Disclaimer: I do not own the Sherlock characters, I do not own them Sam I Am.
Gather 'round, children, and let me tell you tale of the very first time Dr. John Hamish Watson solved a case by himself. Well, not technically solved – he actually couldn't figure it out, gave up, and then had the answer, quite literally, reveal itself to it sounds better when I say solved.
As he neared the checkout, John figured he ought to call Mrs. Hudson and see if she wanted anything.
"I've gone down the shops; you need anything?" he asked into his mobile phone.
"Oh, heavens," Mrs. Hudson answered. Lately, she seemed quite flustered when John talked to her. "I shouldn't think so… I just went yesterday."
"Alright, I'll see you when I get back then."
"Oh, actually, I've changed my mind!"
John sighed, "Fine, what is it?"
"Well, I was just going to let you know that when I went down the shop yesterday I forgot to get the milk."
"What? You must've gotten it; we have a full carton in the fridge."
"Well, I didn't."
"But I didn't get any. So you must've."
"But how could we have milk if you didn't get it?"
"Probably because you got it."
"But I didn't!"
"Alright, you didn't!" John conceded. "Can we stop arguing about milk? I need to buy this stuff and go run some other errands."
"Cheers." Mrs. Hudson said right before disconnecting.
And that was the phone call that started it all.
Two Weeks Later…
"So, it's been a fortnight since we've had to buy milk and I'm really starting to worry. I'm worried about a lot of things, but mostly Mrs. Hudson's memory. What if she's buying it and then forgetting? What if she's forgetting other things as well? What if she's getting Alzheimer's? What if she's losing her mind? I mean, I'm certainly not buying the milk! And somebody has to be getting it… What do you think, Sherlock?"
Of course, there was no answer. There never was.
But, let's be honest with ourselves here, if the black marble headstone which marked the grave of Sherlock Holmes didsuddenly begin to answer Dr. Watson's quandaries, we would have an entirely different problem on our hands.
Three Weeks Later…
One night, John Watson and Mrs. Hudson got very close to discovering the secret of the replenishing dairy substance… but only because the "Milkman" got clumsy with his deliveries.
"I've put the very last drop of milk in your cuppa, so it should replace itself any moment now." Mrs. Hudson said as she walked towards John, tea in hand. "You know, it's kind of amazing how… John!"
Dr. Watson woke with a start. He had fallen asleep with his head in his hands again.
"I thought we agreed we'd stay awake all night," Mrs. Hudson scolded as she gave John his tea. She sat next to him at the table, which was finally devoid of all scientific equipment and stray body parts.
John chuckled dryly and rubbed his tired eyes, "You're a whole lot better at staying up than I am." He sipped the caffeinated drink in an attempt to fight sleep – but all it seemed to do was make him even drowsier. "It was always easier to stay awake when Sherlock kept throwing things at me." He mused.
Mrs. Hudson smiled as she too sipped her tea. "He wouldn't let you get a wink of sleep, would he?"
"Shh!" John quieted. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear wh—"
"Shh!" John put his finger on his lips. "I think someone's broken in!" he whisper-shouted.
"It's the 'Milkman'!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.
"I thought we weren't going to call it that," John grumbled.
"Shh!" Mrs. Hudson shushed him back, "If I'm not allowed to talk, why are you?"
"Oh shut up, Mrs. Hudson!" John finally yelled.
"JOHN!" someone incredulously reprimanded.
"Who the hell was that?!" John asked the room.
Mrs. Hudson gave John a very surprised look before promptly falling asleep. John tried to wake her, but found himself drifting off as well.
When they awoke the next morning, the milk had been refilled and nothing else had been disturbed. Well, nothing but their poor minds and hearts.
They ended up simply accepting the fact that their milk would always magically replace itself. It wasn't as if it was doing any harm, I mean, hey – free milk!
Secretly though, Mrs. Hudson wished other groceries would start to replenish themselves as well. They'd save a hell of a lot on the bill…
Meanwhile, in the Same Part of Town…
The aforementioned "Milkman"—who does in fact have a name but I will not yet reveal it for the sake of the miniscule plot I've included in this story (but let's be quite honest, if you don't already know who he is you're probably a bit thick) – was dressed in black from head to toe.
