Fic - Love at first sight.
Posted in response to the prompt "John/Sherlock - love at first sight" here.
Sorry if I got the shipping the wrong way around to what you wanted OP but oh that *wink*. What was our man thinking?
Title: Love at first sight
Rating: PG or U?
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Notes: Major Study in Pink spoilers. In fact I just pinched about a third of the first 15 minutes.
Synopsis: Sherlock has hopes of impressing his new flatmate. He may have to settle for anything better than "piss off."
The door slams behind the tall, pale man as he leaps up the stairs two and three at a time.
"Mrs Hudson! Mrs Hudson! I will be staying after all! I've found someone to share with."
A startled face peers around the bathroom door, Marigold gloves gripping the edge.
"Sherlock? You terrified me. I know I didn't give you a set of keys yet."
Her eyes catch his slim fingers as they deftly stow what looks like a set of clever little hooks and screwdrivers in his jacket pocket.
"Lockpicks? Really Sherlock?"
"When I used them in Florida you didn't seem to mind."
"That was different. Why didn't you just knock?"
"What, and make you climb these stairs with your hip?"
"You're impossible. When I've cleaned this bathroom, that'll be the last of it. You can move in tomorrow if you like."
"I'm going to really appreciate your housekeeping Mrs Hudson," he shouts over his shoulder as he bounds away down the stairs.
"I'm your landlady Sherlock. I can give you the number of a good cleaner but I'm not..." but she's shouting at an empty hallway.
The door bangs open again and this time Sherlock's run is slightly slower. Mrs Hudson peers around the bathroom door again. The reason for the change in speed is readily apparent. Sherlock is carrying a stack of archive boxes in his long arms.
"I said tomorrow, Sherlock," she protests weakly. Already she wonders whether repaying her debt in this particular way was the right thing to do.
"No time to waste Mrs Hudson. Someone will be here this evening and I want everything to be ready. I want to make an excellent impression."
In the bathroom Mrs Hudson's eyebrow raises an appreciable fraction of an inch. Housekeeper or not, she has a keen ear for gossip and innuendo.
"So who is your new 'someone to share with,' then? You can't have known them long - you wouldn't be this happy to live with any of the people you know. "
"Don't try to Holmes me, Hudson - it doesn't suit you," he replies, cocking his head around the door and fixing her with a wry look. "I only met him today. An old friend of a chap I know at Barts. He seems like he might be fun."
"I tell you what Sherlock - I've been up to my elbows in scouring powder all morning. How about if I have a break and you tell me all about it over a cup of tea?"
"Oh yes please - you know how I like it."
"No, Sherlock - I'm cleaning. You get the tea."
"I can't hear you Mrs Hudson," he cries, as he rushes downstairs to fetch more of his things.
"Excellent tea Mrs Hudson."
"Well it seemed that if I wanted one I'd have to make it myself."
"Oh, it wouldn't have felt right, intruding in your kitchen. It is still your kitchen after all, given that I can't move in until tomorrow."
"Can't move in? What do you call the chemistry set all over the kitchen table then?"
"Storage, Mrs Hudson. It all has to be somewhere."
She sighs and drinks her tea, considers a tactful strategy for eliciting the information she so desperately wants and then remembers that this is Sherlock Homes in her, in his, sitting room. Tactful would be neither effective or necessary.
"Tell me then. Who's the other person?"
"A doctor, a soldier and a thoroughly decent man. A war hero I'm sure. Judging by his wounds I'd be surprised if he hadn't been decorated. It takes some bravery under fire to get shot at like that. He exudes competence - I'd trust him with my life but, oh Mrs Hudson, I'm pretty certain I wouldn't trust him with his own."
"How long have you known him?"
"About ten minutes."
"Ten minutes! Sherlock you are impossible."
A grin.
"No, Mrs Hudson, just very, very improbable."
"You're smitten is what you are."
