Puzzle Pieces From The Clay
What if Sherlock
Was a British pop singer?
What if John
Was a pop fan?
• • •
What if they fell in love?
AN do you think Ben Gibbard would be mad if he knew I was using his songs to write a Johnlock story? ... I'm sorry. (I'm not sorry) I'm sorry. (No, I'm not sorry)
Ha, anyway go listen to Postal Service cause I've, in essentials, based this story off of him and some other bands too. I'll tell you who I am using and what song I am using at the beginning of each chapter. Yea, well. Here we go.
Molly is WAY OOC here. She's kinda a BAMF. Lestrade kinda is. He's more of a dumb drummer type here.
LISTEN UP CAUSE IM ONLY GONNA SAY THIS ONCE. I AIN'T NO BEDTIME STORY LADY.
If you think I own anything, you are severely mistaken because I own nothing. These songs were written by amazing people who can do amazing things with words and I could never dream of being as successful as them. And I'm not even British so I have no claim whatsoever to Sherlock Holmes or John Watson or anyone. I'm just using these songs and characters for my own personal enjoyment.
1. Song: Soul Meets Body
Band: Death Cab For Cutie
"Da da da da DAAAAAA!" I yelled tunelessly in our van.
"Sherlock, shut up!" Lestrade yelled back at me from the driver's chair.
"Molly, you like my singing, don't you?" I whined.
"I-well, humm," Molly avoided. Bassists tended to do that sometimes.
I waltzed over to her, "Come on, Mollz, you know you love it." I put my hands on her knees and teased.
She rolled her eyes, "G'off Sherly." She pushed her legs out and I let go and walked back to my previous place on the couch.
"Humph!" I said, "Well the rest of England and some of America likes my singing," I mumbled pointedly.
"Tough shit, Sherlock," Lestrade said, "I just like drumming."
I rolled my eyes drummers sometimes! Something about being a drummer and having a tolerable personality just didn't go together. But guitarists like myself, now there's where you split; some guitarists were total douchbags and some were great people. I wasn't sure which one I went under quite yet.
I looked back to the back of the van where our two roadies were, Anderson and Donovan. They were terrible! Absolutely despicable people, I sniffed inwardly and stopped reducing things from them.
To distract myself I yelled up to the front, "'Strade! How much longer till we get to our stage tonight?"
"Couple hours," he responded.
"How many's a 'couple'?" I asked suspiciously.
I heard him sigh, "A couple, Sherlock. Like one or two."
There wasn't anything to do. I groaned for a minute before jumping up and going to turn on the TV. I watched the beginning of The Mentalist then happily flipped to an episode of Doctor Who. I turned the Dooo-Weee-Dooo part up 'obnoxiously' (Anderson) loud to show my delight and I jumped around the van like a child on red bull, singing along. But that still didn't fill up /all/ my time and so I just went to sleep for the remaining.
When I woke up Anderson was leaning over me, yelling for me to wake up. I pushed him away from me, stood up and followed Lestrade out into the world of downtown London.
"Fuck yea," I breathed out, glad to be back in my hometown.
"Oh, breath that rich, London air!" Molly relinquished. Lestrade hooted agreement and exaggeratedly breathed in and out.
We were at our hotel we'd be staying at that night. It was downtown and I could see the lights of the downtown London glowing not too far away. The Grunts - Anderson and Donovan - got everyone's bags out of the van. I didn't get my bag; one of them'd have to carry it. I sniggered to myself and walked inside being closely followed by Lestrade and Molly. I went up to reception and leaned on the desk.
"Hello, welcome to The Hotel! Do you have reservations?" the woman behind the counter asked.
"Ahh, we should. Here," I said. I turned back to Anderson and shouted, "Anderson!" He grumbled but walked up to the front desk (I happily noticed he put down two bags, mine and his) and dealt with our reservations.
