Hello, everyone. This is just a one-shot I had working in my head. I promise I will finish the other Sherlock I am working on. But I just wanted to try a bit of humour. As always, I don't own Sherlock, just my original plot and characters.
One Can
Looking up at the top shelf in the International Foods Shop, the short dark haired girl glared at the one item that, of course, was well out of her reach. But even from her vantage point, she could tell it was the last one in the store, and she was determined to get it.
She tried to find an assistant to help her, but no employee was in sight. Then she noticed a tall, curly haired man purposefully moving down the aisle with an energy that surprised her because his extremely long coat and scarf made him appear rather stuffy.
'What the hell', she thought to herself, 'Maybe he would be good enough to help her.'
She cleared her throat. "Hey, mister?"
The man kept scanning the shelves for something. Apparently he hadn't heard her. She'd almost wouldn't bother but she'd been in England for a whole year, and she was homesick for Southern food.
She tried again. "Excuse me, sir?"
He turned around and made a point of tilting his head down to look at her. So, he was going to be a smart-ass about her height? Normally, she wouldn't let that pass, but if he would get that one can for her, she'd let almost anything pass.
"What?" He said in a rich baritone that surprised her.
"Do you see that can up on the top shelf?" The girl pointed at the one she wanted.
But before she could finish, the tall man followed her directions, looked at the can, picked it up, and tossed it in the air before catching it again and putting it in his basket.
"Hmm," He looked at her up and down for a moment before saying, "Thank you," and started to walk away.
"Woa, woa, woa!" She yelled and went after him, but he didn't stop till she had a hold of his coat by the elbow and slowed him down. "I was asking for your help because I wanted that one."
"Oh. That makes much more sense now."
"Good. Now, if you'll just . . ."
"How would a perfect stranger know what I needed for my experiments?"
"Experiments? You don't experiment with it. You eat it."
Just at that moment, a shorter blond man in cream jumper and jeans came down the aisle. He could tell that the young lady was mad. Jesus, he couldn't take Sherlock anywhere. But before John could say anything, the woman asked for his help.
"Excuse me, sir? This gentleman and I are having some sort of misunderstanding. He seems to think that I pointed out this can so that he could have it when I was really requesting his help because I couldn't reach the top shelf."
Always the diplomat, John asked Sherlock, "Can't we just get another can for you?"
Sherlock turned to John, "No. Because it's the last one, and I need it for my experiments."
John looked in Sherlock's basket. "Jesus, we are not having that in the house." John reached his hand in the basket to take it out, but Sherlock twirled the basket out of reach.
"Wait a minute. You two live together." It was a statement – not a question. Now she really did feel like an idiot.
"I'm sorry. I should have explained. I'm Doctor John Watson. He's my flatmate."
Not wanting to be rude, the woman extended her hand to the doctor. "C.J. Neely."
"C.J? That's hardly a name. People only use initials when they dislike their real name." Sherlock butted in.
"Well, back home, people call me 'Calli-Jo'. Does that suit you better, mister-know-it-all?" She tried to extend herself up to her full height, but she still only managed to look at the stranger at the gap where the top button of his purple shirt was left unbuttoned unless she tilted her head at a ridiculous angle.
"No. That's still a nickname."
"I don't see what it matters to you. Besides, what would you know about having a really embarrassing name?"
"Let's see, I can't imagine." Sherlock said a little too smugly.
"Well, why don't we make it a competition? We'll take a complete stranger, because your boyfriend might be biased."
"I'm not his boyfriend." John was getting flustered now.
"And tell him or her our full names. Whoever has the most ridiculous name, gets the can."
"Not full names. First and Last."
"No. We are using full names. Besides, if your name is as bad as you think it is, you should have the advantage."
Sherlock gritted his teeth. "Very well."
"Hold on," said John. "You have a middle name? You never told me."
"You'll see why in a minute."
"Just to be fair, your friend can pick out the judge." The woman offered.
"Judges – I insist on having both male and female on the panel." Sherlock countered.
"Fair enough. But, if they both have split decisions, your friend can be the tie breaker since he doesn't know your middle name. Besides, I think he'll be honest. He doesn't want you to buy it but at the same time he doesn't want to piss you off either. What an interesting relationship you must have. Never a dull moment, I bet."
"Thanks a lot," John hissed under his breath.
It took John longer than he thought in order to find people willing to be judges. In the end he had to pay them a tenner each just to do it.
