Fic for mistyzeo: A Diamond in the What?
Dec. 10th, 2013 06:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holmesticemods posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
holmesticeTitle: A Diamond in the What?
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
piplover
Recipient:mistyzeo
Rating: Gen
Pairing : None
Wordcount : 2400
Warnings : Negative views of children
Summary: Babies, babies, everywhere, but where is the diamond? And can John keep Sherlock from going crazy?
Author’s Notes : I hope you enjoy this! I tried to get John and Sherlock to have some sexy times, but Sherlock was adamantly asexual in this. I hope it’s still a fun read!
If there were a hell, Sherlock thought grumpily, he was in it. That, or Scotland Yard was playing a far crueler joke on him than he ever would have given them credit for. It was the only explanation he could think of for being summoned to such a ridiculous event as the Children’s Christmas Fashion Show and Charity Auction for Babies in Need.
As far as Sherlock was concerned, anyone stupid enough to dress a child under the age of two in gaudy, tasteless, and expensive designer clothes and jewelry deserved having those same articles lost or stolen. Scotland Yard, it seemed, disagreed.
The Langham, a hotel which normally only catered to the rich and famous, was currently swarming with police and security. Sherlock could practically hear the concierge tearing his hair out over the possible loss of revenue.
That is, he would have been able to hear if not for all the crying, wailing, screaming, and otherwise thoroughly distracting babies. They were everywhere, being held by bejeweled mothers and fathers whose wardrobe rivaled John’s yearly salary, leaking hideous bodily fluids over everything they touched.
It was hell on Earth.
“Wow.” Standing beside him, John whistled softly at all the glittering celebrities who had decided to turn their offspring into walking charity donations.
“Disgusting, I know,” Sherlock agreed, scowling at the seething mass of humanity. “The sooner we finish, the better.”
“Not quite what I was thinking,” John said, a little smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “It was more of a ‘Wow, I haven’t seen this many celebrities gathered in one place since they aired the BAFTAs.”
“Yes, as I said, disgusting,” Sherlock growled, searching the crowd for the familiar figure of Lestrade.
He finally spotted the Detective Inspector near the back entrance, talking to a member of the wait staff. As they neared, they could hear the young woman giving her account of the last hour, her voice raised to be heard above the room of babbling infants.
“… and then she started screaming that someone had taken her necklace! Of course, the moment we knew anything was wrong we tried to contain the situation, but it was like someone had kicked a hornet’s nest!”
Lestrade acknowledged Sherlock’s approach with a small nod, though he didn’t remove his attention from what was being said. Sherlock eyed the woman carefully before sniffing in disdain and moving to stand behind the inspector to read over his shoulder.
“Thank you, miss, that’s all for now,” Lestrade said kindly, snapping his book closed and waiting until the woman had turned to leave before casting a glare Sherlock’s direction.
John watched as she scurried back to a table where it seemed all the hotel staff in the room at the time of the robbery had gathered. Six servers, a man in chef’s whites, three women in uniform grey and black, and someone John could have sworn was an honest to God butler. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the conversation beside him, noting Sherlock’s scowl and wondering how long it would take for him to lose his patience. He took a step closer, just in case.
“Surely even you lot are not this dumb!” he snapped, scowling as John put a calming hand on his elbow, taking a deep breath before continuing.
“Has it occurred to no one to, I don’t know, search the children?” If Sherlock’s voice had been any more cutting it would have drawn blood.
“As a matter of fact, yes, we are checking right now. Despite what you may think, we aren’t idiots, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, glaring as he met Sherlock’s eyes. “So far, nothing. We’ve even had the parents check the diapers of the babies to make sure - well, just to make sure.”
Sherlock cast his gaze to the ceiling, as though asking for patience from a deity.
“And the toys? Have you searched those?” The sarcasm was practically dripping from his words, his tone so steeped in it.
For a moment Lestrade crinkled his brow, as through unable to understand the question.
“What do you mean, search the toys?” he demanded.
“Dear God, you lot are slow today. Which one lost the necklace?” he asked, turning to scan the crowd.
“Marian Sutcliff,” Lestrade drawled, his irritation nearly vanishing as he savored the name.
“No!” John gasped, craning his neck to try and see around the gaggle of men and women who congregated near a woman in an almost indecently low-cut black dress.