A pause and again, the wry look. "Why shouldn't I be? It's not as if I haven't been smitten before. I don't have to do anything about it. My work is my life. He might be nice to have around though."
"You make him sound like a pet. Does he know you like him?"
"I honestly don't know. As soon as he walked in I felt his incredible presence. He has such composure, one of the few qualities I suspect I might lack. I tried to remain aloof but you know how I am when I'm excited. I started grandstanding terribly."
Mrs Hudson laughs at this.
"You, Sherlock, showing off? Never?"
A warning eyebrow. "I hardly dared to look at him, but when he offered to lend me his phone I walked over to him has coolly as I could and said 'Afghanistan or Iraq?'"
"Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"Yes, you see he walked with a..."
"Spare me the details Sherlock. Those ones at least. I want to know more about this man."
"Well I could barely disguise how pleased I was with myself, and you know how pleased with myself I can be. I didn't dare look at him. I barely took my eyes off his phone, which, as luck would have it, gave me so much more to work with. I caught him off guard with a string of fairly elementary deductions as I walked out of the door. Gave him my name and address. It was all very cool but then," Sherlock drops his head into his hands and lets out a groan, "I think I may have given myself away."
"What did you do?"
"I winked at him."
Mrs Hudson laughs so hard that Sherlock winces as the papers begin to fall from their precarious stacks.
"He's coming to see the flat at 7. Will it be ready?"
"I can make it ready Sherlock. Don't worry. But can I give you a word of advice?"
"Advice? You can try."
"When you meet him here try not to break in. Just knock on the door like a normal person, yes?"
Sherlock has the taxi circle the block several times before he sees John approaching, resting heavily on his cane. Timing his appearance to perfection, he jumps out just as John reaches the door. He stands with a proprietorial air as he makes introductions - arm outstretched as he says "Mrs Hudson, Doctor John Watson." The tight little smile as gives the man his full name and title would pass unnoticed to anyone who wasn't looking for it.
The excellent impression Sherlock hoped to create doesn't materialise. John is not happy about the clutter, seems impressed by neither the skull nor the dramatic gesture with the icepick in the mantelpiece. But these setbacks were nothing to what happened next.
"What do you think then Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."
Sherlock's warning glare at Mrs Hudson goes unheeded as John quickly, rather too quickly, answers that of course they'll be needing two bedrooms. Sherlock hides his expression by burying his head in his laptop.
"I found your website last night," says John.
"What did you think?"
Sherlock turns, a satisfied grin playing at the corner of his mouth but his expression quickly changes as John makes it clear he's not convinced at all by the 'Science of Deduction.'
Sherlock has just begun a spirited defence of his methods that promises to become a little personal at John's expense. He has just thrown his theory about the alcoholic brother in John's face when Lestrade comes in bearing news of a fourth suicide. Suddenly Sherlock is in his element - commanding, intuitive, intelligent and fast. As Lestrade bows his thanks, Sherlock notices something new dawning in John's expression. Uncertainty? Well, if you're trying to impress someone it's better than outright disbelief.
Sherlock's professional demeanour leaves as suddenly as it arrived. He twines his scarf around his neck and dances out of the apartment.
"Have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" he calls back to the thoroughly puzzled-looking man in the sitting room.
For Sherlock, the evening is saved. There's a new case to be solved and he runs downstairs to his cab.
Upstairs, Mrs Hudson is making up for her earlier tactless comment to John with another one. Sherlock will never know how many of his finest adventures would never have happened if she hadn't told John, "I'll make you that cup of tea while you rest your leg,"
John's angry outburst carries all the way to the curb. Sherlock turns, his hand on the open door of the cab.
"So what if he definitely wants a room of his own?" says Sherlock to the startled cabbie, "I'm married to my work anyway, but I'm sure it would consider a threesome."
He slams the cab door shut and runs back to the flat. "Wait for me," he shouts to the driver, "there's someone upstairs that I need."
