Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters (real or fiction). Wish I did though! :)
A/N: Apologies - the last ten minutes of the match are all a bit of a blur, if I got any part of the detail incorrect I am truly sorry :( Please review and please be kind. Thank you and enjoy.
John grimaced as he glared at the TV screen, his hand scraping through his short blonde hair.
'Advantage, Djokovic!' the umpire's voice broke the tense silence of 221B Baker Street.
Sherlock glanced up from his seat at the kitchen table where he had been checking his latest mould samples under the microscope.
'Hasn't it finished yet? How much longer is it going to go on for?' asked Sherlock petulantly. He had wanted to regale John with his latest theories on a couple of cold cases sent to them by DI Lestrade, but his flatmate had been glued to the tennis match for the last three hours. Apparently interrupting his friend whilst Andy Murray was on court was "a bit not good".
'Deuce!'
John breathed a sigh of relief as he turned slightly and shot a sideways look at the young detective. 'Murray's already lost three championship points. If he can just win this game, then he'll be the Wimbledon champion. We haven't had a male champion at Wimbledon since 1936, that's seventy seven years Sherlock!'
'Yes, I am aware, I did get an A for maths at GCSE!' replied Sherlock.
'Seventy. Seven. Years! Sherlock' answered John, his tone of voice showing his frustration at his young friend. As he opened his mouth to continue his argument, the umpire's voice once again rang through the silence of the flat.
'Advantage, Murray!'
John's head swivelled around so fast, he almost had whiplash, his eyes widening as he inhaled sharply. His heart rate increased substantially as he moved to sit on the edge of his chair, every atom of his existence willing the young tennis player on. His breathing became erratic as Andy served the ball, Novak returned, Andy hit back, Novak knocked the ball into the net! Andy Murray had won Wimbledon!
John jumped to his feet, his hands raised in triumph, tears in eyes and a huge smile across his face. He spun around to face Sherlock as the tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks, the joy and relief on his face plain for all to see. Sherlock's lips twitched up into a small smile, pride in a fellow Brit and pleasure at seeing his closest friend and flatmate so happy, quickly overcoming his petulant mood. Today was a good day!
A/N: Just a quick note - Novak Djokovic is one of the most gracious men on this planet. He is a true gentleman!
Today was a good day!