“Do you know her?” Sherlock asked, taken aback at John’s reaction. “That could complicate matters.”
John and Lestrade shared an incredulous look.
“Marian Sutcliff, Sherlock,” John said, as though repeating the name would convey some meaning that had been lost the first time it was uttered. At Sherlock’s continued blank star, John closed his eyes and scrunched his nose up. “Marian Sutcliff, Sherlock! The actress who won two BAFTAs for leading lady two years running? The lead actress in Three Hearts for Juniper? Married to Colin McGregor?”
Although his voice did not rise above speaking level, John’s tone had become increasingly desperate at his friend’s continued lack of understanding.
“Good God, Sherlock, she’s one of the most in-demand actresses in England!” Lestrade hissed, nodding his head in the direction of the woman.
“Oh, dull,” Sherlock sighed, seeming to lose interest. “When is her divorce going to be final? Since you two seem to know everything about her.”
John sputtered for a moment and Lestrade gaped unattractively like a fish.
“She’s not getting a divorce,” John finally said, a plaintive note creeping into his tone.
“Really?” Sherlock asked, and his raised eyebrow made it clear what he considered of such a statement. He turned his grey eyes once more to the woman in question, who was holding a baby swathed in blue and purple to her chest, absently bouncing him against her hip. Gripped in the child’s hand was a plush, stuffed caterpillar.
“Sherlock!” Lestrade hissed, reaching out too late to grab him as Sherlock strode over to the group, donning an innocent expression.
“Dear God, what’s he doing?” John muttered, sharing a quick, exasperated look with Lestrade before they both moved quickly to attempt damage control, catching the tail end of whatever lie Sherlock had concocted.
“…she would absolutely love something like this. Is it possible for me to take a quick look? I promise to give it right back.” Sherlock’s voice oozed false charm and innocence, his expression perfectly guileless as he focused on the toy clutched in a sticky, chubby hand.
“I’m not- It’s his favorite toy,” Marian Sutcliff murmured, turning slightly to move both baby and stuffed creature away from Sherlock.
“Perfectly understandable,” Sherlock agreed, his smile taking on an edge. “However, if you truly wish to reclaim your necklace, I think it would be in your best interest to hand it over now.”
“Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to hand over the…caterpillar,” Lestrade said firmly, halting only slightly at the absurdity of the statement.
The actress’ eyes locked with Sherlock’s as she slowly pried the toy out of the baby’s hand and held it out to Lestrade. Immediately the child started to fuss, wiggling in his mother’s arms and whimpering as Lestrade took the caterpillar and turned it over to expose the nearly invisible zipper.
Wasting no time as the baby’s cries began to increase, he pulled the zipper down and pulled the stuffing aside. Nestled securely in a bed of cotton sat a diamond the size of a walnut.
“I think that’s all you’ll be needing now, Lestrade,” Sherlock said cheerfully, clapping his hands together and turning to leave. “John, come along. Let’s depart this place before I do something we‘ll all regret.”
John sighed as he took one last look at the assembled movie stars and glittering children before hurriedly moving to catch up to his friend.
***
Outside, the evening was clear and brisk, with a hint of snow in the air that had John’s shoulder aching even as he enjoyed the chill against his cheeks. With Christmas being only a few days away, the streets were crowded with last minute shoppers and the glaring lights of billboards and tacky decorations.
“You know, we could have stayed a bit longer,” John said conversationally as they walked. “Had a few appetizers, rubbed some elbows with the rich and famous. It might have even been fun.”
Sherlock scoffed, turning an incredulous look John’s way. “Fun? The only thing fun about that debacle was the look on Lestrade’s face when he ordered that woman to turn over the caterpillar.”
John snickered, bumping his shoulder against Sherlock’s arm as he did so. “That was pretty funny. Still, what a shame such a talented woman resorted to such petty tactics. And involving her own child…”
“The world is full of women who use their children as pawns and bargaining chips every day, John. That hell hole was nothing more than a chance for those people to dress their children up like dolls and parade them around like marionettes. There’s a reason birth control was invented, and I only wish more people would indulge.”
“Sherlock!” It wasn’t often that Sherlock could render John near speechless, but this was one of those times. “What a horrible thing to say!”