Part 2 (follows The Blind Banker) here: A Spanner in the Works
Part 3 (follows The Blind Banker) here: Stalemate
Sorry if I got the shipping the wrong way around to what you wanted OP but oh that *wink*. What was our man thinking?
Title: Love at first sight
Rating: PG or U?
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Notes: Major Study in Pink spoilers. In fact I just pinched about a third of the first 15 minutes.
Synopsis: Sherlock has hopes of impressing his new flatmate. He may have to settle for anything better than "piss off."
The door slams behind the tall, pale man as he leaps up the stairs two and three at a time.
"Mrs Hudson! Mrs Hudson! I will be staying after all! I've found someone to share with."
A startled face peers around the bathroom door, Marigold gloves gripping the edge.
"Sherlock? You terrified me. I know I didn't give you a set of keys yet."
Her eyes catch his slim fingers as they deftly stow what looks like a set of clever little hooks and screwdrivers in his jacket pocket.
"Lockpicks? Really Sherlock?"
"When I used them in Florida you didn't seem to mind."
"That was different. Why didn't you just knock?"
"What, and make you climb these stairs with your hip?"
"You're impossible. When I've cleaned this bathroom, that'll be the last of it. You can move in tomorrow if you like."
"I'm going to really appreciate your housekeeping Mrs Hudson," he shouts over his shoulder as he bounds away down the stairs.
"I'm your landlady Sherlock. I can give you the number of a good cleaner but I'm not..." but she's shouting at an empty hallway.
The door bangs open again and this time Sherlock's run is slightly slower. Mrs Hudson peers around the bathroom door again. The reason for the change in speed is readily apparent. Sherlock is carrying a stack of archive boxes in his long arms.
"I said tomorrow, Sherlock," she protests weakly. Already she wonders whether repaying her debt in this particular way was the right thing to do.
"No time to waste Mrs Hudson. Someone will be here this evening and I want everything to be ready. I want to make an excellent impression."
In the bathroom Mrs Hudson's eyebrow raises an appreciable fraction of an inch. Housekeeper or not, she has a keen ear for gossip and innuendo.
"So who is your new 'someone to share with,' then? You can't have known them long - you wouldn't be this happy to live with any of the people you know. "
"Don't try to Holmes me, Hudson - it doesn't suit you," he replies, cocking his head around the door and fixing her with a wry look. "I only met him today. An old friend of a chap I know at Barts. He seems like he might be fun."
"I tell you what Sherlock - I've been up to my elbows in scouring powder all morning. How about if I have a break and you tell me all about it over a cup of tea?"
"Oh yes please - you know how I like it."
"No, Sherlock - I'm cleaning. You get the tea."
"I can't hear you Mrs Hudson," he cries, as he rushes downstairs to fetch more of his things.
"Excellent tea Mrs Hudson."
"Well it seemed that if I wanted one I'd have to make it myself."
"Oh, it wouldn't have felt right, intruding in your kitchen. It is still your kitchen after all, given that I can't move in until tomorrow."
"Can't move in? What do you call the chemistry set all over the kitchen table then?"
"Storage, Mrs Hudson. It all has to be somewhere."
She sighs and drinks her tea, considers a tactful strategy for eliciting the information she so desperately wants and then remembers that this is Sherlock Homes in her, in his, sitting room. Tactful would be neither effective or necessary.
"Tell me then. Who's the other person?"
"A doctor, a soldier and a thoroughly decent man. A war hero I'm sure. Judging by his wounds I'd be surprised if he hadn't been decorated. It takes some bravery under fire to get shot at like that. He exudes competence - I'd trust him with my life but, oh Mrs Hudson, I'm pretty certain I wouldn't trust him with his own."
"How long have you known him?"
"About ten minutes."
"Ten minutes! Sherlock you are impossible."
A grin.
"No, Mrs Hudson, just very, very improbable."
"You're smitten is what you are."
A pause and again, the wry look. "Why shouldn't I be? It's not as if I haven't been smitten before. I don't have to do anything about it. My work is my life. He might be nice to have around though."
