This is a little Fanfiction about Sherlock, sharing an evening at a local speed dating. He is of course not looking for a lover. One of his contacts told him, that he might meet some important consulting criminal.
I guess we all know how speed dating works, he will to meet his (from our sight of view) well known companions of the BBC Show Sherlock.
Its just some fun, and each character that shows up, recites a little from the show, I tried to bring in some fandom, some ships and maybe a little out of the actors who plays him/her in the show.
It came up as an joke to me, and today I just wrote it down. Hope you enjoy it, and do not take this to serious. My native is (sadly) not English, so I excuse myself, for some grammar errors, I gave my best! Promise!
Review if you like, I would love to hear, your meaning about it!
I do not own anything here. BBC Sherlocks owns the BBC and Conan Doyle and all these lovely people there.
It was an late Saturday night, when Sherlock stepped into the little Coffeehouse. Dim lights, poor sight. Crowd of people, and some well placed tables in a circle in the middle of the room. He was already late, so the host, mumbled something about "being late" and "what interests", and than wrote his name down on piece of paper, and taped it on the left side of his chest. While Sherlock still tried to read his name upside down, the host just placed him at one of the tables.
Sherlock never ever had witnessed or participated in a speed dating, and he actually not ever wanted to do it, but one of his contacts in his homeless network dragged him to go. Something important would wait for him there, someone would wait. And after the name "James Moriarty" was mentioned, Sherlock knew, he had to go.
Sherlock observed the table panel he sat in front. A little romantic candle and the informational flyer about what would come.
It told Sherlock, that tonight probably was the night of the nights, and he would find his love of his life, today. Four minutes, for each heart, that goes by.
"Oh gosh...", Sherlock spoke out in revulsion.
Than a bell rang, and while the people of the inside circle had to move from one table to the other, the outside circle just had to sit and wait.
"Hello, Darling!", an elder lady seated herself in front of him, greeting him with a exuberant smile.
Sherlock stiffened.
"Hello,..", he read the name, "Mrs. Hudson." he eyed her unsure if this really was the right speed dating location, "Uhm.. To be offensive, .. this with us, that will not work, obviously you could be my mother!"
She chuckled at him. "Oh no, Dear! I'm not here for the Dating. I am looking for a new lodger." gesturing wildly with her hands in the air.
"A new lodger? At a speed dating?! This is quite uncommon."
She tenderly patted his hand.
"Is it, isn't it!?", she pulled out a little card, and shoved it suspicious over the table,
"That's the address. Its a nice little flat, two floors. Would suit for you or two of you."
"I don't believe I can afford that." he observed the card.
"You can move in with your Girlfriend." she suggested way to excited for a woman in her age.
"I do not have a Girlfriend." He looked her eyes, what was hard in the dim light, but obviously, they where a little cloudy. Wide pupils, lots of gesturing. Dope or maybe overestimated painkillers.
She chuckled again. "Then your boyfriend, I don't mind, there are all sorts of people you know."
"I am not.. I would need a housekeeper..", he flipped the card in his hand.
The older lady sighed piqued.
"Oh sorry darling, I would just be your Landlady.. not your housekeeper."
"That will do it..", he just mumbled, "Baker Street..."
"Yes, 221b..", she pointed down on the card, "Oh Darling, I think time is up, think about it, and come by with your partner, if you like!" she cooed and moved on.
"I /am not/...oh..", he just waved unstrung.
When Sherlock raised his head again, he frown for a moment.
The man, who has taken his seat in front of him, came to him vaguely familiar:
"Hello!" he said in a way, so the "o" seemed to echoing in Sherlocks ear canal.
"Mycroft!" he blurted out in surprise, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Mark.", the man corrected him, "Its Mark."
Sherlocks eyes flickered to the patch on his left chest. The sign said indeed "Mark".
Not only Mark, it said "Mark G."
"Ma-a-rk?" he stretched the name. "Please, everybody would invent an "Mark" for a speed dating, but only you would invent an Mark Geee Dot. Mycroft!"
Mycroft sighed. "Well..."
"What are you doing here, Brother?" he asked in a possessiv way.
Mycroft gave him an peeved glance. "That is none of your business, Sherlock. I could ask you the same."
"I am not here for the speed dating, if you interpret that, in contrary to you! You glanced over to this Silverfox-looking Guy at least 5 times, since we are talking. So I guess that's the reason."