I wandered over to a little area where they had some chairs and couches and a very living room nature to it. There was a TV playing some darkly filmed show and I was curious as to what it was. I went and sat on the couch in front of it and watched intently. It appeared to be about two brothers and some guy in a trench coat. That's as far as I got before someone came and sat on the other side of the couch, opening a drink as they sat.
"Hello," the person said, "you watch Supernatural?" The speaker was a man, or a boy. He was at that in-between part, the part where they're about twenty, maybe twenty-one.
I glanced over to him, short, stocky, blonde. Adorable. Hedge-hog-ish. I looked back to the TV before snapping my head back to him, "Hello. Is that what this is?" I gestured to the show.
He nodded, "Yea. Not their best season though. Definitely not." I nodded and looked back slowly. I looked back when he spoke again, "I'm John Watson," he said and stuck out his hand.
I looked at it before I unsurely put mine out to grasp it, "Sherlock Holmes."
"I know," he smiled. "I'm in town to see your show but don't worry. I'm not one of /those/ fans. I just dig your sound."
I nodded, "Okay. Cool." I searched him and saw no signs of him lying to me. I smiled at him.
"Glad you're coming to the show, I'll see you there," I said before Lestrade shouted at me to come along.
"Is that the rest of the band?" John asked.
I nodded, "Heh, yea, anyway. I have to go. I'll see you later, John." I hurried off after the rest of our group, happily seeing that Anderson was still carrying my bag.
Our group was split into two rooms and since Anderson and Donovan were together (though they refused to say anything) they automatically got their own bed in the least. I wanted my own bed and so I got my own and Lestrade and Molly slept together, to the discomfort of both of them. But we were in a band - they dealt with it.
In the morning we had the day to do what we wanted to. I got up at the reasonable time of 7:30 or so AM and went down the hall to the breakfast bar with Molly and Lestrade sleepily in tow. I didn't go so much to eat as I did to watch other people eat and so I didn't get a plate but I did get some tea. And I drank it as I looked around the room. Molly plopped down next to me with a plate full of food and a coffee cup filled with the black liquid. Lestrade was soon sitting at our table as well and eating hungrily.
I then received a text and it loudly broke the single-toned-ness of the breakfast room. I paid no mind to the looks I got and then the double takes as they realized who it was and read the message. It was from my older brother Mycroft.
Hello baby brother, I do hope you're doing well today. I heard you were back in town. Don't get into any trouble that I might have to get you out of. -MH
I rolled my eyes and prepared a reply.
Yes I'm here at The Hotel with Molz and 'Strade. And you know me brother -SH
I smiled, satisfied, and put my phone down on the table. I looked back around to the people and saw a few of the younger people glancing at my group and whispering. I rolled my eyes, 'Yes, yes, it's us. Deal with it but don't bother us or so help me...' I thought to myself. I kept looking and spotted the man-boy I'd met yesterday, John. He was eating alone and reading some book I saw was called The Hobbit. I smiled a little smile of approval and took a sip of tea before I continued to watch.
After breakfast we had gone back up to the rooms to sleep or watch TV before it was a sociably appropriate time to go out on the town. By eleven we decided that it would be normal to go out and find lunch. (We left Anderson and Donovan to shag at The Hotel, 'call if you need us') So we left the hotel and got into the van.
"Where are we heading to?" Molly asked.
"Anywhere! Come on, Sherlock, you know these streets better than any of us. Where's the best place to get some food?" Lestrade asked me.
I thought for a moment, "Well. Here, I'll drive." I began to get into the drivers seat before Molly stopped me.
"Oh no, I'm not dying today. I'll drive," she pulled me away from the seat and smoothly sat down. "'Strade! Keys!" she commanded. He handed her the keys and closed the van door. I sat down grumpily - my driving was fabulous! Lestrade sat next to me and buckled up then commanded me to buckle up. I stuck my tongue out at him and buckled my seat.
Along the way I directed Molly downtown so we could hit the best spot for food and entertainment. She shortly parked and we all stepped out onto the street. I stretched a tad and smoothed out my black skinny-jeans.
