A special birthday story for Ennui Enigma – source of many challenges and surprises – Here's to you hun!
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock, John or any of the other characters – just wish I did! Thanks to ACD, SM & MG (and the wonderful cast of SHERLOCK)!
John bounced down the stairs and into the kitchen.
"Happy Birthday Sherlock!"
Sherlock gave a non-committal grunt and continued to mix foul smelling substances from various jars on the kitchen table. Unfazed, John continued to grin at his flatmate.
"Any plans for the day?"
With a sigh Sherlock looked up, noting the silly grin and the expectant expression on John's face.
"Actually yes, I plan to spend the day with these experiments" he gestured to the jars, slides and petri dishes on the table, his hand coming to rest on his microscope, his expression daring John to complain.
John nodded. "Oh, okay."
Sherlock frowned. He was still considering this lack of complaint when there was a knock at the door, and John whisked out of the kitchen and down the stairs.
Returning, he put a large brown box on the worktop next to the fridge. Without looking at Sherlock he filled the kettle and set it to boil, busying himself getting mugs, tea bags and milk to make them both a drink.
Sherlock looked at the box. He could see John's name clearly written on the address label, but the doctor had lost interest in it and was engrossed in making tea. The younger man returned to mixing his chemicals.
Whistling through his teeth, John put Sherlocks mug on the table, within easy reach but away from the possibly poisonous liquids he was playing with, and took his own drink into the living room where he promptly sat down to read the paper.
Taking a sip of his tea, Sherlocks eyes flicked over at the box once more before turning away to look at the man currently engrossed in the lead story in the Guardian. Reading John's body language Sherlock could see he was relaxed, content. He had totally forgotten the parcel. Sherlock frowned again.
Five minutes later the consulting detective huffed out a frustrated breath and pushed himself upright, looking away from the slide on his microscope. His eyes were immediately drawn back to the box, still untouched, still sitting in the exact same position that John had left it in when he brought it upstairs. He looked into the living room, to see that John was still reading. Judging by how many pages he had heard turn, and knowing that his flatmate had no real interest in the arts or sport, he deduced that within the next five minutes he'd hear the rustle of the paper being folded and put back on the coffee table.
Rather annoyingly he found himself listening for John to put the paper down. When he did, Sherlock waited for the footsteps that would bring him back into the kitchen, but instead John went upstairs, whistling tunelessly as he took the stairs two at a time.
Frowning Sherlock looked again at the box. He willed John to come back to the kitchen and open it, but when the footsteps returned down the stairs they went back into the living room, and Sherlock watched as John opened his laptop, reading his blog posts before starting on his notes from their latest case.
Turning back to his experiment, Sherlock moved jars and slides around, mixed chemicals and examined samples, but his mind wandered time and again to the box. After the fourth failed attempt at a particularly intricate chemical mix he growled in annoyance.
Looking from the box to the man sitting in the living room, Sherlock frowned, irritated by this new mystery
"John."
"Sherlock"
"Your box is still out here."
"Yes it is."
Silence.
John smiled, his attention staying on the screen in front of him.
Footsteps crossed the kitchen floor, moving towards the fridge but not opening the door
The smile widened, the typing continued slow and steady.
The sound of hands brushing over cardboard.
The wide smile became a grin, imperceptibly the typing slowed.
Then came the noise of cardboard moving across the worktop as slender fingers pulled it to the edge, lifting it high enough for silver-grey eyes to look at it from all angles.
Blue eyes glowed with ill-contained glee!
The box returned, heavily, to the worktop. Footsteps retreated across the kitchen; the high-backed kitchen chair scraped the floor as it was pulled away from the table.
"John."
"Sherlock"
"What's in the box, John?"
"Ah"
"What does that mean?"
John could hear the pout in his flatmate's voice. He put aside his laptop and walked out to the kitchen.
Sherlocks eyes followed his every movement.
John leaned nonchalantly against the kitchen sink, folded his arms and smiled at his flatmate.
"In this box," he said, very much in the manner of a children's storyteller, "is something so marvellous, that it has to be kept under special conditions for fear it will damage beyond repair!"
Sherlock's jaw dropped and he stared at the blond doctor as if he'd lost his mind.
John continued to smile.
"In this box can be found endless hours of pleasure!"
Sherlock frowned now. He'd heard of websites that sent…..well…..things in the post in plain brown packaging.
"In fact," John was enjoying himself immensely, his huge grin threatening to split his face. "In this box is…your birthday present!"
Sherlock sat in stunned silence.
"Happy birthday mate." John placed the box on the table.
Uncertainty warred with curiosity as he slowly unpeeled the brown parcel tape and opened the top. Inside was a white polystyrene box, cool to the touch, the kind that was used to regulate the temperature of the contents. Sherlocks eyes looked back at Johns face.
"What is it?"
"Open it and see."
Carefully lifting the lid the younger man peered inside. A slow, wide, appreciative smile spread across his face, and his eyes glowed with delight.
"Thank you, John!"
John hadn't lied. In the box was a marvellous item, one that would afford him hours of pleasure, for there, packed in ice and in a protective plastic wrapping, just begging to be experimented on, was a human brain!