The Oddities Behind Lightning Bugs
"John."
Silence. The flutter of movement.
"John."
"Mmph... What, Sherlock?" More movement.
John sat up on the couch, stifling a wide yawn behind his hand. He must have dozed off somewhere in between the telly and Sherlock's violin. God forsaken job, on top of mucking about in Sherlock's cases, it wore him out. He rubbed his eyes before looking to Sherlock.
"Insect."
"What?"
"There's an insect in the flat."
"And?" He flashed an irritated look at Sherlock's turned back before looking at his own watch; it was just past nine. Just a few moments and John could nip off to bed like he'd never been bothered.
"It's... irritating."
"What kind of bug?" He would have told Sherlock to deal with it himself, but Sherlock rarely did anything that involved matters of low importance. John was actually a bit amused to find that Sherlock had gotten bothered enough with a simple insect at all.
"Lampyridae."
"English, Sherlock."
To John's left, the briefest glow caught his eye. He turned to look in time to watch a familiar wing-insect float past him. After a few seconds, there was the glow again, the insect's silent mating call.
"Oh, a firefly," John continued. "Right."
"Obviously."
"Mmm. Good night, Sherlock."
"John! Eradicate the Lampyridae!"
"Is it impossible for you to use normal English, just once?"
"Lampyridae, is, in fact, prop-"
"Not scientific English, Sherlock. Normal. The words that normal people use."
"Oh, dull."
"It's a firefly, Sherlock. A lightning bug."
"It is simply a winged beetle, in the Coleoptera order, that happens to obtain a crepuscular use of bioluminescence to attract a mate or prey. I don't grasp why people insist on calling them lightning bugs when they have nothing to do with the atmospheric electrical discharge that generally comes from cumulonimbus clouds. There is no connection here, just another byproduct of the idiocy of the human mind."
John, during Sherlock's rant, had crossed the room to scoop the firefly into his hand. He was now leaning against the doorframe, watching Sherlock with a forced pleasant, patient smile. Sherlock turned at the sudden overabundance of quiet, frowning at John.
"If you've retrieved it, kill it. Dismiss it. Whatever it is you do with them."
"This little bug actually distracts you?"
"It just... blinks. All the time. And flies. And blinks more. Admittingly, yes, it does bother me when I am trying to think."
John turned his hand over, watching the firefly carefully as it scuttled over the back of his hand. "You were one of those kids who would stomp them on the sidewalk just to watch it glow, weren't you?"
"Of course not." Pause. "Once." John laughed lightly, but Sherlock continued. "I was curious. The makeup of the bioluminescent organs was most intriguing."
"I bet it was," John muttered, cracking the window and gently dislodging the bug from his hand. He watched it fly away, its body blinking again as he slid the window shut. "Better?"
"Immensely."
"Right. Good night, Sherlock," he repeated, heading for his room upstairs. On the way out, he let his fingers catch the lightswitch. Darkness flooded the room.
"Sleep... fireflies..." A soft sigh. "How dull." There was the soft padding of feet before the small creak of the couch reached John's ears.
He smiled to himself, heading up the stairs. By demand or design, John was reeling Sherlock ever closer to being just a tiny bit more normal.
(Even if Sherlock was only that slightest bit more normal when he thought no one was watching.)
AN: I've been having a bit of an age crisis. Whenever I see a lightning bug, I have an urge to chase and catch it. I'm eighteen. I think that urge gets worse as I get older. And I think lightning bugs are a good piece of fodder for any fandom.
(Even if Sherlock doesn't really like them. Haha.)
Please review and tell me what you think. Thank you for reading.