Quick author's note: Hello there! This is my first piece of fanfiction writing ever, I've decided to brave the waters and try my hand at it. I admire my fellow writers who can see the benefits of this kind of writing and therein apply it to their own original work. That being said, thank you for letting me share in this community. I'm not entirely sure I should expand this story or not, so if you enjoy this chapter or would like to leave feedback, please review. Thank you kindly from the bottom of my heart!
Pleasantries and Chemistry
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"I have some insight on what happened to our poor Mister Thompson," concluded Sherlock Holmes as he sat perched over his microscope.
John Watson was sitting crossed legged in the living room, lowering his newspaper as he eyed his companion curiously.
"Are you thinking out loud again or are you actually meaning to involve me?" John cast Sherlock a fleetingly annoyed expression, returning to his newspaper as Sherlock did not so much as raise an eyebrow to acknowledge him.
"Figures," John muttered.
Lowering his safety goggles over his eyes, Sherlock bent forward to open a small ice chest. He began removing several clear vials from the chilled container, examining them one by one.
Clutching the contained fluid in his gloves, the detective set them upon his makeshift laboratory's surface —or kitchen table as John very much likes to remind him on a regular basis.
Cautiously dipping a pipette into a test tube and withdrawing a small amount of liquid, Sherlock transferred the substance onto a microscopic slide. "John, are you annoyed that I'm not filling you in on what I'm doing?"
Had Sherlock's back not been the angle facing John, the detective would have received a very frustrated and affronted stare.
John huffed and rose from his seat. "Far from it actually,"
As Sherlock moved to place his laboratory goggles over his face, he turned to John. The doctor in turn was standing with arms tightly folded across his chest. John was suddenly filled with the kind of dread every unfortunate individual succumbs to when being dissected and analyzed by Sherlock Holmes.
"No, no, no, shut your mouth."
A devious smile curved upon Sherlock's lips. "I didn't say anything," he replied, returning his attention back to his experiment.
"Then shut your brain! I don't want to hear what you have to deduce," John spat from the other side of the room.
"I agree, it would be a bit extraneous to say aloud that you've been having a bit of a hard time dealing with your current girlfriend, your frustration is unmercifully written all over your face. And your quick succession to panic just facing me speaks louder than any deduction I could relay in words. Oops." Sherlock drawled out the last word, signifying the conclusion of his tirade.
Although Sherlock was already busying himself with his microscope again, the doctor was glaring daggers at his companion's back. "You're an utter twa-"
Sherlock spun around, a vial clasped in his gloved palm, "Oh please John, you know how much I loathe the trivialness of relationship dilemmas. Jennifer is-"
"Elena," John interrupted.
"Rachel, Sarah, Jennifer, whatever!" Sherlock scrunched up his face in disgust. "The point is, it doesn't matter!"
A splitting tension pierced the room, John was livid. Not his usual lividness that served Sherlock with the affirmation his actions or words were childish and inappropriate. No, this lividness was laced with an anger gained from biting one's tongue far too long.
"You're right Sherlock." John spoke calmly. He straightened his body, his demeanor very composed. Calm yet unnerving. A calmness similar to the eye of a violent storm. A calm impending something else entirely…
Sherlock sensed the shift in mood, he paused, clutching a flask at eye-level in front of him. John would have sworn right there a twinge of paleness snuck upon the detective's features. Gathering up enough determination to remain composed, Sherlock slowly lowered the glassware and turned to face John.
There it was, John was smiling that unhinged, wry smile right at him. Where John appeared more menacing, Sherlock suddenly looked very regretful.
It was common knowledge the doctor's poor success with relationships was greatly due to Sherlock's ruthless behavior toward John's unaware, defenseless dates. The habitual berating which always transpired face to face, was sort of ritualistic. The doctor would bring home a new lady friend to 221B and Sherlock would ensure she would never return again.
Though always far from apologetic for the damaging results of his actions, Sherlock was neither oblivious to the effects he had on John's lack thereof love life. It was more so the detective did not fathom this pattern of destruction would ever catch up to them. After all, John never seemed to really mind that much.
And yet it didn't take a genius detective to realize this was the day it did matter; this one mattered.
"You're right," John continued, shaking his head. "Yea, the other ones might not have mattered as much. But you see, this one does. Elena does, Sherlock."
