Fic: Once More, With Feeling (2/7)
Title: Once More, With Feeling (2/7)
Author: red_carrigan
Pairing: Sherlock/John, a little bit of John/Mary
Length: 3,254
Genre: romance, fluff, humor
Warnings: None
Rating: PG-13
Summary: To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.
Notes: Written for this prompt.
Previous Parts: Part 1
"How would you describe our sex life?"
John pinched the bridge of his nose, "Sherlock, for the last time, my parents will not ask us about that."
"Are you quite sure?"
"Yes." John said the word with the kind of gravity that was reserved for the most vicious of curse words. Sherlock was undeterred, "I find it odd that they would not inquire about it."
John's response for several minutes was sputtered noises before he managed a meager, "Why?"
"Because my family would." This was said so matter-of-factly that John could only stare at him. But then, thinking of Mycroft, he found what was worse was the knowledge that he was not entirely surprised. Mycroft probably would inquire about their sex life. If they had one, which of course they didn't, and Christ, how on earth had he ended up in this predicament?
He decided to try and settle his mind on other affairs for the sake of his sanity but found that even when he attempted this, he somehow seemed to come back to the current state of affairs. He had spent most of the week prepping Sherlock to meet his parents - or, rather, it had been much the other way around.
The sex life question had merely been one in a long string as Sherlock groomed himself to play the part of the perfect partner. They had settled on the term 'partner' as it was the one that made John feel the least uncomfortable. The questions, however, made up for this. They ranged from the mundane ('where do you see our relationship going?') to the outlandish ('what, exactly, do your genitals look like?') and John began to wonder if it really would have been so awful to let his mother set him up with Mary Mud and any other girl she managed to drum up.
Not to mention there was the question of how the weather would hold out. John's parents lived out in the country and this was one of the many reasons that John had very little interaction with them. Traveling out to his old homestead was more than a bit inconvenient and the local weather forecast was dreadful. So bad that John knew if they didn't play their cards right his mother would force them to stay overnight, trapping them there.
The very idea flooded him with a kind of panic that he didn't think someone who had once been described as having 'nerves of steel' should suffer. Therefore he was eager to travel out there and get the whole sordid business over and done with as quickly as possible.
His advice to Sherlock had been simple - be yourself, but not yourself. In other words, he didn't want Sherlock to put on some big, theatrical number like he performed for suspects and witnesses when he wanted answers but he also didn't want Sherlock being rude, caustic, and possibly downright nasty to his parents.
When John had voiced this concern Sherlock had shot him the kind of glare that withered most people. Most people. John had merely held his ground, "Don't give me that look. You know you're not exactly warm and cuddly."
"Cuddly?" Sherlock repeated this as if it was an otherworldly concept and John couldn't help but laugh, "Now, see, there - that's the way you should be. Sort of…endearing."
"My finding you idiotic is endearing?"
"It is when you do it with that look on your face." John continued to chuckle, "Look, I know you can be charismatic, so, just…shoot for that. Or better yet, don't say much. In fact, the less you speak the better."
Part of John momentarily worried about hurting Sherlock's feelings with this remark but yet again Sherlock proved to be impervious. Still John heard himself add, "Besides, you won't even get the chance once you've met my mother she's…quite the chatterbox."
John wondered if Sherlock knew how much of an understatement this was. If not, he would find out soon enough. The pair traveled out early on Friday and as far as John could tell, everything was going according to plan. The sky did look threatening but nowhere near as ominous as had been reported and they were making exceedingly good time despite several initial start and stops - most of which had been caused by Sherlock. From making a quick stop at Bart's to remind Molly to keep a certain preserved gallbladder in proper storage to dashing into a Tesco's for some mysterious purpose he refused to reveal to John, Sherlock seemed almost intent on holding them up.
Yet for all this they found themselves reaching John's parent's home at a reasonable hour and it was John who approached the front door with heavy trepidation.
Sherlock, eyeing him, murmured softly, "Relax."