"I think its senseless to tell you otherwise, so, Gosh! Yes, he is indeed an attractive looking fellow, isn't he?" he now glanced over with an offensive look, winking at the man, when he caught up his look.
Sherlock just shook his head. "He is working for the police, as I assume, you deduced like I did. I am not sure, that's a good match for you."
"Why not, Brother heart, I am working for the Government and he for the Law. It seems an exciting mixture..." Mycroft gave him one of his polite smiles, wiggled his nose and heard the bell ring. "Good evening, Sherlock. And do us all a favour, stay out of trouble, will you?!"
His brother at a speed dating, how safe was this country really?!
A tiny, fine female figure settled herself almost silent down onto the chair. She fold her hands in front of her, at the edge of the table, shyly looking toward him.
She tried not to be obvious, but her eyes betrayed her. How her looks moved slowly over his face, along the curls, down to his chin, to his name patch. A sign, a little spark of admiration gleamed in her eyes.
"Hi, Sh..Sherlock. I am Molly.", nervously she bit her lower lip, quickly plunked at her cotton jacket, where her name patch stuck. She was already completely taken in by Sherlocks presence, that she was unable to keep steady eye contact.
"Oh hey-y-y.", his voice went at least two octaves higher and he made an eccentric smile. When she blushed and looked unsure down to her hands, his smile dropped immediately from his face. He was already bored.
"What you doing .. for living?"
Sherlock glanced through the room, as if she was annoying him. "I have an consulting position for Scotland Yard."
"Oh, do you? I have never seen you.."
An irritated look hit her. "Why should you?"
"I work .. at the morgue, at St. Bart's."
Now, that was interesting, and useful. He brought back a seducing smile. "What do you do there, Molly?!"
"I.. I am the uhm...", she knew that her jobdescribtion always scared off men, "I am the coroner there."
Sherlock nostrils swell, the only sight of inner jubilation. At the end, this stupid, overrated speed dating was not that senseless, as he thought. Molly seemed to be his missing link to the morgue. An necessary repository for his experiments.
"I would love to visit you there. Maybe you can give me a little tour!?"
Sherlock could see, that her heart made a cheerful jump. No doubt, she fancied him. And that after two minutes. Little Mousy Molly, he thought, and shove his card over to her. "Send me your number, yeah?!"
Mollys eyes widened and she looked like Bambi the fawn herself, so much unexpected his offer was to her. "Oh..oh.. yes.. I do.", than the bell resounded, "Nice meeting you. Really nice."
"By-y-ye!" he trilled and as soon she was out of sight, he went back to his frozen mimic. She would be like wax in his hands.
After all that madness and oddities who had come to his table, it only could get better, he thought.
The next one was a man, in the same age he was. He wore a crutch with him, taking his seat with just a short nod and look to Sherlock.
"My name is John.. uhm .. Watson, John Watson. I was a soldier. I mean I am one, but I retired, obviously..", he tapped his crutch, still only staring down the candle, which fluttered between him and Sherlock.
"I am a doctor, what is, I think quite impressive, if there wouldn't be the fact, that I am unemployed right now. I hate cats, don't smoke and I really do not know why I am telling you this.", he faced him with his brown puppy eyes, and a shy nervous smile, "Because.. I am /not/ gay."
"I am not gay, neither.. though.." Sherlock just answered.
"Oh...then on of us is sitting on the wrong side.", after an short moment of uncomfortable silence, he carried on talking, " What ever. What are you doing for living?"
"I work for the police.."
"You a policeman, then?"
"No!", he growled at him, "Ever heard the words consulting detective?"
"I am sorry, no. It sounds, as you have just invented that right now."
Sherlock rolled his eyes on him. "Never mind. So you looking out for a new lodging?!"
John leaned back in astonishment. "How do you know that?!"
"Wounded officer, back from.. lets take a guess.. Afghanistan, for maybe four weeks, that tells me your still visible tan. Unemployed.. you living at the veterans home, probably, and so I guess you need to find a new stay. Earlier or later."
John widened his eyes. "Wow, that's.. how do you do this?"
"Science of Deduction."
"Uhm.. impressive. But we don't know each other, just for a couple of minutes." he insisted.
"I know you. I just have proved that. But you are right, you know nothing about me.", he inhaled a gulp of air,
"I play violin when I need to think. Sometimes I am unwilling to talk, and there is the possible I am not home for a while, and if I am, I am stuck to my rooms with science experiments. I am most of the time unwilling to buy food and milk for dinner, so that would be on yours, but I promise not to bring home any cats or other animals. Fine for you?" he rattled down the words so quick, John just could stare at him, mouth slightly open.