Frozen to the spot with arms bent awkwardly in front as to prevent his gloved hands from contaminating his clothing, Sherlock's eyes grew a smidgen wider. Had the situation not been so tense, John would have snickered at the fact his flatmate's laboratory goggles were now slightly foggy.
John took another step forward and to Sherlock's dismay, the menacing smile was still very present. "I'm making it a point for her to matter, I want this to work. Got it?"
Now only several feet away from each other, Sherlock noted John's fists were clenched against either side.
"Now, you always botch it up. Am I right?" John pointedly directed his finger at Sherlock, who was still very much motionless.
Both men locked eyes, studying each other's next move.
"John, I-"
"It's a yes or no question, Sherlock."
Exasperated, the detective finally lowered his gloved hands, exuding a whine before responding, "Ok, yes, I might mess up your dates sometimes. But-"
"Sometimes!" John threw his hands up in the air and narrowed his eyes at his friend. "You served my girlfriend blood in a wine glass. And don't even try to make an excuse for mixing the two up, you knew bloody well what you were doing!"
"No pun intended," Sherlock muttered as a smirk began to spread across his face. John slammed his knuckles down onto the kitchen table's surface, causing the glass containers and equipment to rattle.
The cheeky smile immediately melted from Sherlock's face, he seemed to shrink a little in height.
"Now, you're going to play nice from now on, d'you hear me?"
Pursing his lips, Sherlock gave John his most affronted look. John pointed his finger daringly back at his flatmate.
"Fine! Fine! I'll be nice… if I'm feeling up to it." Mumbling the last bit, Sherlock tilted his head toward his abandoned experiment. John quickly rounded on him, crossing his arms again.
"No, you will be nice. This conversation is not over 'til you swear to me-"
A buzzing noise broke through their conversation, both men glanced down at the mobile phone vibrating across the table's surface.
Sparing each other a quick look, both reacted simultaneously and dove for the device. With Sherlock's hands still confined to the thick yellow laboratory gloves, he fumbled as he attempted to pick up the vibrating phone. This queued John to swoop in and pluck it easily from Sherlock's loose grasp.
Quickly regaining his composure, Sherlock looked challengingly at John. Upon peeling off his lab gear, Sherlock extended an open, expecting palm toward the doctor.
John glanced down the at the phone he was gripping, "Hm, it's Lestrade. Might be a case. Would you like to answer it?"
Sherlock clenched his jaw. "Yes."
Holding the phone tightly above Sherlock's expecting hand, John gave his anxious friend a stern look. "Promise me you'll be nice to Elena."
Sherlock groaned but was far too despaired by the potential of a new case awaiting him on the other line. "Okay! Fine, yes. I'll be nice to Elizabeth."
"Elena!"
"Yes, good! Elena." Sherlock said hurriedly.
Sighing, John dropped the vibrating phone into Sherlock's eager hands. The detective answered it in a heartbeat.
"Lestrade," Sherlock answered into the phone.
John began busying himself with making tea and Sherlock couldn't help but notice he was looking far too pleased with himself.
"Yes. Very interesting," Sherlock spoke into the phone. He abandoned his post near his experiment and began pacing in the living room. "Ah, this sounds very good- good, yes, you know what I mean. I can be there in twenty minutes."
Grabbing his gloves and safety goggles, Sherlock strode over to John and shoved the lab gear into the doctor's hands.
"I need you to stay here and observe the cerebrospinal fluid," Sherlock ordered as he was already striding toward the front door.
"What! No, Sherlock, I'm not dabbling in your experiments," John said, following Sherlock into the living room.
Already tying his scarf around his neck, Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"John, I've agreed to be… pleasant… to your girlfriends," John smiled as Sherlock struggled through the word. "All you have to do is write down what you observe. I'll collect the rest of the data when I return."
"Sherlock-"
"Just don't mix the two samples."
Shooting John a bright smile and wink, Sherlock swung open the front door and was gone.
"Wanker." John huffed as he walked begrudgingly back to the kitchen and sat himself behind the microscope.
John paused before putting on the protective gloves. He pulled out his mobile phone and began typing:
Grab wine on your way back. Elena's joining us for dinner - JW
John smiled smugly to himself as he hit 'send.' Adjusting the safety googles to his head, he noticed Sherlock had already replied.
I'll make it a point to stay out late then. -SH
John's grin grew a little larger as he typed:
What happens when I mix the two samples? -JW
He hadn't even put on the second glove when his phone lit up.
White or Red? -SH