Instead of roses
Note: Inspired by this Make me a Monday-prompt at sherlockbbc . Not sure I count it as a fill, but it did make my Tuesday, thinking about it and writing it at work.
Summary: John took Sally's advice and got a hobby. Gardening. The part about staying away from Sherlock he didn't listen to though.
***
When Sally Donovan had told him to get a hobby, John had actually listened. A hobby was good, it was relaxing; a way to rewind and take a break from running around London. The subtitle to her advice - that he should have a hobby instead of hanging around with Sherlock - had been consciously ignored; if he wouldn't have Sherlock in his life, no relaxing hobby would be needed.
Her suggestions - stamps and fishing - had been considered, but deemed, respectively, dull and too time consuming. Instead, John had taken up gardening. Not that the flat had anything that could have anything that even came close to a garden, but pot plants did the trick, even if the terminology didn't really fit.
So with Mrs. Hudson's blessing, John had turned 221 B Baker street into a small jungle after both he and Sherlock had recovered from the pool incident. At least the sitting room. Sherlock had complained in the beginning, but John saw it as payback time for every single experiment Sherlock had conducted since they moved in. Lestrade had been fairly suspicious the first time he saw all the green plants in the “former” drug addict's and the doctor's flat, but after a guided tour he believed John when he said it was only flowers. And a small yucca tree.
It was quite hard to get anything to grow properly; if it was because of the lack of clean air in London in general, the insignificant amount of sun that found it's way into the flat or just because Sherlock's experiments could disturb every ecosystem in the world. John rose to the challenge and managed quite well.
“John...” Sherlock said in a suspicious voice one night when John sat at the kitchen table, grooming his bonsai tree.
“Yes?”
“What is that?” Sherlock wondered, pointing at a pot with a several half-meter high plants with dark purple, helmet shaped flowers.
“Oh, that,” John glanced up to see where Sherlock was pointing, “That's monkshood. Aconitum napellus.”
”And that?” Sherlock went on, pointing at a pot in the window; the plant had lobed leafs and small white flowers.
“Sanguinaria canadensis...bloodroot,” John supplied, not really sure if Sherlock wanted the Latin or the more common English names. It did however feel good to know both genus and species of the flowers he grew.
“And those?” Sherlock continued and John had to put down a small scissors he used on the bonsai.
“Poppies,” John said with a small smirk, “Why?”
“They're all poisonous,” Sherlock informed, sounding very disturbed, “Did you know that?”
“Yes,” John's smirk grew into a small laugh, “I am a doctor Sherlock, most of them are or were used as medicine.”
“You intentionally grow poisonous plants?” Sherlock wanted to clarify.
“I thought you'd like it better than roses,” John admitted with a small blush on his cheeks.
“You grew them for me?” Sherlock stared at John, who's red cheeks turned redder.
“Yea....”
Sherlock smiled a soft smile, eyes filling up with devotion and affection. The blush slowly subsided from John's face and he looked at Sherlock the same way.
“John....” Sherlock's voice was low, “That's brilliant, Lestrade will never figure it out!”
John knew it was probably the closest thing he would get to a spoken 'thank you'. It didn't need to be said.
“Glad you liked it,” John said, smiling, “But please don't kill anyone Sherlock.”
Sherlock smirked and turned to harvest some of the leaves from the bloodroots. John wondered if he should be worried, but he was mostly happy that Sherlock had appreciated his gift. Not to mention that they both could share the hobby now.
Summary: John took Sally's advice and got a hobby. Gardening. The part about staying away from Sherlock he didn't listen to though.
***
When Sally Donovan had told him to get a hobby, John had actually listened. A hobby was good, it was relaxing; a way to rewind and take a break from running around London. The subtitle to her advice - that he should have a hobby instead of hanging around with Sherlock - had been consciously ignored; if he wouldn't have Sherlock in his life, no relaxing hobby would be needed.
Her suggestions - stamps and fishing - had been considered, but deemed, respectively, dull and too time consuming. Instead, John had taken up gardening. Not that the flat had anything that could have anything that even came close to a garden, but pot plants did the trick, even if the terminology didn't really fit.
So with Mrs. Hudson's blessing, John had turned 221 B Baker street into a small jungle after both he and Sherlock had recovered from the pool incident. At least the sitting room. Sherlock had complained in the beginning, but John saw it as payback time for every single experiment Sherlock had conducted since they moved in. Lestrade had been fairly suspicious the first time he saw all the green plants in the “former” drug addict's and the doctor's flat, but after a guided tour he believed John when he said it was only flowers. And a small yucca tree.
It was quite hard to get anything to grow properly; if it was because of the lack of clean air in London in general, the insignificant amount of sun that found it's way into the flat or just because Sherlock's experiments could disturb every ecosystem in the world. John rose to the challenge and managed quite well.
“John...” Sherlock said in a suspicious voice one night when John sat at the kitchen table, grooming his bonsai tree.
“Yes?”
“What is that?” Sherlock wondered, pointing at a pot with a several half-meter high plants with dark purple, helmet shaped flowers.
“Oh, that,” John glanced up to see where Sherlock was pointing, “That's monkshood. Aconitum napellus.”
”And that?” Sherlock went on, pointing at a pot in the window; the plant had lobed leafs and small white flowers.
“Sanguinaria canadensis...bloodroot,” John supplied, not really sure if Sherlock wanted the Latin or the more common English names. It did however feel good to know both genus and species of the flowers he grew.
“And those?” Sherlock continued and John had to put down a small scissors he used on the bonsai.
“Poppies,” John said with a small smirk, “Why?”
“They're all poisonous,” Sherlock informed, sounding very disturbed, “Did you know that?”
“Yes,” John's smirk grew into a small laugh, “I am a doctor Sherlock, most of them are or were used as medicine.”
“You intentionally grow poisonous plants?” Sherlock wanted to clarify.
“I thought you'd like it better than roses,” John admitted with a small blush on his cheeks.
“You grew them for me?” Sherlock stared at John, who's red cheeks turned redder.
“Yea....”
Sherlock smiled a soft smile, eyes filling up with devotion and affection. The blush slowly subsided from John's face and he looked at Sherlock the same way.
“John....” Sherlock's voice was low, “That's brilliant, Lestrade will never figure it out!”
John knew it was probably the closest thing he would get to a spoken 'thank you'. It didn't need to be said.
“Glad you liked it,” John said, smiling, “But please don't kill anyone Sherlock.”
Sherlock smirked and turned to harvest some of the leaves from the bloodroots. John wondered if he should be worried, but he was mostly happy that Sherlock had appreciated his gift. Not to mention that they both could share the hobby now.