CHAPTER ONE
The Family on Popcorn
Featuring:
Sherlock-Sighing-221B-An Invitation
A Family-Mrs. Hudson-John-And Scuffs
John was getting married.
Sherlock stared at the scuffs marring the popcorn ceiling. 1, 2 scuffs along the right corner: John and Mary's little children. A boy and a girl(for the sake of being cliche). Oh, and there were John and Mary, barely a foot away. And there; there was Sherlock, all the way in the opposite left corner, watching all 4 from afar.
He sighed as he rolled over, covers entangling his legs. He needed a new hobby, he supposed. Something different than making everything be about John and his newer, more ordinary life.
He sifted to his other side, glancing out of the sliver of window not veiled by curtains. It was bright out, early morning; he estimated around 5:30.
Another shift, shuffle, then he fluffed his pillow and laid his head back down. Crinkle, swoosh, pat, fwoosh. His feet swung over the side of the bed. Another sigh, then he lifted himself up.
Raking a hand through his hair, he puffed up his cheeks and glanced at his alarm clock.
5:47 AM.
Streching his arms with yet another sigh, he rose from the disheveled bed, then rubbed at his sleep-ridden eyes. Counted the scuff marks again. Grabbed his half empty mug of coffee from yesterday(3 days ago?). Sighed.
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he called back,"What is it, Mrs. Hudson?"
"John is on the phone, dear. He wants to ask you something," she answered, pushing his bedroom door open. The house phone was held in her hand as she waved it about.
"Why wouldn't he just text me? And can't you just answer him for me?" Sherlock bit out, rolling over to face away from her, observing the repulsive floral pattern of the curtains.
"He explicitly told me to put you on the phone, dear," she muttered, walking towards the bed and holding out the phone.
Sherlock glared at the phone momentarily, then sighed, exasperated as he finally snatched it from her frail hands. She walked back to the doorway and stopped for a moment before shaking her head (almost) fondly, then ambled out and down the steps. As Sherlock ascended and walked to the window, he muttered under his breath, wrenching open the curtains. He then placed the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he grated his teeth.
"Yes?"
"Hey, Sherlock!"
John sounded cheery, so full of mirth that Sherlock frowned. At least the doctor couldn't see his grimace through the phone.
"I wanted to ask if you would come to dinner with me and Mary tonight?"
The detective glanced skeptically at the device. "I doubt you're just inviting me."
It was a statement more than a question, but John still answered,"Lestrade, Mycroft, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson are coming. I would appreciate if you did, too."
The detective scoffed as he flopped onto his bed, head a mass of unruly curls as he burrowed into the covers. Mycroft was bound to be an arse tonight(he almost always was), and Molly would probably swoon like she always did. But Sherlock wanted to see John, even if he wasn't in the spotlight anymore. Even if Mary had taken his place, John was one of the few things that made him happy.
"Yes, alright," he sighed, still shifting and restless, writhing against the mattress. "I'll come."
"Great!" John sounded grateful and, oh, so happy. "Be there at 7. I've already told Mrs. Hudson the address, so no need to worry about that."
"Alright," he repeated, shifting again to look back up at the ceiling. Holding up his hand, he covered the three marks of Mary and the children, just leaving John and himself on opposite sides, staring at each other.
"Oi, you still there?"
"Yes, John," he informed, shaking his head slightly at his own actions, letting his arm fall onto his chest. He was practically obsessed with John's new family, new life, soon to be new wife. He knew he couldn't just cut Mary out of the picture, but that's not to say he wouldn't continue trying.
"Well, I got to go, Sherlock. I still have work today. Don't delete your knowledge of the occasion, yeah?"
Sherlock huffed slightly as he rolled his eyes. Again. "Yes, John. 7, John. Got it, John."
"Eh, don't you get smart with me, Holmes," he said fondly, voice loud in Sherlock's ear. "See you then."
"Goodbye, John," he replied, savoring the feel of the name in his mouth; he wouldn't get to say it again until dinner, after all.
The phone clicked off, 'call ended' written on the screen as he lifted it from the crook of his neck. Sighing again(what number is this, the 6th time?), he placed the device on his nightstand before lying back down, drowning in the blue covers pooled around him.
What had he gotten himself into? Now he'd have to endure a dinner with a brother he loathed(so he said), a silly woman who had a crush on him, the landlady he saw everyday(she seemed to find him, even if he hid), the fiancé of his best friend, and a D.I. who really wasn't fit to be a D.I. at all. The only one he was really looking forward to seeing was John.
He found that he'd been a hell of a lot more irritable without John around; even his idiot acquaintances could figure that much out. He really did like all of the people going to dinner(yes, even Mycroft), but he was just too...exhausted lately.
He reserved himself to skipping the experiment he'd planned for this morning, and continued to wrap himself up in the warmth of his blankets.
The corpse fingers would just have to wait until another time, he supposed.
A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed. I'd really appreciate some feedback.