"Relax, yeah." John repeated under his breath, clearing his throat as he reached out a hand to knock on the door. His knuckles didn't even get within an inch of it before it flew open to reveal Emma Watson. She was a short, lively woman with eyes that matched John's and the moment she saw them both she let loose a peal of sound that could only be defined as overjoyed, "You're here! Both of you! At last, at last! Oh, waiting for this has been absolutely horrible! Oh John, my John, my baby - let me look at you!"
She cupped John's face in her hands before squeezing his arms and drawing him close, crushing him to her. She kissed the side of his face and drew back, sighing, "It's been forever! Last I saw you, you were heading off to god knows where and it was positively wretched for me! For your father! For both of us! We were so proud of you, yes, yes, and we're still proud, truly, but, oh, how I worried! And then you came back and we only ever had a chance to talk on the phone so seeing you now it's just, it's just, I'm so-"
Her words dissolved into choked sounds as she started fretting over him worse than ever. John knew for a fact that he was blushing from head to toe, his embarrassment beyond mortifying. He knew then that he would never hear the end of this from Sherlock and the night hadn't even started. He wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole. But knowing that this wish would go unanswered, he chose to do his best to pretend that Sherlock was not present.
Naturally his mother ruined this for him as she released him and turned her attention to the very person he was trying to overlook, "And you must be Sherlock!"
"Mrs. Watson." He returned with a slight nod.
"Oh, but just look at you! So tall! And you have such lovely bone structure and your eyes and your hair - all tousled, dark curls - and you're very handsome, you understand, terribly so. Like some Byronic hero! As a matter of fact I'm reading this novel right now, 'Ravishing of a Duchess' and the male character the author describes looks very much like-"
"Mum," John interrupted desperately, "Where's Dad?"
"Hmm? Your father? Imagine he's out back. Been mucking about in the garden shed for days on end now, always tinkering with something. If you ask me, I think he's out there smoking his pipe."
John frowned, "I thought he quit."
"He should quit, but you know how he is. Addictive personality. It's a Watson family trait. But what are we standing outside for? Come in, come in!" She started ushering them inside.
John couldn't help but feel the welcome pang of homesickness as he entered. Nothing had changed. The house still had the same lived-in charm - sunny yellow wallpaper in the sitting room, one of Gran's patchwork quilts flung over the back of the sofa, overstuffed bookshelves, the television crooning at a low volume and, as always, fresh cut flowers in a variety of vases dotted about here and there. A warm smell wafted from the kitchen - butter and something meaty and then the unmistakable scent of pipe tobacco that could only mean his father was around the corner. Mrs. Watson noticed the smell as well and started shaking her head, "Arthur! If you're done with that filthy habit of yours, you can come and see the boys!"
Arthur Watson came into view and once more it was easy to see how he was related to John - same ears, same nose - but when he spoke there was a gentle gruffness to it that belied his otherwise unassuming appearance, "Thank god you're here, son, you know you can't leave me alone with her. All she does is talk, talk, talk."
Mrs. Watson swatted at him, "Stop that! What will our guest think? He'll think we have an unhappy home, he'll think you don't love me, he'll think-"
"Lord help me, you know I love you, Emma." Mr. Watson rolled his eyes and then looked Sherlock up and down before saying to John, "So…this is your boyfriend?"
John almost swallowed his tongue at that word and started mumbling under his breath, "Ah, partner, yes…"
"He's a tall bloke. Taller than you. You like them tall?"
John answered with more mumbles; these ones completely inaudible, not that Mr. Watson was listening as he'd returned his attention to Sherlock, "Not a bad sight though - bit pretty."
"Arthur, he's not pretty! He's a man! He's handsome!" Mrs. Watson corrected and her husband shook his head, "Different words, same thing - blasted adjectives. That's why I taught chemistry," he spoke directly to Sherlock, "John says you've got a head for chemistry. Says you're a detective, which is good to hear - before you John was only attracted to idiots."