"I .. uhm.. perhaps...I will think about it."
"Time is up, so it seems. Here is the card. The address is 221b Baker Street."
"And the name is..", reading his name patch, "Sherlock..."
"..Holmes." he gave him a smile and a wink, and gestured him over to the next table.
The next was a dishy looking man, with a lot of silver in his hair. He nonchalantly sat down,
grinning at Sherlock.
"He what you been up to, chap?"
"Not what you think.", he frown his forehead, "What you been..up to, Mister..Police?!"
The man was not as surprised as Sherlock had hoped for.
"Its the coat, isn't it? A friend of mine told me, it would reveal to much.", his eyes flickered
lusty through the room, "Never mind. I am sorry, you are not my type anyway.. I have an eye on that girl, there!", he secretly pointed over to the young Coroner Sherlock had met earlier.
"She is a little mousy, you don't think so?"
"Yeah.. you know.. but ever heard the phrase still water run deep? She's quite adorable." he glared at here for a second, then turned to the other side. "And my other eye is on him...", he nodded over to his Brother Mycroft. Sherlock just made a face what said something like "him?!".
"I know, he looks a bit stiff, like he never leaving the house, and probably he is working for some high class company, or worse the government... But I think a nice little shag would bring some fire to his loins. Attractive chap."
Sherlock didn't wanted to imagine his brother after a "nice little shag", so he tried to change the topic.
"So you are what now? Straight, gay, something in between?"
"I think something in between would be an accurate way to explain it. Not complete gay, just something between 2 and 38 percent.. still experience it.. though.. what's up with you?"
"I am not .."
He interrupted. "Yah Yeah, not gay.. that's what everybody says..", the Bell rang, "Oh got to go. See you later!"
When he looked back to the other side of the table, the moment stood still. A man, dressed in a bright suit - typical Westwood cut- had taken the seat. Short brown hair, sharp eyes and an arrogant smile on his face. The same Sherlock always had left for his customers.
Sherlock raised his chin mere an inch, inhaling air through his nose. In the end, his contact was right, he would meet him there. The Man, puppet master of evil, the King of Crime.
"Moriarty...", he hissed the words out, like he would mention an disgusting habit.
The man in front of him blinked once, and shoved the bubble gum in his mouth from one side to the other, then a smile. A short lick of his lower lip. "Jim Moriarty..", Sherlock started to nod, he couldn't believe, that it was that easy.
The man blinked one more time, than the whole composition of him, lost his magic. His shoulders dropped down, the mean expression in his face vanished and an delighted, happy grin appeared. He laughed out, biting his lips like a child.
"No.. its Richard!", he leaned in, and Sherlock jerked some inch back.
"What?"
"Richard Brooks." he showed him his name on the little piece of paper.
"No, you are ..Jim Moriarty!" he threw an accusing expression at him.
Jim/Richard giggled. "No, no.. Jim is not real. Moriarty is a fake, you know."
"A fake?!", the guy was obviously one brick short of a full load.
"I'm an actor.", he drew an print of an familiar internet database out of his pocket, and unfolded it first, then showed it to Sherlock, "I played Broadway. And this reality-TV-show, that's me to. And Jim Moriarty is a new character I play. As it seems, I do a good job, you seemed convinced." he giggled still excited.
Sherlock grabbed the paper and swallowed hard after he flown over the text. "No.. you are Moriarty! You are real! That's.."
Jim/Richard calmly chewed on his gum, his arms in his front crossed. "Look on the print, its online , it has to be real, though?!", and then there it was again, this look, this ice-cold, blood cold look. Underlaid with a deadly smile.
"You can keep that, I've got more at home." The expression on his face was the one of Moriarty, the voice was the one of Richard Brooks. The time was up, the bell told. Moriarty,.. Brooks,.. who ever this man was, stood up, with no hurry, always piercing down at Sherlock. Already on his way to leave him alone. Then like an threatening animal, with his hands in his pocket he stopped, and turned back to Sherlock. "I owe you something, I really do...", and with that he was gone.
Thats it. Just some scrabbles and hope you liked, let me know!
I hope I matched all the characters.. Maybe my Lestrade is a little bit more like the guy in the movie different for girls, but what the he**.
Take care!