“But true.” Sherlock shrugged, unconcerned by John’s shock. “People do enjoy writhing around with each other for a few minutes of pleasure. Such a horribly messy thing, and the consequences are more far reaching than most imagine. Better to just abstain.”
“There’s nothing wrong with sex, Sherlock. It’s a healthy, normal way for people to enjoy each other’s company,” John protested, though there was no heat to his words. He knew his friend wasn’t wired to appreciate such things, and trying to explain the carnal joys was rather like trying to explain color to a blind man. Without the ability to experience such things, they became irrelevant and unimportant. “However, I do agree that more should take into account the consequences.”
“Hmm,” Sherlock agreed, pausing to allow a woman burdened down with five shopping bags to pass before starting down a side street. “I’ve honestly never understood the appeal of sharing bodily fluids. Masturbation is fine, of course, but the thought of having another person touch me is rather repellent. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to want to be so physically close to another that your brain stops working.”
John smiled as Sherlock shuddered in real horror.
“Different people, different desires. It’s all fine.”
“Whatever shakes your boat?” Sherlock asked, a teasing smile just visible in the evening’s shadows as John laughed at the unexpected reference to their first dinner together.
“Exactly,” John agreed.
The remaining walk to Baker Street was spent in companionable silence.
***
They settled in their chairs before the fire, mugs of tea warming their chilled hands.
“Have you ever?” John asked, quietly, as the warmth of the flat settled about them. “Been with anyone, I mean.”
Sherlock paused with the tea halfway to his mouth before he took a sip, shaking his head slightly as he did so.
“As I said, I’ve never seen the purpose of it, or felt the desire to do so. While other boys were playing kiss chase at recess, I was studying insects or reading. At university… well, you met Sebastian. Would you be inspired, surrounded by that lot?”
“Fair point.” John took a drink of his own tea, closing his eyes as he savored the heat and flavor. “What about now, though? You’re not limited to the shallow end of the gene pool for partners.”
“Just because there are more choices doesn’t mean I wish to indulge in them,” Sherlock countered, his eyes narrowing as he studied John carefully. “Why the sudden interest?”
“Oh, no reason. Just curious, I suppose. We’ve never discussed such things, and I was interested.” John smiled as he took another sip of tea, stretching his legs and wiggling his bare feet against the carpet.
“And what about you?” Sherlock asked, mimicking John’s position and letting his feet settle closer to the warmth of the fire. “I know you have an appallingly average sex drive for a man your age, but are you interested in children?” There was honest curiosity in the question, along with a hint of something John couldn’t immediately identify.
“Ta,” John scowled, glaring for good measure before relenting and answering the question. “I’ve never really thought about children, other than in the abstract. You know, looking forward to getting married, settling down and raising a family.”
“How horrible,” Sherlock grimaced. “You’d be out of your skull with boredom in a few years. Not exactly conducive to your lifestyle, getting married and spawning.”
“Stop it,” John chided, kicking Sherlock gently. “Just because you’re against children doesn’t mean the rest of the world is. Even if you are right, it’s rather nice to dream about it every now and then. Besides, if I ever did have children, they’d have their Uncle Sherlock to teach them to do all the things I’d be too horrified to,” John added, a mischievous grin growing as Sherlock gaped at him in horror.
“Don’t even joke about such things!” he ordered, pulling his legs up into the chair until he was huddled there, as though afraid to be inflicted with John’s imaginary family.
They remained silent for a while after that, the mood easy and relaxed as they finished their tea. Only after the last dregs had been drained did John stand, stretching.
“I’m making pasta tonight, with those meatballs you like. There’s a new documentary on mummies I want to watch, too, so if you want the TV, you’re out of luck.”
“I think I can suffer through mummies,” Sherlock mused, watching John make his way into the kitchen.
Watching his friend go about preparing their dinner, the fairy lights twinkling merrily from the small tree John had insisted upon, Sherlock felt himself relax fully for the first time since he had stepped foot in that hotel.
His friend may enjoy the deplorably pedestrian pleasures of sex, but it was Sherlock he came home to, and Sherlock he shared meals and television with. Compared to the quiet comforts of home, the detective knew no fleeting pleasure could ever compare.
John would realize that, too, in his own time. Until then, Sherlock would enjoy the quiet moments and wait for John to catch up. He always did, in the end.