Mrs. Watson sucked in a loud breath and John's eyes narrowed. Sherlock's lips twitched and it became clear he was fighting off a smile, "Really?"
"Yes, don't remember any of their names, mind, but they were pretty much all the same make and model. Dumb. Not that I'm much better come to think of it, seeing as I didn't even offer a 'hello' and a handshake," he held out his hand, "Arthur Watson, John's father."
Sherlock took his hand and gave it a firm shake, "Sherlock Holmes."
"You like jokes, Sherlock?"
"Dad." John pleaded a hand going to his forehead, eyes closing because now it was starting - the unending nightmare.
"Come on, this is a good one. Promise."
"I'd very much like to hear your joke, Mr. Watson." Sherlock said with the kind of politeness that made John's eyes bug. Sherlock of all people asking to hear one of his father's lame jokes….unbelievable…
John could only excuse it with the knowledge that Sherlock didn't even know what he was getting himself into as Mr. Watson, puffing up proudly, asked, "Why do chemists call helium, curium and barium the medical elements?"
No one answered and Mr. Watson nudged John, "Come on - even you don't know? You're a doctor, after all."
John just shook his head and Mr. Watson chuckled, answering, "Because if you can't helium or curium, you barium!"
John wished he was dead.
Mr. and Mrs. Watson both chuckled and Sherlock's lips began twitching again as he replied smoothly, "Tell me, what is the dullest element?"
Mr. Watson's head tipped to one side thoughtfully, "I don't know."
"Bohrium." Sherlock dead panned and Mr. Watson started laughing again, patting him on the shoulder and John realized he had died - or at least stepped into another universe - because Sherlock had just made a joke. A chemistry joke. A lame chemistry joke just like his father who looked horribly pleased at this as he said, "That's good! I'll have to remember that one!"
Mrs. Watson shook her head, "I should go and check on dinner. I've made some nibbles for you to snack on in the meantime. Set them out on the table near the sofa. Just a few things - sticky squash with sesame seeds, cheese on toast, mango and prawn skewers, mini avocado tarts, rosemary-flavored olives, smoked salmon canapés…"
John looked at his mother incredulously, "A few things?"
She shrugged, "I wanted to offer a selection, that's all. For dinner I've made a lovely roast - which I see is rather a good thing. Your poor man is nothing but skin and bones! Honestly, John, don't you feed him up?"
"Mum-" John started to defend himself but his father cut in, grumbling, "She's been in that kitchen since the moment you said you were finally coming to visit. I told her not to make so much, but you know how she is. She can cook as much as she can talk, which is saying something. Hope you both brought your appetites with you."
Mrs. Watson turned, prepared to walk off towards the kitchen when Sherlock stopped her suddenly with a quick tap to one of her elbows. She looked at him as he reached into his voluminous coat and drew out a small package, "For you, Mrs. Watson."
She took it from him and, upon opening it, a warm smile blossomed on her face, "Oh my, how lovely! Arthur, look! Sherlock's brought us some wine to accompany dinner!"
John looked at Sherlock as if he'd grown another head. Sherlock bought his parent's a gift? Was the man ill? Possessed? The action seemed so totally out of character that John came to the conclusion that Sherlock must not have heeded his advice and had chosen to do some play acting for the evening after all.
As Mrs. Watson merrily announcing that she was going to go and chill the bottle and Mr. Watson went towards the food laid out on the table near the sofa, John drew Sherlock to one side, voice a low accusatory whisper, "Wine?"
Sherlock frowned, "Problem?"
"Yes!" John snapped, then relaxing slightly, sighed, "No. No, actually, no, not really, just…wasn't expecting that. When did you even-?" then John answered his own question, "That's what you went into Tesco's for?"
"John?" Mr. Watson spoke up and John turned to see his father motioning him over. John licked his lips; he wanted to talk to Sherlock more, find out what exactly he was up to, but he recognized that now wasn't the time. He joined his father on the sofa and the older Watson immediately started talking to his son about recent sports events followed by recent political events and before John knew it his mind was completely engaged on other matters.