"Come on gang, allon-sy!" I announced and we all walked down the street like the badass motha fuckahs we were. Molly pushed her long dyed pink bangs back (her hair was an arrangement of colors from bright pink in the front, black in the back, brownish on top and blue on the fringes; her clothing choice was normal, just black skinny-jeans and a Paramore shirt on) Lestrade pushed up his different colored sleeves (one pale green and other equally pale red; the torso of his shirt was a mustard yellow and his pants were a deep blue color skinny jeans) and I pulled my jacket so the collar stood on end. It felt like we walked in slow motion.
Our slow motion walk ended when I stopped abruptly and the others bumped into me.
"What the hell?" Molly asked and stepped back.
"Sherlock!" Lestrade shouted. I didn't say anything, just kept looking at my point of fixation. Lestrade and Molly looked over at what I was, "Sherlock?" He asked.
I hummed and ran across the street quickly. "Sherlock!" Molly yelled after me and punched the button on the crosswalk but then ended up running across when it was still red. Lestrade followed her closely.
In the meantime I had reached my goal. "John!" I shouted at his back.
He stopped and turned to look at me, "Oh, hello again. Did you need something?"
I tried to remember what I needed because I had temporarily forgotten when he looked at me. "I, I. Humm!"
Molly and Lestrade had caught up to us by now. "Sherlock! What didya do that for? You could've gotten yourself killed!" Molly screeched at me.
I then remembered why I had run across the street, "Oh yes! John, would you go to lunch with me?"
He looked, flustered, at our trio. "I, uh, yea sure."
"Great!" I said and grabbed his arm, leaving my companions behind. He looked back to them apologetically as I ushered him down the street into a restaurant I knew had good food. I imagined Molly in the least knew to go somewhere else and not bother me at the moment.
"Um, Mr. Holmes-" John began.
"Sherlock, please," I smiled at him and we waited to be seated.
"Okay, Sherlock then. Do I want to ask why you wanted to have lunch with me rather than Molly and Greg?" He asked with a confused look then quickly added, "I mean, not that I'm not flattered and to admit a little excited a the prospect of being dragged into a," he looked around, "Italian restaurant by my favorite band member possibly of all time but-"
"Shut up," I laughed. "I just wanted to have lunch with you, is that too much? And I know the owner of this place." I shrugged and looked away.
"Okay," he accepted and questioned no further.
The woman at the front desk looked at me and her eyes practically popped out of her skull, "You-you're. Ohmygawd. Ohmygawd. Ohmygawd. Ohmygawd! You're Sherlock Holmes! Are Greg and Molly with you? Ohmygawd. I literally love all of your music, oh my gawd, you probably want to eat, I guess you need a table for two since I don't see Greg or Molly oh my gawd, come this way Mr. Holmes," she fanned and grabbed two menus before she walked in a direction and gestured for us to follow. I smiled at the shorter man-boy before tugging him along.
"Are most people like that?" John whispered, "Should I act like that?" We laughed quietly.
I responded, "A lot of them do act like that. And no, you definitely shouldn't." I shook my head gravely at him.
I smiled at the waitress as she put the menus down on a table for two, "Thank you."
"Ohmygod," she whispered, "so, so, is there anything I can get you to drink?"
I looked at John. He searched me before he looked up to her and said, "Oh, I'll have hot tea please."
She wrote it down and looked to me, "And for you?"
"Same. Two sugars though," I nodded and she wrote that down too before scurrying off whispering the chant of a fangirl over and over. (Ohmygod Ohmygod Ohmygod Ohmygod Ohmygod)
John perused through the menu, casually looking at me every once in a while. I watched him (I wouldn't get any food. I wasn't hungry) and finally broke the silence, "So you say you're a fan. Tell me something a fan would know."