Author:
piploverRecipient:
mistyzeoRating: Gen
Pairing : None
Wordcount : 2400
Warnings : Negative views of children
Summary: Babies, babies, everywhere, but where is the diamond? And can John keep Sherlock from going crazy?
Author’s Notes : I hope you enjoy this! I tried to get John and Sherlock to have some sexy times, but Sherlock was adamantly asexual in this. I hope it’s still a fun read!
If there were a hell, Sherlock thought grumpily, he was in it. That, or Scotland Yard was playing a far crueler joke on him than he ever would have given them credit for. It was the only explanation he could think of for being summoned to such a ridiculous event as the Children’s Christmas Fashion Show and Charity Auction for Babies in Need.
As far as Sherlock was concerned, anyone stupid enough to dress a child under the age of two in gaudy, tasteless, and expensive designer clothes and jewelry deserved having those same articles lost or stolen. Scotland Yard, it seemed, disagreed.
The Langham, a hotel which normally only catered to the rich and famous, was currently swarming with police and security. Sherlock could practically hear the concierge tearing his hair out over the possible loss of revenue.
That is, he would have been able to hear if not for all the crying, wailing, screaming, and otherwise thoroughly distracting babies. They were everywhere, being held by bejeweled mothers and fathers whose wardrobe rivaled John’s yearly salary, leaking hideous bodily fluids over everything they touched.
It was hell on Earth.
“Wow.” Standing beside him, John whistled softly at all the glittering celebrities who had decided to turn their offspring into walking charity donations.
“Disgusting, I know,” Sherlock agreed, scowling at the seething mass of humanity. “The sooner we finish, the better.”
“Not quite what I was thinking,” John said, a little smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “It was more of a ‘Wow, I haven’t seen this many celebrities gathered in one place since they aired the BAFTAs.”
“Yes, as I said, disgusting,” Sherlock growled, searching the crowd for the familiar figure of Lestrade.
He finally spotted the Detective Inspector near the back entrance, talking to a member of the wait staff. As they neared, they could hear the young woman giving her account of the last hour, her voice raised to be heard above the room of babbling infants.
“… and then she started screaming that someone had taken her necklace! Of course, the moment we knew anything was wrong we tried to contain the situation, but it was like someone had kicked a hornet’s nest!”
Lestrade acknowledged Sherlock’s approach with a small nod, though he didn’t remove his attention from what was being said. Sherlock eyed the woman carefully before sniffing in disdain and moving to stand behind the inspector to read over his shoulder.
“Thank you, miss, that’s all for now,” Lestrade said kindly, snapping his book closed and waiting until the woman had turned to leave before casting a glare Sherlock’s direction.
John watched as she scurried back to a table where it seemed all the hotel staff in the room at the time of the robbery had gathered. Six servers, a man in chef’s whites, three women in uniform grey and black, and someone John could have sworn was an honest to God butler. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the conversation beside him, noting Sherlock’s scowl and wondering how long it would take for him to lose his patience. He took a step closer, just in case.
“Surely even you lot are not this dumb!” he snapped, scowling as John put a calming hand on his elbow, taking a deep breath before continuing.
“Has it occurred to no one to, I don’t know, search the children?” If Sherlock’s voice had been any more cutting it would have drawn blood.
“As a matter of fact, yes, we are checking right now. Despite what you may think, we aren’t idiots, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, glaring as he met Sherlock’s eyes. “So far, nothing. We’ve even had the parents check the diapers of the babies to make sure - well, just to make sure.”
Sherlock cast his gaze to the ceiling, as though asking for patience from a deity.
“And the toys? Have you searched those?” The sarcasm was practically dripping from his words, his tone so steeped in it.
For a moment Lestrade crinkled his brow, as through unable to understand the question.
“What do you mean, search the toys?” he demanded.
“Dear God, you lot are slow today. Which one lost the necklace?” he asked, turning to scan the crowd.
“Marian Sutcliff,” Lestrade drawled, his irritation nearly vanishing as he savored the name.
“No!” John gasped, craning his neck to try and see around the gaggle of men and women who congregated near a woman in an almost indecently low-cut black dress.
“Do you know her?” Sherlock asked, taken aback at John’s reaction. “That could complicate matters.”
