A Fangirlish Note: So the trailers came out today... and I'm dying. Seriously comatose in anticipation. How can you not when all the anagrams continuously spell: SHERLOCK RETURNS. I don't know if I can wait 11 more days after waiting so long... so I'm going to finally give in and write something. I know there's already a million drabble collections out there, but what the hell. Let's make it a million and one. The only structure is I'll go through the alphabet with the first theme I think of in relation to Sherlock. I'm also not going in order because that's so boringly conventional.

A Necessary Disclaimer: I don't own the awe-inspiring thing that is Sherlock. But that's fine because Godtiss does just grandly.

B is for Bees

They had been full-out sprinting down a crowded street-market after the criminal when Sherlock came to a halt and crouched down by a bouquet of sunflowers and lilies.

This was not the first time the tall man had done something confusing and outright convoluted to John, so the ex-soldier decided that if Sherlock needed to apprehend those flowers instead of the man getting away, John would let him. The good doctor, in the meantime, would continue to give chase.

He quickly found he didn't need to, as he turned down the next street of busy stales to see a good half-dozen police officers lead by Lestrade swarming the perpetrator. Feeling a sense of accomplishment despite being unable to make the final tackle, John put his hands on his hips, gave a large exhale of breath, and turned around to relocate Sherlock.

While the consulting detective could easily be distracted, it seemed something about these flowers had uprooted him enough to stay rooted. Feeling the familiar tick to try and understand, John squatted down next to Sherlock.

"It's magnificent, isn't it John?"

John blinked at the bald flattery; he had never seen Sherlock so much as give a nod of recognition. To flat out state something to be marvelous-

"You're not on any of Mrs. Hudson's 'medicines,' are you?" John asked lightly, eyes still trained on Sherlock's pale face.

The man's gaze remained fixed, but John saw the slight elevation of his eyebrows.

Sighing, John decided that he should finally give a look to what Sherlock had found clear rapture in. When he finally moved his eyes from his partner's ever-intensive face, he blinked at the bright yellow and black of a bee.

He didn't know what he expected to see (maybe some speckled pattern never observed before in the lilies, or an odd number of petals in the sunflowers), but something so small, softly buzzing and seemingly insignificant was not expected. Murder-puzzles barely captured the genius' attention, how could he know something like this could? (Great - another mystery to solve.)

"Why did you stop running for that?" John asked, eyes squinting as the bee fluttered its wings to hop to a new flower, continuing in its never ending collection of pollen.

"Lestrade would have detained him before us; there was no threat of escape."

"Right as always," John stated for the innumerable time as he stood up, dusting off his pants in habit.

Looking around, the doctor found that he was not the only one watching Sherlock. Maybe because it was almost the middle of summer and Sherlock was still wearing his flamboyant coat (like it was his partner and not the breathing, fellow human being aside of him), but John knew it was most likely because he was still staring at the bee, still as a statue.

"Sherlock."

The man called did not give a verbal response, but he did wave a hand for John to continue.

"Can we get going now?"

In the end, Sherlock got up not through John's insistence or the flower-seller's glares, but when the bee had finally finished and drifted off to search for other flowers or return to its hive. He stood with a rustle of his coat, flexed his fingers before bringing out his phone, and then was off to where John could still hear the commotion of the recent arrest.

John's eyes darted from Sherlock's retreating figure to the flower shop lady, who was looking at him expectantly. John gave a small shrug, but the woman's brow only furrowed further.

When John caught up with Sherlock, the police were just filing away and his partner's chest was puffed out like a peacock. When his sharp eyes fell back to John, his eyebrows rose again at what the blond was holding in the crook of his elbow.

Before John could start on the bright bouquet that Sherlock had seen so favorably minutes ago, John said with a mature roll of his eyes, "Yes, yes, the rumors."

Sherlock gave him a once-over again before he turned on his heel to leave. John gave Lestrade a single wave before following after.

As the two walked through the busy weekend-streets of London, the blond was careful to hold the flowers close to his chest to avoid them being battered about. It was oddly comforting how no one gave funny looks to the men walking by side-by-side with a bouquet of flowers between them. The consulting detective finally said something on the purchase when they got back to the flat as John was pulling out a vase.

"Why would you waste money on something so perishable? You are not a frugal spender like this purchase entails."

"Why do I bother getting milk?" John breezily asked back over the rushing of water from the tap.

Sherlock's lips were pressed in a thin, straight line as John unwrapped the grouping of stems and fit them into the chipped vase. He hesitantly arranged them for a few moments before picking them up with a slight nod of appreciation. When he got to the door frame and saw Sherlock blocking his way, it was his turn to raise his eyebrows.

There was a silent, seemingly tense moment as John looked over the flowers to Sherlock, who in turn looked determined not to move until a concrete answer was given. The taller man's shoulder involuntarily straightened when John said:

"Move."

"Excuse me?"

At his clipped question, it was obvious Sherlock would not be willingly clearing the way. John sighed yet again before edging his way around Sherlock's lanky body and through to the main room. John heard the floorboards creak as Sherlock turned to observe what he was doing.

Used to being studied, John ambled over to one of the large windows and placed the vase down. With his hands now free, he propped the glass pane wide open. Immediately the rushing sound of cars and people floated into the shared flat. The lily petals swayed in the hot breeze while the large sunflowers remained still. The brightness of their yellow in the sun created the movement.

He gave another self-satisfied nod before walking over and grabbed his laptop from the table. Still not looking at Sherlock watching him, John opened it and began typing.

Sherlock crossed the room in a few strides and his nose crinkled as he continued to study the flowers and their new position.

"You cannot possibly have gotten the flowers merely to believe more bees would congregate to it," Sherlock said as he situated himself on the couch.

John shrugged, pretending not to see Sherlock's lips curve up. John also pretended not to notice how many times Sherlock's eyes flitted to check for the buzzing bees throughout the duration of the afternoon and even after they'd returned from dinner.

When Lestrade brought up the sunflowers and lilies again the next day, John convincingly told him the shop lady had not allowed him to leave without paying for the flowers Sherlock apparently ruined by breathing on them for a good ten minutes.

Just like John, Sherlock pretended not to know he was lying.

Posted: 12.21.2011

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