He looked at me and coughed into his hand, "Well, you, Molly and Greg met in high school. Greg would've been a police detective inspector if he hadn't become a musician, Molly would've been a doctor and you, now you're tricky. You have said many things ranging from criminal mastermind to great detective. And so the band name is Consulting-Detectives but I looked up a definition for that word but here's the thing, that's not technically a word. So I think that's what you's have done. Be a consulting detective, whatever that is." He blushed when he stopped.
I just smiled at him, "You're right on all accounts except everyone keeps saying 'Greg'. Who's Greg?"
He looked confused, "Greg. Gregory Lestrade... Drummer." He raised an eyebrow. "He's in your band."
"You mean Lestrade? His name's Lestrade..." I said, confused.
"Greg's his first name..." John trailed off, disbelieving.
"No it isn't..." I was positive it wasn't but. Hm.
At that point the owner of the restaurant walked by, paused, and turned around to me, "Ah! Sherlock!" He leaned over and hugged my shoulders. "How've you been doing?"
"Ah, Angelo. I've been great, and you?" I smiled at him.
"Fine fine! You know, my daughter put that autograph into a frame. It means a lot to her," he smiled, ever jolly.
"Well I wouldn't be where I am without them," I said and winked at John. "John, this is Angelo. Angelo, meet John."
"Ahh! Hello, John! Any friend of Sherlock is welcome here!" he wrung John's hand, "Free food for the two of you, I cook myself. Watchoo two want to eat?"
"Oh, I don't want anything," I said.
"Oh, but Sherlock! You must," Angelo insisted.
"Come on dude. You should eat. I saw you in the cafeteria today and you didn't have any breakfast," John said sternly.
I sighed and ordered a pasta bowl. When Angelo turned to John I quickly stuck out my tongue at him. He half smiled and tried not to laugh as I made faces at him behind Angelo. "Heh, I'll have, heh! The pasta salad, thank you Angelo," he ordered and when Angelo walked away he stuck his tongue out at me and scrunched up his face. I laughed openly at him. Then he stopped and shook his head, laughing hysterically. "Look at us! I'm having lunch with bloody Sherlock Holmes and we're making faces at each other behind the back of the owner of the restaurant," he shook his head, still laughing. I smiled at him, for some unknown reason he made me incredibly happy.
Little did I know that outside the window of Angelo's evil was brewing. My "Number One Fan" was cooking up a plot to steal me away from the world and keep me for himself. Little did I know, Misery was about to go down while I sat and had lunch and goofed with someone impossibly attractive.
After lunch John and I walked down the street in search of Molly and who I now knew to be Greg. We found them not far off in a record shop and waltzed in and then laughed at each other's ridiculous-ness. Molly and Lestrade raised an eyebrow at us and we giggled at their looks.
"Sherlock, are your drunk?" Lestrade asked.
I just laughed harder, "No! And hey, why didn't you say your name was Greg?"
He looked at me like I was crazy, "Dude, we went to school together! You know my name! I just thought everyone called me Lestrade cause it sounds cooler and separates me from other Gregs."
Molly was looking at John, "Hey Sherly, who's your friend?" I didn't like they way she was looking at him.
I glared at her for a moment before saying, "Molz, this is John. John, you know Molly." They exchanged Hellos and I turned him to Lestrade, "Well, you actually seem to know him better than I do but, John, Lestrade, Lestrade, John." They shook hands and said hello as well.
"So what do you do, John?" Molly asked him, eyes raking him up and down and smiling slightly.
I saw John squirm a moment before answering, "I'm, well. In university at the moment. I'm going to be a doctor." He nodded.
"Smart," she smiled seductively at him.
Lestrade saw my glare and said, "Hey Molly, why don't we go to the jazz section?" She pouted but followed him (mostly because of the firm grip on her arm). I heard her whine when they got over there, "But Sherlock has a friend!" Lestrade shushed her and they looked through the different Jazz CDs and records.
I looked at John who was blushing brightly. I laughed quietly to myself before walking around to a random section.
"So. What type of music do you like?" asked John.