John and Lestrade shared an incredulous look.
“Marian Sutcliff, Sherlock,” John said, as though repeating the name would convey some meaning that had been lost the first time it was uttered. At Sherlock’s continued blank star, John closed his eyes and scrunched his nose up. “Marian Sutcliff, Sherlock! The actress who won two BAFTAs for leading lady two years running? The lead actress in Three Hearts for Juniper? Married to Colin McGregor?”
Although his voice did not rise above speaking level, John’s tone had become increasingly desperate at his friend’s continued lack of understanding.
“Good God, Sherlock, she’s one of the most in-demand actresses in England!” Lestrade hissed, nodding his head in the direction of the woman.
“Oh, dull,” Sherlock sighed, seeming to lose interest. “When is her divorce going to be final? Since you two seem to know everything about her.”
John sputtered for a moment and Lestrade gaped unattractively like a fish.
“She’s not getting a divorce,” John finally said, a plaintive note creeping into his tone.
“Really?” Sherlock asked, and his raised eyebrow made it clear what he considered of such a statement. He turned his grey eyes once more to the woman in question, who was holding a baby swathed in blue and purple to her chest, absently bouncing him against her hip. Gripped in the child’s hand was a plush, stuffed caterpillar.
“Sherlock!” Lestrade hissed, reaching out too late to grab him as Sherlock strode over to the group, donning an innocent expression.
“Dear God, what’s he doing?” John muttered, sharing a quick, exasperated look with Lestrade before they both moved quickly to attempt damage control, catching the tail end of whatever lie Sherlock had concocted.
“…she would absolutely love something like this. Is it possible for me to take a quick look? I promise to give it right back.” Sherlock’s voice oozed false charm and innocence, his expression perfectly guileless as he focused on the toy clutched in a sticky, chubby hand.
“I’m not- It’s his favorite toy,” Marian Sutcliff murmured, turning slightly to move both baby and stuffed creature away from Sherlock.
“Perfectly understandable,” Sherlock agreed, his smile taking on an edge. “However, if you truly wish to reclaim your necklace, I think it would be in your best interest to hand it over now.”
“Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to hand over the…caterpillar,” Lestrade said firmly, halting only slightly at the absurdity of the statement.
The actress’ eyes locked with Sherlock’s as she slowly pried the toy out of the baby’s hand and held it out to Lestrade. Immediately the child started to fuss, wiggling in his mother’s arms and whimpering as Lestrade took the caterpillar and turned it over to expose the nearly invisible zipper.
Wasting no time as the baby’s cries began to increase, he pulled the zipper down and pulled the stuffing aside. Nestled securely in a bed of cotton sat a diamond the size of a walnut.
“I think that’s all you’ll be needing now, Lestrade,” Sherlock said cheerfully, clapping his hands together and turning to leave. “John, come along. Let’s depart this place before I do something we‘ll all regret.”
John sighed as he took one last look at the assembled movie stars and glittering children before hurriedly moving to catch up to his friend.
***
Outside, the evening was clear and brisk, with a hint of snow in the air that had John’s shoulder aching even as he enjoyed the chill against his cheeks. With Christmas being only a few days away, the streets were crowded with last minute shoppers and the glaring lights of billboards and tacky decorations.
“You know, we could have stayed a bit longer,” John said conversationally as they walked. “Had a few appetizers, rubbed some elbows with the rich and famous. It might have even been fun.”
Sherlock scoffed, turning an incredulous look John’s way. “Fun? The only thing fun about that debacle was the look on Lestrade’s face when he ordered that woman to turn over the caterpillar.”
John snickered, bumping his shoulder against Sherlock’s arm as he did so. “That was pretty funny. Still, what a shame such a talented woman resorted to such petty tactics. And involving her own child…”
“The world is full of women who use their children as pawns and bargaining chips every day, John. That hell hole was nothing more than a chance for those people to dress their children up like dolls and parade them around like marionettes. There’s a reason birth control was invented, and I only wish more people would indulge.”
“Sherlock!” It wasn’t often that Sherlock could render John near speechless, but this was one of those times. “What a horrible thing to say!”
“But true.” Sherlock shrugged, unconcerned by John’s shock. “People do enjoy writhing around with each other for a few minutes of pleasure. Such a horribly messy thing, and the consequences are more far reaching than most imagine. Better to just abstain.”
