading for the kitchen, paper parcels rustling promisingly in the bag dangling from his fingertips. Sherlock sniffed, not looking up from the laptop. “Thai?” “Got it in one,” John returned, bringing the bags into the den. “Oh for the love of... Could you not have at least put the dishes in the sink?” “Busy.” “Mmmm.” That made Sherlock look up sharply. John’s hum was surprisingly pleasant, all things considered. Something, he knew, was afoot. The good doctor came back to the den and set the stack of mail down, still humming, and began rummaging through one of the bags. “Pad Thai,” he remarked, setting a container down in front of Sherlock. John opened up his own container and began picking out bits of tofu. “Oh, blast...I got sauce on my jumper.” Sherlock watched with narrowed eyes as John tugged the garment off over his head and tossed it to the floor. Yes, something was definitely afoot... John sighed and shivered theatrically. “It’s chilly in here,” he remarked. “Good thing I have another jumper handy.” He reached into the second bag and produced a bright red monstrosity, complete with jingle bells and a green, satiny appliqued tree. “Where,” Sherlock asked in a strangled tone, his entire body going hot, then ice-cold, “did you get that?” “Shop on Marylebone High Street,” John replied, smiling. “Saw a picture of it recently and well, I just couldn’t resist.” As he spoke, he pulled something out of his back pocket and tossed it on the sofa next to Sherlock. “This came to the surgery for me,” he added. “Nice of your mum to send a card.” Sherlock closed his eyes. “Of course,” he snarled. “Mycroft! He gave her the address!” John was barely managing to stifle a laugh. Barely. “This explains where you went off to last month, what got you in a foul mood for a week.” He popped a piece of tofu into his mouth and added, “Don’t worry, I didn’t show anyone at the Yard. Yet.” Swallowing, he said, “It’s like an Edward Gorey illustration come to life, the lot of you looking so grim and pale.” Sherlock flipped open the envelope and peered inside. Just as he had feared: Mummy’s annual Christmas card, complete with a picture of the Holmes brothers clad in the most hideous, bleeding cheery Christmas sweaters she could find. He had escaped the cards ever appearing in London for almost twenty years... until John Watson became his flatmate. “What will it take to make you delete this?” John grinned. “There isn’t enough Pad Thai in the world, Holmes.”
Re: Holiday Cheer (fill)meredyddDecember 24 2010, 18:37:33 UTC
AHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Oh that's brilliant!
I was going to do a quick manip but couldn't find a good base image. Incidentally, Image Googling "mom sons christmas" without safe search on is very NSFW. 0o
That is AWESOME, and no, there really wouldn't be enough Pad Thai in the world. So clever of Mummy Holmes to send it to the surgery, but I wouldn't expect any less of her!
It was too late; Sherlock knew, as soon as he tumbled (all limbs and angles) from the cab and through the door at Baker Street, that he was too late. John had already seen, he already knew. Ignoring the cabbie’s shouts, he launched himself through the door and up the stairs, the door to their flat banging open, bouncing off of the wall as he hurtled into the den. “John!” Silence. That still kind of silence that let one know they had just entered a space that had been unoccupied for some time. Taking a breath, calming himself, Sherlock took stock of the situation: the breakfast dishes were still on the coffee table, a mug of tea from earlier in the day remained on the floor by the comfy chair, and, most importantly, no new mail had been added to the pile on the sideboard. Sherlock allowed himself a brief, rueful chuckle (no one was there to hear or see, after all...) and lowered himself onto the sofa. John, he reasoned, must have had other errands to run aside from shopping. He also, he mused, never opened the mail before reaching the flat. Therefore, Sherlock finished smugly, he would have plenty of opportunity to retrieve the card before John saw it. Glancing at the small, overly-lit tree which John had put (rather emphatically) in the window, Sherlock shook his head and cursed the boring, idiotic practices in December before taking up John’s laptop and powering it up.
It was an hour later when John came in, whistling off key and heading for the kitchen, paper parcels rustling promisingly in the bag dangling from his fingertips. Sherlock sniffed, not looking up from the laptop. “Thai?”
“Got it in one,” John returned, bringing the bags into the den. “Oh for the love of... Could you not have at least put the dishes in the sink?”
“Busy.”
“Mmmm.”
That made Sherlock look up sharply. John’s hum was surprisingly pleasant, all things considered. Something, he knew, was afoot. The good doctor came back to the den and set the stack of mail down, still humming, and began rummaging through one of the bags. “Pad Thai,” he remarked, setting a container down in front of Sherlock. John opened up his own container and began picking out bits of tofu. “Oh, blast...I got sauce on my jumper.”
Sherlock watched with narrowed eyes as John tugged the garment off over his head and tossed it to the floor. Yes, something was definitely afoot... John sighed and shivered theatrically. “It’s chilly in here,” he remarked. “Good thing I have another jumper handy.” He reached into the second bag and produced a bright red monstrosity, complete with jingle bells and a green, satiny appliqued tree.
“Where,” Sherlock asked in a strangled tone, his entire body going hot, then ice-cold, “did you get that?”
“Shop on Marylebone High Street,” John replied, smiling. “Saw a picture of it recently and well, I just couldn’t resist.” As he spoke, he pulled something out of his back pocket and tossed it on the sofa next to Sherlock. “This came to the surgery for me,” he added. “Nice of your mum to send a card.”
Sherlock closed his eyes. “Of course,” he snarled. “Mycroft! He gave her the address!”
John was barely managing to stifle a laugh. Barely. “This explains where you went off to last month, what got you in a foul mood for a week.” He popped a piece of tofu into his mouth and added, “Don’t worry, I didn’t show anyone at the Yard. Yet.” Swallowing, he said, “It’s like an Edward Gorey illustration come to life, the lot of you looking so grim and pale.”
Sherlock flipped open the envelope and peered inside. Just as he had feared: Mummy’s annual Christmas card, complete with a picture of the Holmes brothers clad in the most hideous, bleeding cheery Christmas sweaters she could find. He had escaped the cards ever appearing in London for almost twenty years... until John Watson became his flatmate. “What will it take to make you delete this?”
John grinned. “There isn’t enough Pad Thai in the world, Holmes.”
Reply
Seriously... this needs and art fill to go with this awesome fic, it really does.
Reply
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
*ahem*
That is so amazingly cute!
Reply
I was going to do a quick manip but couldn't find a good base image. Incidentally, Image Googling "mom sons christmas" without safe search on is very NSFW. 0o
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Ha! Perfect!
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment