AN: So remember how I said I would write a one-shot spin off for the Meeting Mummy chp of the Detective and His Blogger? I lied.
Well – I didn't lie – that was original intent! But it ran away with me and will be too long for a one-shot. So I bring you a short multi-chp fic based on that chp. I'm planning on three chapters right now – but it may end up longer. I'm not sure yet! I hope this is what you all were looking for when you requested the story!
Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock. Until he does so I own nothing.
Everything is coordinated and set in place.
John has Friday and Monday off from the clinic so they will have a four-day weekend. He is happy to finally be meeting the infamous Mummy. However there is a nagging nervousness he can't deny.
Not a "What if she doesn't like me" sort of nervousness. After all he's not a teenager anymore. Whether Ms. Holmes approves has little relevance on his relationship with Sherlock. This is more an unease because he doesn't know what to expect. This woman raised Mycroft and Sherlock so she must be one hell of a mother. And probably quite a character herself, if her son's are anything to go by.
Sherlock had referred to her a "cross between Mycroft and Ms Hudson".
What could that possibly mean? Those personalities are rather contradictory. Does he mean she's overbearing? Motherly to a suffocating degree? He has no idea what to expect.
And don't even get him started on the ball. After he convinced Sherlock to go he realized that he had no idea what he was getting into. A ball sounded like fun in theory but this was an entirely different class of people he would be dealing with.
But he tries to force his concerns from his mind and focus on packing.
It's Thursday night and Mycroft is sending a car around in the morning to fetch them. He's having a bit of a dilemma in what to pack though. Other than the tuxes; which will be for Saturday night, he's not really sure what is appropriate. And he does want to make a favorable impression.
As he's debating his options he hears Ms Hudson's trademark knock and "Wohoo" from the door. "Come in" Sherlock answers from somewhere in the living room. "I brought you boys some scones. They'll be a good quick breakfast for you before you head off tomorrow." she says, bringing a platter in and setting it on the table. Knowing Sherlock won't bother John steps from his room calling downstairs "You're a saint Ms Hudson. That'll be perfect." "Oh you're welcome." she says, waving her hand dismissively. "And what're you boys up to this evening? All packed I'm sure." "Not yet." John says, holding up the jumpers in his arms "Having a hard time deciding..."
He never should have said that.
He realizes this as soon as he sees a gleam in Ms Hudson's eyes. "Oh let me help you." "No, that's alright. I'll manag-" "Don't be silly." she insists, already ascending the stairs. "You need a woman's help for this John. You want to make a good impression on an elderly lady, what better than to have one help you." John knows that there is no use in arguing and just shrugs to himself, heading back into his bedroom, Ms. Hudson following.
As he's pulling things from his dresser for Ms Hudson to sort through he can hear Sherlock rambling about the kitchen, undoubtedly working on an experiment. He's already packed of course. He keeps coming upstairs to peek in on them though, shooting John teasing smirks as Ms Hudson fusses over his clothes.
He's enjoying this far too much. "Hey Sherlock, why don't you give us a hand." John suggests when Sherlock ducks into his room for the third time in the past half-hour. "Oh, no. I think Ms Hudson and you have it under control." he says already trying to back out. "No we don't. We're having a hell of a time deciding on these shirts and she is your mother." "So?" "So you'll be the better judge of what I need to bring." "I really don't think-" "John's right." Ms Hudson cuts in "Give us a hand dear. John needs to look his best for your weekend together." and that seems to do it for Sherlock.
John realizes that he's just handed himself over like a bloody Barbie doll for Sherlock to dress up in whatever pleases him most. But this might be a good chance for him to learn what Sherlock likes as well.
"I think this might be nice" Ms Hudson says, holding up a plaid button-up shirt. Sherlock snorts and grabs it, flinging it onto the floor. "No." he says, shifting through the pile on the bed, flinging them haphazardly on the floor. "Ah." he says, selecting a black and white jumper and tossing it onto John's duffle bag. "This one as well." he says, tossing a dark green button up onto of his duffle bag as well. "Oh, certainly this one. Red always looks good on you." He says, tossing a crimson jumper onto the "pack" pile.
"It does?" "Mhmm." is Sherlock's response as he continues looking. "And this should do It." he finishes, tossing John's favorite tan jumper onto the pile. "Really?" "What?" "Well, it's just I wear that all the time. Bit casual isn't it?" "Maybe. But I like it, pack it." Well John's not going to argue that. "Problem solved." He says with a sort of flourish towards the pile for John to pack. "Now if you've no further need of my assistance I've left a beaker of combustible fluids unattended far too long."
And with that he's out the door and down the stairs.
Ms Hudson mutters under her breath, displeased with his experiment, but holds her peace. "Well I think we're done here. Thanks for giving me hand." he says, trying, politely to dismiss her. "Let me give you a hand with this mess, dear" she offers; gesturing to the floor, scattered with shirts and jumpers, courtesy of Sherlock.
"That's alright Ms. Hudson. I'll get it. You're not out housekeeper after all." he insists.
Ms. Hudson smiles at this "And don't you forget it." she says, departing.
John hears her call out a goodbye before she closed the door and returns to her own flat. He lets out a sigh when she's gone. He adores Ms. Hudson, but sometimes she can be a bit much. It doesn't take him long to straighten up his room and finish packing.
When he's done he heads downstairs and sets his duffle bag by the door. He finds Sherlock emptying container from the fridge into the rubbish bin. "What are you doing, love?" "Most of these specimens will be bad by the time we get back. Figured you wouldn't want spoiled pig blood in the fridge." "Considerate of you. What happened to the combustible fluid?" "There was none." "Just an easy escape then?" "Yes. And you shouldn't sound so surprised." "Surprised?" "About me being considerate. I can manage thoughtfulness on occasion." "Oh I know, love. I didn't mean to upset you." "You didn't. Just reminding you." and then Sherlock becomes side-tracked with something in the containers muttering that he needs to make a slide and examine it closer. John knows that his presence has been temporarily forgotten, but he is used to this and unbothered by it.
Leaving Sherlock to his science, he heads for the living room and settles into his chair, clicking on the telly. He flicks through the channels until he comes to a trivia game show. He settles on that because he knows it will get Sherlock's attention. He claims to hate them, but he inevitably ends up joining John when he's watching one. Guess it's just because he's unable to resist a chance to show off his cleverness. Of course he gets some of the questions wrong, having deleted the information or simply never having bothered to acquire it.
Tonight is no different. It starts off with Sherlock calling answers from the kitchen as he's still bent over the table, working. If he doesn't know the answer, or gets it wrong he always grumbles "What's the point of knowing that anyway?"
Fifteen minutes later and he's moved to the living room, standing with slide in hand. He acts as though he's just pausing to watch for a moment and then he will go back to his work. That doesn't happen of course and ten minutes later he's perched on the edge of John's chair, muttering answers to the questions. Finally John moves to the couch so Sherlock can curl up next to him, like he always does.
Sherlock's always been on for strange positions and tonight he lays his head on the armrest, turned towards the screen. His neck and upper back are lying across John's lap and his long legs almost reach the other arms rest. One of his arms is draped off the couch; hand on the floor and with the other he's thoughtlessly tracing patterns with his thumb on one of John's hands, while John is absent-mindedly playing with his curls. All thoughts and worries of tomorrow are gone from their minds and they're simply enjoying each other's presence. That's how they remain for the rest of the evening.
If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway.
KP