Disclaimer: I do not own any of BBC TV's Sherlock characters.
Please read and enjoy. It all begins with the box and childhood memories. Bear with me I will get to the sandwiches eventually.
Chapter 1 The Box
It all started when John had gone over to Harry's place to help pack up her stuff ready for the move to her new studio flat. She said she didn't need anything larger, well not now that the break up with Clara was seemingly permanent, in spite of a few reconciliations; always resulting in broken promises and angry texts.
"Hi there", she said, opening the door and waving John in. "I'm mostly sorted with my books; it's just the kitchen things. I've got three packing cases still empty and I think they will do."
Harry was a petite, blonde doll of a woman, her eyes a shade lighter brown than John's. He still thought of her as the fresh faced anxious teenager that she had once been, but now she looked so, (well-silly thought really), a small, bereft adult wearing a plain white tee shirt, blue jeans and mule slippers. Her hair was tied back in a simple pony tail. He felt sorry for his sister because he loved her dearly in spite of the drink and everything.
They spent the rest of the day wrapping up cutlery, plates and saucepans and packing them into the boxes. Sometimes they reminisced about times past like their birthday parties when Mum would make her famous pinwheel sandwiches-just right for little fingers.
Occasionally, Harry would offer John things that she insisted weren't needed. And so it was that later that evening, John returned to Baker Street with twelve small soup bowls, six red coloured and six white, together with a brand new juicer. Clara had given it to Harry as a present a couple of years ago, but then….All these were placed in an old toy box that Harry had found in the back of a cupboard. John had recognised it at once. A rectangular pine wood affair, a bit bashed about and minus its hinged lid. It had been theirs as children and he was pleased to take it. John you see was a practical man and reckoned it would have a use.
The flat was deserted and John placed the box containing his goodies on the kitchen counter. Taking out the contents, he sighed with pleasure. He piled up the red bowls-they would be detailed to become Sherlock's experimental items, and the white ones he piled up ready for rinsing out later. They would be for eating from. He had already prepared an explanation of this for Sherlock which he would deliver in the sternest tones.
Thinking of his mad flatmate, John decided to hide the Juicer in the back of one of the cupboards. Obviously, it wouldn't remain undetected for long by the madman, who no doubt would grab it with glee, tear off the packaging and take it apart. Although John was a good cook he wasn't quite sure whether he needed it, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let Sherlock wreck it. That would mean another strong talk at some point.
That left him with the old toy box. Going back into the sitting room he rummaged around on Sherlock's desk for a marker pen. Yes this would do-a thick black one. He went back into the kitchen and putting the box on its side, wrote along its length: SHERLOCK'S BOX.
Suddenly, a noise of thunderous footsteps up the uncarpeted stairs: the door flung open until it nearly bent on its hinges and a cry, "John! I solved it." Heralded the return of Sherlock.
John looked towards their living room as the swirling mass of long wool cat and glittering eyes barrelled towards him.
"It was the second cousin once removed" he said breathlessly, his eyes darting around the kitchen and then at John. "It was all there in the will of the late Jonathan Milverton. She was mentioned as a minor beneficiary- oh I do love those because they are so bitter and you know where that leads to?" Sherlock cocked his head and stared at John expectantly.
"So….. she was the murderer?"
"Precisely!"
John was about to go and get his laptop to start noting down the details of Sherlock's new case on his blog, when Sherlock suddenly pointed a long delicate finger at the box.
"What is that? "He said accusingly.
"It's a present for you. It's got your name on it." said John calmly.
"Oh no, not more of your sentimental rubbish." Sherlock snorted.
"Look," John continued mildly, "You can store the papers in this box, you know ones that you don't need for the present, or will maybe need in the future, that way they are all in the same place."
John waited for a reaction. Sherlock seized the box and grabbing the marker pen in his right hand wrote swiftly. Thrusting it back into John's chest, he said "There, you see it's a John box."
John turned the box around and stared at it. Sherlock had added right across John's carefully inscribed SHERLOCK'S BOX. Simply , (in his own beautiful written hand; this). And John's.
John felt warmth spread through him. Our box, well it wasn't quite what the practical John Watson had intended it to be but it made him feel good, and he beamed at his flatmate.
As if reading his thoughts, Sherlock continued, "Well of course it is factually yours, because you are the one who ridiculously insists on tidying up and therefore you are the one who benefits from it. It is you who will be using it most. Ergo it is a John Box."
John's heart failed a little as he heard those words. Sherlock was right as always, John had gottent it for himself, but he had hoped that his friend would appreciate the gesture-No. But he wasn't a man to give up and if he was honest, he was very glad that Sherlock hadn't deduced that it was any old box. John couldn't have borne Sherlock strutting his stuff about John and Harry's childhood.
Squaring his shoulders, John marched into the living room with said box and put it on the floor beside Sherlock's desk. He carefully positioned it so that the odds were, when Sherlock chucked boring documents around that he had no need for, they would (well, maybe fifty per cent of the time) land in the box. A minor victory.