Sherlock, for his part, was content to move about the house as a silent spectator. John caught sight of him now again - flipping through a book he had found or looking at a family photograph and while it was slightly distracting it didn't take too much of John's attention away from his father.
Truth be told, the more he talked to him, the more John realized how much he had missed him and, in essence, his family. While he had never gotten on particularly well with Harry he had had moments of familial closeness with both her and his parents. It had just been…intense at times. Despite the current appearances, they were by no means a perfect family. There had been squabbles and bitterness and unhappy times but then there had also been this - nice chats, good food, and gentle humor. Even if the humor sometimes came in the form of really bad chemistry jokes.
Mr. Watson cleared his throat, "I'm really glad you came to see us, John."
John ducked his head, "Ah, me too, Dad."
"And your man, he seems…good."
"Oh. Um. Yes. Well."
"Might be you two end up staying here tonight," Mr. Watson tugged at one ear absently, "They've been warning about flash floods and the like on the news; reporters are saying it's going to be close to calamitous."
"We'll be gone before then." John assured him, a prickle of sweat forming on the back of his neck at the very idea but his father looked thoughtful, "Well…if you have to stay, I'm just, it would be…" he cleared his throat again, avoiding John's eyes, "Your mother wouldn't mind is all."
John swallowed, not sure how to respond, when he suddenly noticed something quite distressing, "Where's Sherlock?"
Mr. Watson merely shrugged and John got to his feet. He walked into the kitchen to find Sherlock speaking with his mother. She had a hand to her mouth and was shaking and for a moment he feared the worst when suddenly she looked at him, eyes glassy, face red and he realized she was…laughing. Or more accurately, holding back an almost uncontrollable amount of laughter and when she saw him she started choking as she gave in, a strange mixture of nonsensical words and breathless giggles escaping her, "…criminals…explosives…biscuits…"
At the last word she truly lost control and was laughing so loud that she drew Mr. Watson into the kitchen. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of her, "What's so funny?"
"I don't know." John replied, eyes on Sherlock who, for his part, looked his normally stoic self.
Mrs. Watson waved a hand and tried to explain, but, again, could only manage snippets, "Sherlock…story…about criminals he caught and…explosive biscuits!" The last proved to be too much for her again and she had to hold on to one of the counters as she started wiping at her eyes, the near hysteric laughter bringing her to tears. When she finally managed to collect herself she took in a large gulp of air, sighing, "Oh my! That was good!" she turned her attention back to her cooking, waving a hand at them as she managed, "Dinner is ready. Best go have a seat…oh my, but I'm out of breath! Quite speechless!"
Mr. Watson raised an eyebrow, "Speechless?"
She could only manage a nod and Mr. Watson drew John close, whispering into his ear, "I take it back - your man isn't good, he's bloody brilliant. Rendering your mother speechless? I want him as my son-in-law!"
John's eyes widened at that suggestion as Mr. Watson patted his back smartly, "Come on then. Into the dining room."
John and Mr. Watson entered the dining room and as they took their seats at the table John became aware of the fact that Sherlock had not followed them. This was because he entered a moment later with Mrs. Watson, helping her carry in the food. Again John was completely gob smacked. What the bloody hell did Sherlock think he was doing?
Mrs. Watson, for her part, was nothing but glowing happiness as she beamed at Sherlock, "So nice of you to help me with this, dear!"
"It's no trouble." Sherlock assured her and John wanted to ask him how this was no trouble but apparently it was trouble for Sherlock to do something as simple as reach into his own coat pocket for his mobile phone. For god's sake, the man was being more helpful to John's mother than he had been to John in the entire time of their acquaintance!
But then this whole act was bizarre. Swapping jokes with his father and making his mother laugh to the point of tears? Yes, John had needed him to play the part of his partner but did he have to be so, well…perfect?
They were all finally seated and eating and it was surprisingly nice, the silence companionable until his mother (having finally caught her breath) spoiled it by not only speaking but by pointedly asking, "So, Sherlock…tell us a bit about yourself."
