Sherlock Holmes was bored. John knew this and so he had taken precautions. He had hidden the bullets, locked away his laptop, dumped the cigarettes and thoroughly Sherlock proofed the flat.
Sherlock for his part had watched John do the above processes with one eye, draped across the couch and an array of empty tea cups beside him.
And so when Greg Lestrade had skipped up the stairs with a smile on his face, John was ultimately happier than Sherlock. After all, his back still ached after spending half an hour under the bed collecting the precise thickness of dust bunnies for Sherlock's experiment.
"Hey, I have ..." Greg started, jumping on the balls of his feet.
"You have a case! Oh, I love you, Greg!" John exclaimed, bounding to hug Lestrade, who stepped back hastily.
"No, he hasn't, John. He, however, has news that may surprise ... well, you, since I already know what it is." Sherlock drawled, from his unmoving position on the couch.
John wavered, not knowing whom to direct his scowl to. Finally he turned it on Lestrade as any anger expressed on Sherlock would be most blatantly ignored.
Lestrade ignored it.
"I have the greatest news. The wife refused to come and she's not letting the kid come either. So I have three of 'em. I hoped you both would join me. What do you think?" Lestrade grinned, waggling his eyebrows.
John stared at him, not knowing whether to be amused or exasperated.
"Gregory Lestrade, what the hell are you on about?"
"Well, John Hamish Watson, three tickets to Disneyland, Florida is what I'm on about." Greg pumped the air with a fist.
There was a sudden ringing silence in the room.
Greg slowly lowered his hand and looked from one incredulous face to another 'you are now officially an idiot, Lestrade' face.
"What?" He shrugged, acutely aware that his voice had a shrill tone to it.
"You're joking!" John chuckled, shaking his head and walking to the kitchen. "Even if we, two ... one fully grown adult and an overgrown kid," At this a book went sailing inches from his head, a gift from a consulting detective, "were willing to make a trip to Disneyland of all places, we would never be able to pay for the expenses. Unless you want us working 24/7 as a waiter or something for the next ten years to repay the debts which would no doubt arise."
All this was said in a half incomprehensible babble and Greg just stared helplessly at Sherlock who just lay helplessly like a boneless puppet.
"Yeah. Okay. But the trip's 80 percent paid for by a family friend and benefactor. We just have to pay for, um ... I guess shopping for souvenirs or something." Greg said, frowning in concentration.
There was a loud expletive and a crash of something breaking before John rushed back into the living room with a brown tea stain down his front and a grin.
"You're kidding!"He said, looking hopefully expectant.
"Nope. The benefactor actually kicked the bucket and left God knows how much wealth to me. Poor man, I didn't even get to know him well." Greg said, shaking his head mournfully.
"Alright then, I guess. How many days are we spending there?" John asked, plopping down on the arm of the chair opposite Greg's.
"Well, I was thinking ... about a week? If you aren't busy." He paused, scratching his head. " Hell, who am I kidding? You aren't busy unless I bring you cases."
"Hey! That's not true. I work at the local surgery."
"Uh huh. Which you run away from at Sherlock's no doubt frequent calls and the both of you go off gallivanting through London. Yeah, you do keep pretty busy."
John kicked out at Lestrade.
"When shall we start then?"
Lestrade grinned.
"As soon as I dump my toothbrush into the suitcase."
John grinned back.
"What are we waiting for, then?"
"We are waiting to see if the leader and the most cleverest of all would say to this ... idea." Came a voice from the couch, the last word said in a carefully controlled sneer. "And I say that this is a very bad idea and I don't agree with it at all. I do not want to waste my time on pink joy rides nor spoil my appetite by eating overly sweet delicacies. That area is better suited to Mycroft."
John and Greg rolled their eyes at each other and turned to face the figure on the sofa. Sherlock hadn't changed his position as far as they could see, but John fancied that the detective's right foot had turned a bit towards the cushions. He wasn't Sherlock, but even he could notice a change in the pale statue that had made home of the couch for the past few days.
Sherlock has his eyes closed and so he doesn't notice the two other occupants sticking their tongues out at him.
He, however, heard their muttered statements.
"Lestrade, I am not egoistic and I certainly don't think that I am God, since he logically doesn't exist. And John, it would be better if you could consult the dictionary for a more creative collection of swear words. You may gather other useful words in the process. Your vocabulary is horribly poor as it is. Maybe you could get Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson to join you."
Sherlock lapsed into silence again, draping an arm over his eyes and turning his face towards the ceiling.
Greg and John glanced at each other.
"So, that means that you aren't coming?" John asked, trepidation in his voice.
"It means that we aren't going."
"I could always go with Greg, you know."
"You could. But you won't."
"And why exactly is that?"
Sherlock sighed and stood up swiftly from the couch.
"Because you are a puppy, John. And I'm your ... handler."
John stared at him. Greg looked away, his face purple from controlling his laughter.
"You're ... that's, I mean, You are not ... for God's sakes, Sherlock ... I am not your puppy. It's actually the other way round. You do what I say. I am your handler. God knows that I'm the one who cleans up your mess more often than not." John said, arms crossed and eyes flashing.
"You are an idiot, John."
"Yeah, so are you."
"I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world."
"And I'm a doctor and Captain Watson of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. And full time babysitter of Sherlock Holmes."
"What?! I do not need a baby sitter."
"Oh yeah? How do you thing food and tea appears on the table for you to gobble up? How do you think there's take away in the fridge every night? How do you think your arse is saved every time you rush off after some criminal without any defence?"
"I don't eat or drink during cases. And my arse certainly doesn't need saving, thank you very much."
"Really? What about the time when the garrotter had his fingers wrapped around your throat and all you were doing was twist around, choking. I had to knock him out and you needed oxygen from the medics."
"I did not need help. I was perfectly fine. I was just waiting for the right time to ..."
"To what? To choke to death. If I hadn't come running behind you ..."
"Exactly! You come running behind me. You are my puppy, see? Wouldn't you agree, Gavin?"
They whirled around to look at Lestrade who stood opening and closing his mouth. At their respective, differently reasoned, glares he stepped back, shrugging helplessly.
"Greg ..."
"Gavin ..."
"Hey, who am I to come between a lovers' tussle?"
That did it. The previous fury now directed at a common object, they attacked Greg.
"We are not a couple, Lestrade. I am not gay. How the hell did ..."
"Oh for God's sakes, I have no interest in a relationship with anyone. Why is that too hard for ..."
"ENOUGH!"
Silence fell as Sherlock and John shut up and glared at Lestrade.
"You are coming with me. You are my puppies, both of you. And if you don't, there will be no cases for two months. Now shut up and pack."
With that Lestrade turned on his heel and stomped down the stairs.
Now Sherlock and John exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised and smirks on their lips.
"Well, that went easier than I expected. That was actually a reprieve from the monotony."
"Hmm. Though, there must be better ways than irritating Greg."
"No. I particularly love watching him lose his temper."
"Anyway, you are coming, aren't you?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world. A trip out of Smog filled London with my blogger and Gavin? Without a penny out of our pockets? That's a one time opportunity."
John smiled.
"Exactly my sentiments."
"Yes, now off you go and pack our bags."
Sherlock gathered a biscuit and went back to his prone position on the couch.
John sighed.
It could have been his imagination, but John rather thought that he could hear a whisper of 'good doggy' as he left the room.
He was going to kill that man!