John the Beekeeper
anonymous
March 13 2011, 20:57:45 UTC
Post-Reichenbach fic. After Sherlock's "death" John has to clean out his flatmate's stuff and stumbles upon a load of books about beekeeping. With the rather large amount of money John inherited from Sherlock (who left everything to him) John buys a home in Sussex and begins keeping bees while running a small practice in town. Three years later, John finds Sherlock Holmes standing in the middle of his hives looking stunned. J/S preferable.
Re: John the Beekeepers0mmerspr0ssenMarch 13 2011, 21:04:01 UTC
And then, a swarm of angry killer bees attack Sherlock because he has broken their keepers heart? Oh the crack! Seconded! Especially if it's totally not cracky. :)
honey-bees, come build in the empty house 1/1
anonymous
March 22 2011, 03:36:42 UTC
All the bees disappear, that first winter.
John stares, confused, into the empty hive. A few desiccated corpses rattle around in one of the bottom frames. He wonders, distantly, if he ought to preserve the crime scene.
Varroa mites, perhaps, says a reply from Peter of the Sussex Beekeepers Association. Or a virus, or another parasite. Hard to tell now, with all the bees gone. Bad luck. But don't give up; there's always next spring.
He blogs about it, that evening, from an Internet cafe in Littlehampton. Lestrade comments, Too bad, mate.
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He does try again, the next spring, with two packages of Italian bees, after the clover and lavender he planted have started to bloom. He names the hives Mendelssohn and SchubertThe first time John tries a drop of the honey, he closes his eyes and nearly groans. He didn't know honey could taste like this, like herb gardens and spring and the wind over the downs
( ... )
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Seconded! Especially if it's totally not cracky. :)
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I was gonna make a joke about cranky bees and everything.
Uh, anyway, thirded =D
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Ha ha ha ha
Sorry Eddie Izzard just pops into my brain when ppl mention bee swarms.
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FOURTHED THIS; NEED IT LIKE I NEED AIR.
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John stares, confused, into the empty hive. A few desiccated corpses rattle around in one of the bottom frames. He wonders, distantly, if he ought to preserve the crime scene.
Varroa mites, perhaps, says a reply from Peter of the Sussex Beekeepers Association. Or a virus, or another parasite. Hard to tell now, with all the bees gone. Bad luck. But don't give up; there's always next spring.
He blogs about it, that evening, from an Internet cafe in Littlehampton. Lestrade comments, Too bad, mate.
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He does try again, the next spring, with two packages of Italian bees, after the clover and lavender he planted have started to bloom. He names the hives Mendelssohn and SchubertThe first time John tries a drop of the honey, he closes his eyes and nearly groans. He didn't know honey could taste like this, like herb gardens and spring and the wind over the downs ( ... )
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