The judges took their positions and listened to the names. As Sherlock seemed overconfident, the woman let him go first.
"Ah, hem. My full name is 'Sherlock Benedict Josiah Holmes'".
That got a giggle even from his competitor.
Then it was her turn. "Ladies and gentlemen, my full name is 'Calliope Jolene Neely'."
At that all of them laughed out loud – well, except for Sherlock.
Both judges decided unanimously for Calliope Jolene. John didn't even have to vote.
"We're sorry, my dear," the female judge said. "But that is just awful."
"Don't worry, Ma'am. I know nothing says Greek and white trash like 'Calliope Jolene'. Besides, I've won the bet. Thank you."
She turned to Sherlock. "Now, if you don't mind, Sherlock Benedict Josiah Holmes, I'll take my can of pork brains and gravy."
Sherlock gave it over to her in a huff. "The can is quite big. Are you actually going to eat all of it?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Well, you can come over to our flat, fix your meal, and then I could have the rest."
"I'm not going over to the flat of two men I've never met before."
"Ok. We'll go to your place."
Calli-Jo looked at John in frustration. "Is he always like this?"
"Yes."
Calli-Jo sighed heavily. "Alright, then."
John was surprised. "Hold on. Are you ok with bringing two men you don't know back to your place?"
"Oh, yes. That's fine. Besides, Boris is there. I think he could easily handle the both of you if you get out of hand."
"Great." John simply shook his head.
Walking into Calli-Jo's flat, John was more than a little bit nervous. Every image he'd had of 'Boris' left him thinking big, bad, Russian, and hitman.
"Guys, make yourself at home. If you want a cup of tea, please help yourselves."
"No, I'm ok, thanks." John began.
"John. Tea." Sherlock grumbled as he flopped into one of Calli-Jo's chairs in her lounge.
"Sorry, CJ." John thought it safest to use the first version of her name she had used.
"That's fine, John. Kettle is there. Mugs are in the cupboard directly over it. Knock yourself out. I wouldn't say no to one either."
"What about Boris?"
"What about him?"
"Will he take tea?"
The slim dark haired woman laughed. "No. Boris is not a tea drinker."
John pottered around in the kitchen while Calli-Jo started heating up an iron skillet and breaking some eggs. Then she opened the can of pork brains and gravy.
"Jesus! What a smell. We are never having that in the flat, Sherlock."
Surprisingly, Sherlock remained silent.
"Sherlock? Are you ok?" Maybe Boris already had a gun to his friend's head.
John walked into the lounge, viewed the scene in front of him and dropped his jaw. "That's the most amazing pussy I've ever seen."
"I beg your pardon?" Calli-Jo strode into her lounge to see Sherlock eye to eye with a huge fluffy blue and white Maine Coon cat. Although the cat was a little chubby, the size of his paws and head were simply enormous.
The cat sat on the little side table and Sherlock's head was turned so that they stared at each other with unblinking eyes. Then as if the cat had made a decision, he leaned in and licked Sherlock squarely in the middle of his forehead. The cat even got a taste of one of Sherlock's curls.
"Oh, I see. You mean Boris. Yes, he is an amazing moggy. He may seem sweet but that's just because he likes you. You should have seen what he's done to some of the people that have come here."
"I can just imagine. Hold on. That's Boris?" John said more to himself than the other two. "So much for Russian hitman."
"I know, more like huge American moggy." Then Calli-Jo shifted her attention. "So how much of the can do you want, Sherlock?"
"Half."
"No. You are not getting 'half'." Calli-Jo said purposefully using the British enunciation. "I'll leave you a third."
"Fine."
"Yes, it is fine."
She went back into the kitchen and started to cook. Pouring two thirds of the pork brains and gravy into the skillet, she cooked it almost completely before adding the eggs and continuing to scramble.
Suddenly, Calli-Jo turned around and jumped because Sherlock was standing just a few inches away from her.
"That actually smells . . . good." The consulting detective leaned in closer to get a better smell.
"Don't tell me, you actually want the try some?"
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, please, Calliope."
Usually, Calli-Jo would punch anyone who used her full first name. However, coming from this strange man with a voice smoother than freshly made molasses in the Fall, she might just get use to it. As she dished out a portion of brains and eggs for Sherlock, she thought it was astonishing what an adventure the last can of a Southern delicacy could lead to.