In one of his hands was a freshly purchased six pint plastic bottle of milk, in the other, a key to 221B Baker Street. Pausing only long enough to unlock the door, he crept stealthily up the stairs. Upon reaching the top, he placed his ear to the thin wall that separated him from the flat within.
"I thought we weren't going to call it that," came a male voice the intruder identified as "John".
"Shh! If I'm not allowed to talk, why are you?" came the voice of an elderly female that the intruder knew to be one "Mrs. Hudson".
"Oh shut up, Mrs. Hudson!" John yelled.
The Milkman was taken aback. How dare John say such a thing to Mrs. Hudson?
"JOHN!" the Milkman reprimanded in his harshest tone.
"Who the hell was that?!" he heard John ask.
"Damn," the Milkman said under his breath. "Plan B," he ordered into his mobile phone.
"Yes, sir," someone responded.
There was a moment's silence before the Milkman heard John's head hit the table.
"Wait!" The Milkman yelled into his mobile. "Cancel that – the tea worked."
"Yes, sir," the man replied once more.
The Milkman walked with determination towards the fridge, where he promptly replaced the old, empty bottle with the fresh one he had just bought.
Having finished his task, he walked back out the door and began his decent down the stairs. He stopped midway and reconsidered his decision.
Quickly running back into the flat, he leaned down and whispered in John's ear, "I got some milk. Sorry about the beans though – always seems to slip my mind when I'm down the shops."
One Year Later…
"Do you think it'll ever stop coming?" Mrs. Hudson wondered aloud one day.
"What? The milk?" John asked, not even looking up from his laptop.
"Yes, of course the milk."
"Not sure."
"Well of course you're not sure! Who could be sure of that?"
"Then why did you ask?" he snapped back.
"Well! I never…" Mrs. Hudson gasped. "I'm going out," she announced in a huff.
"Fine!" John called down the stairs after her as she slammed the door shut.
He put his head in his hands. What was he going to do? Ever since Sherlock… left, things had become increasingly difficult. No one wanted to be John's flat mate, and he was worried that he might have to leave 221B. London was not cheap.
John sighed as he looked over the pile of bills on the table. How was he ever going to pay for all of them? He was already working two part-time jobs at local hospitals. Now that he wasn't getting paid exorbitant amounts of money for the cases he and Sherlock solved, there just wasn't enough money to go around. He knew that soon he would have to tell Mrs. Hudson that he was leaving to find a cheaper place.
"You know," he announced to the empty flat, "if you'd start leaving money along with the milk, I'd be a whole lot better off. Replace the milk with money even! Then I can buy my own milk. Maybe other things too…"
"But that would be cheating."
John's jaw dropped when he saw a tall man with curly dark hair step out of the refrigerator. The man was wearing a deerstalker (alternatively called a "death Frisbee", or possibly an "ear hat").
"Sh… Sherlock?"
"Well that was tedious," Sherlock casually remarked.
"WHAT THE HELL, SHERLOCK?!"
"Hello, John," Sherlock replied, a small smile gracing his lips.
"How long have you been in there?" John asked.
Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but John interrupted him.
"Wait, no. No. NO. NO. NO."
"John, it's alright; it's okay now."
"NO, IT'S NOT! IT'S NOT OKAY!"
"Shh, John it's fine. You're fine." Sherlock said, wrapping the shorter man in a tight embrace.
John pulled away. "No, Sherlock. Get out."
"John, I–"
"Get out now."
Sherlock took a step towards John but he was greeted with a fist that sent him sprawling.
"But Jawn…" Sherlock moaned from the floor.
"No, Sherlock." John firmly stated. "What the hell is wrong with you? You've been alive all this time and all you can think to do is send me milk! Who the hell does that?!"
"A friend?" Sherlock weakly offered.
"No. No, a friend wouldn't make their friend think he's dead for a bloody year and then send them anonymous MILK!"
"John, I did it for your protection. I had no choice! John, please! I'm… I'm sorry."
John blinked back tears but said nothing.
"Alright, I guess I'll be going then." Sherlock slowly stood up and made his way out the door. "Just remember, if you ever need more milk, all you have to do is ask."
"No, Sherlock. I don't want you to get me any more milk… I'm just glad you're home."
And that, children, is the story of how Dr. John Hamish Watson solved his very first case… more or less.
A/N:
Hello! Well, that sort of took a turn for the crack ;) Very strange but sweet in the end. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)
~Naomi