Part 3
Author: red_carrigan
Pairing: Sherlock/John, a little bit of John/Mary
Length: 3,254
Genre: romance, fluff, humor
Warnings: None
Rating: PG-13
Summary: To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.
Notes: Written for this prompt.
Previous Parts: Part 1
"How would you describe our sex life?"
John pinched the bridge of his nose, "Sherlock, for the last time, my parents will not ask us about that."
"Are you quite sure?"
"Yes." John said the word with the kind of gravity that was reserved for the most vicious of curse words. Sherlock was undeterred, "I find it odd that they would not inquire about it."
John's response for several minutes was sputtered noises before he managed a meager, "Why?"
"Because my family would." This was said so matter-of-factly that John could only stare at him. But then, thinking of Mycroft, he found what was worse was the knowledge that he was not entirely surprised. Mycroft probably would inquire about their sex life. If they had one, which of course they didn't, and Christ, how on earth had he ended up in this predicament?
He decided to try and settle his mind on other affairs for the sake of his sanity but found that even when he attempted this, he somehow seemed to come back to the current state of affairs. He had spent most of the week prepping Sherlock to meet his parents - or, rather, it had been much the other way around.
The sex life question had merely been one in a long string as Sherlock groomed himself to play the part of the perfect partner. They had settled on the term 'partner' as it was the one that made John feel the least uncomfortable. The questions, however, made up for this. They ranged from the mundane ('where do you see our relationship going?') to the outlandish ('what, exactly, do your genitals look like?') and John began to wonder if it really would have been so awful to let his mother set him up with Mary Mud and any other girl she managed to drum up.
Not to mention there was the question of how the weather would hold out. John's parents lived out in the country and this was one of the many reasons that John had very little interaction with them. Traveling out to his old homestead was more than a bit inconvenient and the local weather forecast was dreadful. So bad that John knew if they didn't play their cards right his mother would force them to stay overnight, trapping them there.
The very idea flooded him with a kind of panic that he didn't think someone who had once been described as having 'nerves of steel' should suffer. Therefore he was eager to travel out there and get the whole sordid business over and done with as quickly as possible.
His advice to Sherlock had been simple - be yourself, but not yourself. In other words, he didn't want Sherlock to put on some big, theatrical number like he performed for suspects and witnesses when he wanted answers but he also didn't want Sherlock being rude, caustic, and possibly downright nasty to his parents.
When John had voiced this concern Sherlock had shot him the kind of glare that withered most people. Most people. John had merely held his ground, "Don't give me that look. You know you're not exactly warm and cuddly."
"Cuddly?" Sherlock repeated this as if it was an otherworldly concept and John couldn't help but laugh, "Now, see, there - that's the way you should be. Sort of…endearing."
"My finding you idiotic is endearing?"
"It is when you do it with that look on your face." John continued to chuckle, "Look, I know you can be charismatic, so, just…shoot for that. Or better yet, don't say much. In fact, the less you speak the better."
Part of John momentarily worried about hurting Sherlock's feelings with this remark but yet again Sherlock proved to be impervious. Still John heard himself add, "Besides, you won't even get the chance once you've met my mother she's…quite the chatterbox."
John wondered if Sherlock knew how much of an understatement this was. If not, he would find out soon enough. The pair traveled out early on Friday and as far as John could tell, everything was going according to plan. The sky did look threatening but nowhere near as ominous as had been reported and they were making exceedingly good time despite several initial start and stops - most of which had been caused by Sherlock. From making a quick stop at Bart's to remind Molly to keep a certain preserved gallbladder in proper storage to dashing into a Tesco's for some mysterious purpose he refused to reveal to John, Sherlock seemed almost intent on holding them up.
Yet for all this they found themselves reaching John's parent's home at a reasonable hour and it was John who approached the front door with heavy trepidation.
Sherlock, eyeing him, murmured softly, "Relax."
