Who Knows Them Better?
There's a pair at 221 b Baker Street. And they're making bets on the residents? *occness warning*
I thought this up a time ago while I was watching my little cousins. What would happen if people were trying to deduce Sherlock, and this happened.
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock. But I do own the pair that re making bids. Please enjoy.
"Sherlock!" Molly Hooper, Homes now for the past twenty-five years, yelled at the top of her lung.
Just then, the man previously mentioned, came scrabbling from their his old bedroom, shared with his wife, in 221B Baker Street.
He glanced at the pair seated in the sitting room, before darting up the stairs to John's old bedroom.
"Twenty quid Mum only did that to get him to shift and stop lying there yelling 'Bored' over and over again," the taller of the two young adults said to his counterpart.
"Deal. I'm sure it's because we've been sitting here, waiting for half an hour to go to dinner, and Dad still hasn't gotten his slacks on," the shorter one said.
With that, the twins spat in their hands and shook on it.
"But, really Janey, why are you so sure it's 'cause we're here?" Marcus asked his little sister of forty seconds.
"It's Jane you numbskull. And it's because of the slacks, she adores when he does that, it's an excuse to do whatever she wants to amuse herself and get him to budge up. A challenge and Mum always loves those, that's why she married him. Honestly, it's like you don't even know Mum and Dad," Jane scowled at her brother.
Just as Marcus was about to retort, Molly came rushing out of the bathroom, huffing, "You two better not be placing bets on who can deduce your Father and I better."
The pair crossed their fingers behind their backs and smiled sweetly at their mother, "Of course not Mummy," they said in unison, sounding a lot like Mycroft.
Rolling her eyes and smiling, she said, "Oh you two really are Sherlock's children, always charming things your way. And you are both partly right, I did it to quit him saying bored and because he has no damn pants on."
"I would hope they are my children Molly. If they weren't, I would be losing my touch and they would be faking their intelligence," Sherlock stated, emerging from the upper landing, fully clothed as to not get a smack for making them late.
He pulled his petite wife in with one hand and offering ten quid to each of his children, who each grinned, accepting the money from their father.
