The Frightful Fair

"You busy today?"

"Not particularly. Why?"

"Figured we could go to the fair," John said, looking across the sitting room to Sherlock. The detective was sprawled out on the couch, somewhat lethargic and dead to the world. Except now, he had tilted his head to look at John like he had grown another eye.

"What?"

"The fair. You know, games? Rides? Food?"

"I know what the fair is. I'm asking you why you're suggesting it," Sherlock replied, looking back at the ceiling. John could see that he had already dismissed the idea.

"Well, let's see. You're the reason that I don't have a girlfriend to take with me. We have a little extra money since you solved that last case. And you just said that you have nothing on today."

"Between having a lie-in and going to a fairgrounds stuffed with sweaty, sweets-covered people? I'll take the lie-in, thanks."

John frowned. "You never want a lie-in, Sherlock. Come on. You can... assess how long it takes for the average human child to... demolish a cloud of candy floss or to lick the caramel off of an apple."

"Lick the caramel off an apple? Why would caramel be on an apple? Anyway, it just drips off."

"Not... not that type of caramel, Sherlock. It's not drizzled, it's just..." John shrugged. "Haven't you ever had a caramel apple?"

"Sweets, no," Sherlock replied with no interest.

"Come on, Sherlock! I don't wanna go alone," John griped. "You insulted my last girlfriend out of the flat. I'm still angry about that, by the way."

"She was an idiot."

"Well, idiot or not, I don't have a date for fair now. So, the least you can do is-"

"Fine."

The agreement was so abrupt that John's attention snapped back to Sherlock too quickly. He thought for a moment that he had imagined it, before Sherlock rolled to his feet.

"Y-You'll come?" John asked, blinking. "Just to get this straight."

"I suppose I could experience it once. Likely that it's rubbish," Sherlock replied, padding back to his bedroom. "Be downstairs in five."

John blinked again and, not willing to back out now that Sherlock had agreed, went to get changed.


It was a busy day at the fairgrounds. John should have known it would be, even more since it was a weekend. Busy or not, John loved the fair. Of course, he wasn't the one with a social problem.

"Two children, one young, one older. The older recently took up drugs, the father knows about it since he supplies them. Mother doesn't know but has suspicions, nonetheless, doesn't care as she's having an affair with her son's girlfriend's father."

"Sherlock..."

"What? It's obvious."

"It's really not."

"If you'd just look at their shirt cuffs-"

"I'm not looking at their shirt cuffs, Sherlock. Behave," John hissed. When he made to take a right, Sherlock gravitated towards the family that he had been analyzing. "Sherlock, pay attention," he grumbled, pinching the shirt cuff of his flat mate and pulling him towards him.

"I am paying attention. You're boring. I'd rather follow them."

"Thanks," John muttered, letting go of Sherlock's cuff when someone looked at them twice. "Just stay with me. I don't need to worry about what kind of trouble you're getting into."

"I never get into trouble."

"Yeah, right." John slipped his hands into his pockets, looking down the aisles. "Want to eat?"

"Not really."

"Try a caramel apple?"

"John. I do not like sweets."

"A big part of the fair is sweets. You have to try something." He paused before heading to the left. "I want candy floss."

"Why would you want candy floss? You're a grown man."

"What's your point, Sherlock?" John replied, not looking back to the detective. He knew he was following him. Despite Sherlock's complaints, John knew that the detective would follow him now that the other distractions had been dispelled. Until he found something else distracting, that was. "Candy floss is a sort of good for any age type of thing."

"I do not agree."

"Of course you don't."

Five minutes later, they had settled down at one of the empty tables and John was picking at his candy floss heartily. Sherlock's eyes were on the crowd, no doubt taking in every thing that every person had done or would do.

"That's... odd," Sherlock said after some time of silence, and when John glanced up, the detective was watching him. Immediately, John began to feel all too self-conscious.

"What?" he asked, brushing his fingers across his lips in case he had floss on his face.

"Candy floss. It looks like it consists of air and cotton and yet, people enjoy it."

"It tastes much better, I assure you." John paused. "Did you want to try it, because I'm not going to offer mine to you. It'll look too much like we're sharing. I'll buy you one if you want."

"Uhm, no," Sherlock replied in a tone of annoyance, looking back to the crowd. John shrugged and pulled strands of floss from the diminishing mass. "What do we do next?" Sherlock continued.

"Games? Rides? I dunno. Whatever we come across, I guess."

"What kind of games could they possibly have here that still interest you?"

John raised his chin slightly, offering a smile. "Shooting."

"Excuse me?"

"The shooting games... You have to shoot down or hit a target. They're my speciality."

"I feel like there's a sense of something unfair here, John. Do they know that you were a soldier?"

"Why would I share my life with them? They don't care, either. If I can shoot, that's all they need to know." He paused, licking the sugar off of the paper cone. "Besides, most games here are rigged, or really hard to win."

"Probably not so hard to win as it is people play them wrong," Sherlock muttered.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Think you can win the ring toss?"

"The what?"

"You really didn't have a childhood, did you?" John mused. Sherlock gave him a look in return. "Well, okay, you get these little rings about so big, and you have to throw them to try and hook them around the neck of a beer bottle."

"What are the rings made of?"

"Plastic? I guess."

"The plastic will just bounce off of the glass. Why would people expect to win that kind of game?"

"Well, you just said that it wasn't the game so much as the person."

"Naturally."

"So, you could win it."

"Of course."

"Wanna prove it?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I don't believe you."

"Why should I care if you don't believe me?"

"Because I think you're wrong."

And John had him.

Sherlock's expression changed slightly, eyebrows furrowing only the slightest bit. There was annoyance in his eyes, although with a small bit of confusion. Probably wondering how John could doubt him, after all this time. John didn't mind. It wasn't anything big. He certainly didn't care. But Sherlock cared about how John thought he was wrong. And John wanted to see Sherlock play a stupid carnival game that was all chance and not something that the detective could control.

Sherlock stood, gracefully although not altogether unabashed. "Lead the way, John."

John grinned.


I said I was going to write a fair!fic for each day that I went to our County Fair. I've been there three days, so I have two more chapters to write up. I'll probably be going to the fair once more this year, so a fourshot? If I can manage. This is humour, by the way, although trying not to make it crack, so expect humour. It's all going to be very lighthearted and non-romantic, so, if you think you'd like that, follow/favourite/review away!

Coming soon: Sherlock finds a new intense dislike for any type of carnival game. John gets to show Sherlock up, just once. Stop shouting, Sherlock! It's just a game! Ugh! What- Where are you going? Home! I thought you wanted to play that shooting game? I... I'm curious to see a normal human playing a game. Is this some sort of repentance, Sherlock?

Thanks for reading! I'm grateful for any reviews!