"Relax, yeah." John repeated under his breath, clearing his throat as he reached out a hand to knock on the door. His knuckles didn't even get within an inch of it before it flew open to reveal Emma Watson. She was a short, lively woman with eyes that matched John's and the moment she saw them both she let loose a peal of sound that could only be defined as overjoyed, "You're here! Both of you! At last, at last! Oh, waiting for this has been absolutely horrible! Oh John, my John, my baby - let me look at you!"
She cupped John's face in her hands before squeezing his arms and drawing him close, crushing him to her. She kissed the side of his face and drew back, sighing, "It's been forever! Last I saw you, you were heading off to god knows where and it was positively wretched for me! For your father! For both of us! We were so proud of you, yes, yes, and we're still proud, truly, but, oh, how I worried! And then you came back and we only ever had a chance to talk on the phone so seeing you now it's just, it's just, I'm so-"
Her words dissolved into choked sounds as she started fretting over him worse than ever. John knew for a fact that he was blushing from head to toe, his embarrassment beyond mortifying. He knew then that he would never hear the end of this from Sherlock and the night hadn't even started. He wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole. But knowing that this wish would go unanswered, he chose to do his best to pretend that Sherlock was not present.
Naturally his mother ruined this for him as she released him and turned her attention to the very person he was trying to overlook, "And you must be Sherlock!"
"Mrs. Watson." He returned with a slight nod.
"Oh, but just look at you! So tall! And you have such lovely bone structure and your eyes and your hair - all tousled, dark curls - and you're very handsome, you understand, terribly so. Like some Byronic hero! As a matter of fact I'm reading this novel right now, 'Ravishing of a Duchess' and the male character the author describes looks very much like-"
"Mum," John interrupted desperately, "Where's Dad?"
"Hmm? Your father? Imagine he's out back. Been mucking about in the garden shed for days on end now, always tinkering with something. If you ask me, I think he's out there smoking his pipe."
John frowned, "I thought he quit."
"He should quit, but you know how he is. Addictive personality. It's a Watson family trait. But what are we standing outside for? Come in, come in!" She started ushering them inside.
John couldn't help but feel the welcome pang of homesickness as he entered. Nothing had changed. The house still had the same lived-in charm - sunny yellow wallpaper in the sitting room, one of Gran's patchwork quilts flung over the back of the sofa, overstuffed bookshelves, the television crooning at a low volume and, as always, fresh cut flowers in a variety of vases dotted about here and there. A warm smell wafted from the kitchen - butter and something meaty and then the unmistakable scent of pipe tobacco that could only mean his father was around the corner. Mrs. Watson noticed the smell as well and started shaking her head, "Arthur! If you're done with that filthy habit of yours, you can come and see the boys!"
Arthur Watson came into view and once more it was easy to see how he was related to John - same ears, same nose - but when he spoke there was a gentle gruffness to it that belied his otherwise unassuming appearance, "Thank god you're here, son, you know you can't leave me alone with her. All she does is talk, talk, talk."
Mrs. Watson swatted at him, "Stop that! What will our guest think? He'll think we have an unhappy home, he'll think you don't love me, he'll think-"
"Lord help me, you know I love you, Emma." Mr. Watson rolled his eyes and then looked Sherlock up and down before saying to John, "So…this is your boyfriend?"
John almost swallowed his tongue at that word and started mumbling under his breath, "Ah, partner, yes…"
"He's a tall bloke. Taller than you. You like them tall?"
John answered with more mumbles; these ones completely inaudible, not that Mr. Watson was listening as he'd returned his attention to Sherlock, "Not a bad sight though - bit pretty."
"Arthur, he's not pretty! He's a man! He's handsome!" Mrs. Watson corrected and her husband shook his head, "Different words, same thing - blasted adjectives. That's why I taught chemistry," he spoke directly to Sherlock, "John says you've got a head for chemistry. Says you're a detective, which is good to hear - before you John was only attracted to idiots."
Mrs. Watson sucked in a loud breath and John's eyes narrowed. Sherlock's lips twitched and it became clear he was fighting off a smile, "Really?"