“There’s nothing wrong with sex, Sherlock. It’s a healthy, normal way for people to enjoy each other’s company,” John protested, though there was no heat to his words. He knew his friend wasn’t wired to appreciate such things, and trying to explain the carnal joys was rather like trying to explain color to a blind man. Without the ability to experience such things, they became irrelevant and unimportant. “However, I do agree that more should take into account the consequences.”
“Hmm,” Sherlock agreed, pausing to allow a woman burdened down with five shopping bags to pass before starting down a side street. “I’ve honestly never understood the appeal of sharing bodily fluids. Masturbation is fine, of course, but the thought of having another person touch me is rather repellent. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to want to be so physically close to another that your brain stops working.”
John smiled as Sherlock shuddered in real horror.
“Different people, different desires. It’s all fine.”
“Whatever shakes your boat?” Sherlock asked, a teasing smile just visible in the evening’s shadows as John laughed at the unexpected reference to their first dinner together.
“Exactly,” John agreed.
The remaining walk to Baker Street was spent in companionable silence.
***
They settled in their chairs before the fire, mugs of tea warming their chilled hands.
“Have you ever?” John asked, quietly, as the warmth of the flat settled about them. “Been with anyone, I mean.”
Sherlock paused with the tea halfway to his mouth before he took a sip, shaking his head slightly as he did so.
“As I said, I’ve never seen the purpose of it, or felt the desire to do so. While other boys were playing kiss chase at recess, I was studying insects or reading. At university… well, you met Sebastian. Would you be inspired, surrounded by that lot?”
“Fair point.” John took a drink of his own tea, closing his eyes as he savored the heat and flavor. “What about now, though? You’re not limited to the shallow end of the gene pool for partners.”
“Just because there are more choices doesn’t mean I wish to indulge in them,” Sherlock countered, his eyes narrowing as he studied John carefully. “Why the sudden interest?”
“Oh, no reason. Just curious, I suppose. We’ve never discussed such things, and I was interested.” John smiled as he took another sip of tea, stretching his legs and wiggling his bare feet against the carpet.
“And what about you?” Sherlock asked, mimicking John’s position and letting his feet settle closer to the warmth of the fire. “I know you have an appallingly average sex drive for a man your age, but are you interested in children?” There was honest curiosity in the question, along with a hint of something John couldn’t immediately identify.
“Ta,” John scowled, glaring for good measure before relenting and answering the question. “I’ve never really thought about children, other than in the abstract. You know, looking forward to getting married, settling down and raising a family.”
“How horrible,” Sherlock grimaced. “You’d be out of your skull with boredom in a few years. Not exactly conducive to your lifestyle, getting married and spawning.”
“Stop it,” John chided, kicking Sherlock gently. “Just because you’re against children doesn’t mean the rest of the world is. Even if you are right, it’s rather nice to dream about it every now and then. Besides, if I ever did have children, they’d have their Uncle Sherlock to teach them to do all the things I’d be too horrified to,” John added, a mischievous grin growing as Sherlock gaped at him in horror.
“Don’t even joke about such things!” he ordered, pulling his legs up into the chair until he was huddled there, as though afraid to be inflicted with John’s imaginary family.
They remained silent for a while after that, the mood easy and relaxed as they finished their tea. Only after the last dregs had been drained did John stand, stretching.
“I’m making pasta tonight, with those meatballs you like. There’s a new documentary on mummies I want to watch, too, so if you want the TV, you’re out of luck.”
“I think I can suffer through mummies,” Sherlock mused, watching John make his way into the kitchen.
Watching his friend go about preparing their dinner, the fairy lights twinkling merrily from the small tree John had insisted upon, Sherlock felt himself relax fully for the first time since he had stepped foot in that hotel.
His friend may enjoy the deplorably pedestrian pleasures of sex, but it was Sherlock he came home to, and Sherlock he shared meals and television with. Compared to the quiet comforts of home, the detective knew no fleeting pleasure could ever compare.
John would realize that, too, in his own time. Until then, Sherlock would enjoy the quiet moments and wait for John to catch up. He always did, in the end.
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Date: 2013-12-16 06:40 pm (UTC)