"Explain to me, John, why I have to accompany you to this complete waste of time you call 'camping'?" Sherlock asked annoyed.
"Because Mary asked me to watch the children and I couldn't leave you alone at the flat," John answered although his voice was muffled by the equipment being pressed to his face.
"Why, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself."
"Yes, but not the flat," John pointed out.
Sherlock huffed and pulled out his phone. He's probably going to bother Lestrade for a case…John smiled. Some things never change…
They were walking to a campsite a little bit out of town that Mary, John's current girlfriend who also happened to be the chief (or whatever they called them) of their town's boys and girl scouts, had arranged before falling ill. She'd phoned John earlier that week that the children had been looking forward to the activity and so the guilt trip continued ("Can you take them? Come on, you're a nice, kind guy and it would help me a lot if you could, yes? Yes, okay I'll send you the details."). The worst had been trying to convince Sherlock to come with him. The truth was, he was great with kids but he didn't want to be the only adult in a mass of at least 15 loud and noisy children.
So here he was, trudging down a dirt road in the woods at 7am in the morning with an uncooperative detective beside him and 15 loud, excited kids tagging along, some whining and complaining. Kill me now, on second thought, give me a nice cup of tea to drink and then kill me…ugh!
To make matters worse, he was carrying the heavy camping equipment because someone was too lazy to help him. He glanced at Sherlock who was a little ahead of him. But it was better with him here, at least, for now.
Once they reached the campsite at noon, they'd (Yes, Sherlock had helped this time) set up the tents and foldable tables and chairs (the kids had taken the chairs).
"Alright, everyone, boys on the left and girls on the right, form a line!"
"Okay, Mr. Watson!" the kids yelled in unison enthusiastically. Sherlock smirked.
"What?" let the insults begin…
"Nothing, the term 'Mr. Watson' gives the impression that you're old. And married." John's eyebrow twitched but he refocused on the children.
"Okay, Line 1 on my side and Line 2 on Sher – Mr. Holmes' side!" He grinned at Sherlock's accusing glare. A cough reminded him of his 'job'.
"Right, I'm sorry. What would you like in your sandwich, um, Leslie?" Each child had been given a card with their names on them to hang around their necks. It proved useful when trying to remember their names.
"Um…mustard and m-mayonnaise... Oh, uh, please?" the girl in front of him mumbled. He smiled warmly at her.
"There's no need to be nervous, I'm not going to bite. Here you go, Leslie." The girl beamed at him. This man looks nice and kind, I think I can trust him…
"Mr. Watson!" a little boy with hazel/green eyes and chestnut locks whined carrying his plate. John bent down and put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. Was he wearing a bowtie?
"Call me John, um, Matt."
"J-John, my sandwich!" It looked like a normal sandwich to him.
"What's wrong with it, Matt?" Tears were threatening to spill and John did not want to deal with a crying little boy. Not now.
"I-I only wanted mayo and M-Mr. Holmes put the same as Mark's." Glancing up, John could see the detective leaning precariously backward in his foldable chair, phone in hand. Every time a new kid stepped up in line, he would reach into a brown bag and take out the exact same sandwich as Matt's, put it on the plate, ignore the whispers or cries of dismay, and go back to scowling and texting. So that's what he had been up all night doing…where did he learn to make a sandwich by himself? He could already hear Sherlock's reply ("John, let me remind you that I did manage to live on my own before you came.").
And he still had his coat on. Even John had shed his cardigan when the air had gotten hotter. Nope, he'll never take it off, too stubborn… John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Why couldn't he just cooperate? A little, just a little…guess I'll just have to do it myself.
"Here Matt I'll fix it for you. Only mayo, you said?" The little boy nodded and John couldn't help seeing how innocent he looked with those big eyes. I'll talk to him later, he thought glancing at Sherlock as Matt left.
And so the day was filled with tag, treasure hunts and more camping games.
That evening while all the kids were having s'mores, he found the detective leaning against a tree a little away from camp, staring up into the starry sky.
John neared slowly, breaking a twig with his trainers. It didn't matter; Sherlock had known he was there from the start.
"Why?"
"Why what, John, you're going to have to be more specific, what have I done now?" Piercing blue/grey eyes met his. His face half shrouded in shadows.
"Why are you making things harder then they're supposed to be?"
"How, John, how am I making things 'harder'?" Sherlock asked exasperated, eyebrows knitting together.
"The least you could do is behave, that's all I'm asking," John said swaying his hands subconsciously.
"No it's not."
"You're right, it's not, but for right now it is," John said sternly. He sighed and glanced away before continuing.
"Please, just this once…..for me?" Sherlock straightened and stepped closer. Towering over John, he leaned down to his level.
"What makes you think I'm going to cooperate just because you want me to?" he said/whispered. John didn't break eye contact.
"I don't…just...hoping."
There was silence before eventually Sherlock sighed and John knew he had won, this time. He grinned and started walking away. He stopped when he noticed Sherlock wasn't following.
"Come on." The detective narrowed his eyes.
"Why?"
John rolled his eyes and beckoned with his hand. Together they walked back to the camp.
"Mr. Holmes!"
"John!"
Sherlock scowled slightly and John tried not to giggle.
The kids had huge smiles on their faces and John couldn't help but grin, too. Sherlock didn't but John hadn't really expected him to. The only sign was his eyes, his ever expressive eyes that softened a tad when he heard his surname.
"Who wants to hear a story?" John yelled with a laugh.
"We do, we do!"
The children gathered around the fire John had set up and sat on some logs topped with soft moss. John and Sherlock sat together on one of them, shadows gathering on their faces. Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable and John chuckled making him turn to him.
"What?"
"Nothing, just relax, mate."
"…."
"Okay then, my friend Sherlock here will tell the story," John addressed the kids receiving confused stares. He pointed with his thumb at Sherlock, who was sending him an alarmed look.
"John!" came an exasperated whisper.
"What?"
"What am I supposed to say?" he looked so lost and confused John couldn't stand it. He sighed, the children were waiting.
"You're not 'supposed to' say anything. You say what you want to say now go on." He still looked confused but he straightened before clearing his throat. He glanced one more time at John before facing the kids. They looked completely engrossed in the detective. Yes, he can do that simply by talking, that's Sherlock Holmes to you, John thought with a smile.
"Hello….My name is Sherlock Holmes, not Mr. Holmes, and I'm going to tell you a 'story' about a doctor and a detective…"