"Yes, don't remember any of their names, mind, but they were pretty much all the same make and model. Dumb. Not that I'm much better come to think of it, seeing as I didn't even offer a 'hello' and a handshake," he held out his hand, "Arthur Watson, John's father."
Sherlock took his hand and gave it a firm shake, "Sherlock Holmes."
"You like jokes, Sherlock?"
"Dad." John pleaded a hand going to his forehead, eyes closing because now it was starting - the unending nightmare.
"Come on, this is a good one. Promise."
"I'd very much like to hear your joke, Mr. Watson." Sherlock said with the kind of politeness that made John's eyes bug. Sherlock of all people asking to hear one of his father's lame jokes….unbelievable…
John could only excuse it with the knowledge that Sherlock didn't even know what he was getting himself into as Mr. Watson, puffing up proudly, asked, "Why do chemists call helium, curium and barium the medical elements?"
No one answered and Mr. Watson nudged John, "Come on - even you don't know? You're a doctor, after all."
John just shook his head and Mr. Watson chuckled, answering, "Because if you can't helium or curium, you barium!"
John wished he was dead.
Mr. and Mrs. Watson both chuckled and Sherlock's lips began twitching again as he replied smoothly, "Tell me, what is the dullest element?"
Mr. Watson's head tipped to one side thoughtfully, "I don't know."
"Bohrium." Sherlock dead panned and Mr. Watson started laughing again, patting him on the shoulder and John realized he had died - or at least stepped into another universe - because Sherlock had just made a joke. A chemistry joke. A lame chemistry joke just like his father who looked horribly pleased at this as he said, "That's good! I'll have to remember that one!"
Mrs. Watson shook her head, "I should go and check on dinner. I've made some nibbles for you to snack on in the meantime. Set them out on the table near the sofa. Just a few things - sticky squash with sesame seeds, cheese on toast, mango and prawn skewers, mini avocado tarts, rosemary-flavored olives, smoked salmon canapés…"
John looked at his mother incredulously, "A few things?"
She shrugged, "I wanted to offer a selection, that's all. For dinner I've made a lovely roast - which I see is rather a good thing. Your poor man is nothing but skin and bones! Honestly, John, don't you feed him up?"
"Mum-" John started to defend himself but his father cut in, grumbling, "She's been in that kitchen since the moment you said you were finally coming to visit. I told her not to make so much, but you know how she is. She can cook as much as she can talk, which is saying something. Hope you both brought your appetites with you."
Mrs. Watson turned, prepared to walk off towards the kitchen when Sherlock stopped her suddenly with a quick tap to one of her elbows. She looked at him as he reached into his voluminous coat and drew out a small package, "For you, Mrs. Watson."
She took it from him and, upon opening it, a warm smile blossomed on her face, "Oh my, how lovely! Arthur, look! Sherlock's brought us some wine to accompany dinner!"
John looked at Sherlock as if he'd grown another head. Sherlock bought his parent's a gift? Was the man ill? Possessed? The action seemed so totally out of character that John came to the conclusion that Sherlock must not have heeded his advice and had chosen to do some play acting for the evening after all.
As Mrs. Watson merrily announcing that she was going to go and chill the bottle and Mr. Watson went towards the food laid out on the table near the sofa, John drew Sherlock to one side, voice a low accusatory whisper, "Wine?"
Sherlock frowned, "Problem?"
"Yes!" John snapped, then relaxing slightly, sighed, "No. No, actually, no, not really, just…wasn't expecting that. When did you even-?" then John answered his own question, "That's what you went into Tesco's for?"
"John?" Mr. Watson spoke up and John turned to see his father motioning him over. John licked his lips; he wanted to talk to Sherlock more, find out what exactly he was up to, but he recognized that now wasn't the time. He joined his father on the sofa and the older Watson immediately started talking to his son about recent sports events followed by recent political events and before John knew it his mind was completely engaged on other matters.