I raised an eyebrow at him, "What do you mean? You know what I play."
"Well, you might like a certain type but play a different type," he mumbled and looked away.
I smiled at him, "Actually you're perfectly right. I like classical music. I play violin and piano as well as guitar."
He looked up to me, "Really? I wish I had time to learn an instrument." He looked through the records. "I love any music. Besides screemo or any of that hard stuff. Metal." He made a yuck sound as his fingers slid through the large, round disks easily.
I leaned on the table and watched him, "I agree." He looked back to me and we didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at each other.
"Cool," he said finally after what seemed like ages spent in heaven. He broke eye contact and went back to the records.
I breathed heavily and went back to looking too.
Our band went back to The Hotel with John constantly at my side. We talked jauntily the entire way, much to the annoyance of Molly and Lestrade. When we finally got to the lobby and the band bad to go down one hall and John another we stopped and suddenly realized where we were.
"Wow, well. Time does seem to really fly doesn't it?!" Molly exaggerated.
I rolled my eyes at her as Lestrade took her arm and waved by to John and told me he'd see me later. I looked back to John, "Yea, well. I guess I should go."
"Yea, I guess you should. I probably should get going too," he bashfully said.
"Right. Okay then. Goodnight," I awkwardly said and we both broke off and steadily walked the opposite way. I stopped and turned back, "Wait, wait, wait," I crossed the lobby floor and stood in front of John's hallway.
"Yea?" he asked hopefully.
"You're on the guest list," I told him.
His eyes flickered, "Oh! The show! Yea. I honestly forgot who you were there for a while." He laughed. "But thank you," he looked up at me.
I nodded, "Yea, no problem."
He nodded, "Right well. Goodnight."
"Yea," we both turned back to our separate halls and walked stockily to our separate rooms.
When I got back to my room I flopped on the bed and closed my eyes. I heard Lestrade snickering. "Shut up, 'Strade." I yelled at him and threw a pillow his way.
Unfortunately it hit an irate Molly and she screamed and threw it back at me. I shouted playfully at her and threw it back. "Sherlock! Stawwwwp!" She yelled and ran over to me. She flopped down on the bed with the pillow in her hands and wrestled me for a minute. Then somehow we ended up kissing.
She jumped off me quickly and we all agreed never to talk about what had just occurred again and we all quickly and awkwardly got into our own beds and turned off the lights.
I couldn't get to sleep right away. It wasn't because of Molz, that was just something you risk having happen when you go on the road with somebody. Just like I'd seen both of them naked and they had both seen me naked. It wasn't weird because none of us liked each other, I was asexual, Lestrade was gay (and had the hots for my brother no doubt, uck) and Molly, well. Molly had other boys in mind. Like John.
I shook my head. John? What was so special about him? He was a fan. A fan, Sherlock. Get your head around that. He wasn't somebody you should imagine kissing anyway. Bad Sherly. But those lips! They were so big. And his eyes so perfectly green. He was ever so handsome. And easy to get along with.
Asexual!
... Yea, right.
I couldn't have these thoughts, freak that I was. So in my mind palace I made a new place, a bus station. I sent my thoughts of John in a flirtatious way away, far away where they would be more suited.
Suddenly I had an idea for a song. I turned on my lights and grabbed my notebook and wrote. I wrote what felt necessary to write, what I literally felt at the time. I wrote about meeting John.
I want to live where soul meets body
And let the sun wrap its arms around me
And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
And feel what it's like to be new
'Cause in my head, there's a Greyhound station
Where I can send my thoughts to far off destinations
So they may have a chance of finding a place where they're far more suited then here
And I cannot guess what we'll discover
When we turn the dirt with our hands cupped like shovels
Bu I know our filthy hands can wash one another
And not one speck will remain
And I do believe it's true that there are roads left in both of our shoes
But if the silence takes you then I hope it takes me too
So [green] eyes I'll hold you near, 'cause you're the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
Where souls meets body