"You make him sound like a pet. Does he know you like him?"
"I honestly don't know. As soon as he walked in I felt his incredible presence. He has such composure, one of the few qualities I suspect I might lack. I tried to remain aloof but you know how I am when I'm excited. I started grandstanding terribly."
Mrs Hudson laughs at this.
"You, Sherlock, showing off? Never?"
A warning eyebrow. "I hardly dared to look at him, but when he offered to lend me his phone I walked over to him has coolly as I could and said 'Afghanistan or Iraq?'"
"Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"Yes, you see he walked with a..."
"Spare me the details Sherlock. Those ones at least. I want to know more about this man."
"Well I could barely disguise how pleased I was with myself, and you know how pleased with myself I can be. I didn't dare look at him. I barely took my eyes off his phone, which, as luck would have it, gave me so much more to work with. I caught him off guard with a string of fairly elementary deductions as I walked out of the door. Gave him my name and address. It was all very cool but then," Sherlock drops his head into his hands and lets out a groan, "I think I may have given myself away."
"What did you do?"
"I winked at him."
Mrs Hudson laughs so hard that Sherlock winces as the papers begin to fall from their precarious stacks.
"He's coming to see the flat at 7. Will it be ready?"
"I can make it ready Sherlock. Don't worry. But can I give you a word of advice?"
"Advice? You can try."
"When you meet him here try not to break in. Just knock on the door like a normal person, yes?"
Sherlock has the taxi circle the block several times before he sees John approaching, resting heavily on his cane. Timing his appearance to perfection, he jumps out just as John reaches the door. He stands with a proprietorial air as he makes introductions - arm outstretched as he says "Mrs Hudson, Doctor John Watson." The tight little smile as gives the man his full name and title would pass unnoticed to anyone who wasn't looking for it.
The excellent impression Sherlock hoped to create doesn't materialise. John is not happy about the clutter, seems impressed by neither the skull nor the dramatic gesture with the icepick in the mantelpiece. But these setbacks were nothing to what happened next.
"What do you think then Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."
Sherlock's warning glare at Mrs Hudson goes unheeded as John quickly, rather too quickly, answers that of course they'll be needing two bedrooms. Sherlock hides his expression by burying his head in his laptop.
"I found your website last night," says John.
"What did you think?"
Sherlock turns, a satisfied grin playing at the corner of his mouth but his expression quickly changes as John makes it clear he's not convinced at all by the 'Science of Deduction.'
Sherlock has just begun a spirited defence of his methods that promises to become a little personal at John's expense. He has just thrown his theory about the alcoholic brother in John's face when Lestrade comes in bearing news of a fourth suicide. Suddenly Sherlock is in his element - commanding, intuitive, intelligent and fast. As Lestrade bows his thanks, Sherlock notices something new dawning in John's expression. Uncertainty? Well, if you're trying to impress someone it's better than outright disbelief.
Sherlock's professional demeanour leaves as suddenly as it arrived. He twines his scarf around his neck and dances out of the apartment.
"Have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" he calls back to the thoroughly puzzled-looking man in the sitting room.
For Sherlock, the evening is saved. There's a new case to be solved and he runs downstairs to his cab.
Upstairs, Mrs Hudson is making up for her earlier tactless comment to John with another one. Sherlock will never know how many of his finest adventures would never have happened if she hadn't told John, "I'll make you that cup of tea while you rest your leg,"
John's angry outburst carries all the way to the curb. Sherlock turns, his hand on the open door of the cab.
"So what if he definitely wants a room of his own?" says Sherlock to the startled cabbie, "I'm married to my work anyway, but I'm sure it would consider a threesome."
He slams the cab door shut and runs back to the flat. "Wait for me," he shouts to the driver, "there's someone upstairs that I need."
Part 2 (follows The Blind Banker) here: A Spanner in the Works
Part 3 (follows The Blind Banker) here: Stalemate