Sherlock, for his part, was content to move about the house as a silent spectator. John caught sight of him now again - flipping through a book he had found or looking at a family photograph and while it was slightly distracting it didn't take too much of John's attention away from his father.
Truth be told, the more he talked to him, the more John realized how much he had missed him and, in essence, his family. While he had never gotten on particularly well with Harry he had had moments of familial closeness with both her and his parents. It had just been…intense at times. Despite the current appearances, they were by no means a perfect family. There had been squabbles and bitterness and unhappy times but then there had also been this - nice chats, good food, and gentle humor. Even if the humor sometimes came in the form of really bad chemistry jokes.
Mr. Watson cleared his throat, "I'm really glad you came to see us, John."
John ducked his head, "Ah, me too, Dad."
"And your man, he seems…good."
"Oh. Um. Yes. Well."
"Might be you two end up staying here tonight," Mr. Watson tugged at one ear absently, "They've been warning about flash floods and the like on the news; reporters are saying it's going to be close to calamitous."
"We'll be gone before then." John assured him, a prickle of sweat forming on the back of his neck at the very idea but his father looked thoughtful, "Well…if you have to stay, I'm just, it would be…" he cleared his throat again, avoiding John's eyes, "Your mother wouldn't mind is all."
John swallowed, not sure how to respond, when he suddenly noticed something quite distressing, "Where's Sherlock?"
Mr. Watson merely shrugged and John got to his feet. He walked into the kitchen to find Sherlock speaking with his mother. She had a hand to her mouth and was shaking and for a moment he feared the worst when suddenly she looked at him, eyes glassy, face red and he realized she was…laughing. Or more accurately, holding back an almost uncontrollable amount of laughter and when she saw him she started choking as she gave in, a strange mixture of nonsensical words and breathless giggles escaping her, "…criminals…explosives…biscuits…"
At the last word she truly lost control and was laughing so loud that she drew Mr. Watson into the kitchen. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of her, "What's so funny?"
"I don't know." John replied, eyes on Sherlock who, for his part, looked his normally stoic self.
Mrs. Watson waved a hand and tried to explain, but, again, could only manage snippets, "Sherlock…story…about criminals he caught and…explosive biscuits!" The last proved to be too much for her again and she had to hold on to one of the counters as she started wiping at her eyes, the near hysteric laughter bringing her to tears. When she finally managed to collect herself she took in a large gulp of air, sighing, "Oh my! That was good!" she turned her attention back to her cooking, waving a hand at them as she managed, "Dinner is ready. Best go have a seat…oh my, but I'm out of breath! Quite speechless!"
Mr. Watson raised an eyebrow, "Speechless?"
She could only manage a nod and Mr. Watson drew John close, whispering into his ear, "I take it back - your man isn't good, he's bloody brilliant. Rendering your mother speechless? I want him as my son-in-law!"
John's eyes widened at that suggestion as Mr. Watson patted his back smartly, "Come on then. Into the dining room."
John and Mr. Watson entered the dining room and as they took their seats at the table John became aware of the fact that Sherlock had not followed them. This was because he entered a moment later with Mrs. Watson, helping her carry in the food. Again John was completely gob smacked. What the bloody hell did Sherlock think he was doing?
Mrs. Watson, for her part, was nothing but glowing happiness as she beamed at Sherlock, "So nice of you to help me with this, dear!"
"It's no trouble." Sherlock assured her and John wanted to ask him how this was no trouble but apparently it was trouble for Sherlock to do something as simple as reach into his own coat pocket for his mobile phone. For god's sake, the man was being more helpful to John's mother than he had been to John in the entire time of their acquaintance!
But then this whole act was bizarre. Swapping jokes with his father and making his mother laugh to the point of tears? Yes, John had needed him to play the part of his partner but did he have to be so, well…perfect?
They were all finally seated and eating and it was surprisingly nice, the silence companionable until his mother (having finally caught her breath) spoiled it by not only speaking but by pointedly asking, "So, Sherlock…tell us a bit about yourself."
Part 3