Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, the original characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and this generation belongs to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.
"It's the sister", Sherlock's voice disturbed the stillness of the crime scene. He didn't offer an explanation but turned on his heels preparing to leave, knowing what would happen next.
"Sherlock, explain it will you."
A smug grin spread across Sherlock's face, of course Lestrade was going to ask for an explanation on this case as the police had been working on it for some time without any success. Sherlock however had solved it in a couple of minutes, it had been simple really. He turned to face Lestrade with the grin still on his face.
"It's so obvious; any of you could have gotten it apart from you Anderson. There are no defence wounds on the arms so he knew his attacker, there are two different coloured hairs on the suit both are too long to be his making them female and the ring lying on the floor has his sisters initials engraved on it, it must have spilled off her finger at some point. The motive being the fact that she didn't approve of his new girlfriend. If anything this case proves that emotion can cloud your judgement, come along John."
Sherlock walked off not bothering to wait for any further questions, his black coat flapping in the slight autumn breeze. John started to follow Sherlock after saying goodbye to Lestrade and the rest of his team, thinking about the smug look on Sherlock's face as he had announced his deduction. Sergeant Donavan's comment came to mind 'he gets off on this'. John was beginning to think that this may actually be true. He caught up with Sherlock just before he shut the door on the cab, Sherlock actually hadn't notice that he wasn't there he just expected John to follow. The journey back to Baker Street was quiet but John could see the way Sherlock was moving his knee up and down, he was unable to keep still which meant he was bored. John left Sherlock to his own devices as he went upstairs to his room upon their arrival home.
Sherlock was bored, he began to pace around the cluttered living room. He had no case to work on, John was in his room so he had no-one to talk to and his microscope was missing so he couldn't experiment. He had an idea of where the microscope was but he couldn't be bothered to go and get it. Lying on the table was his violin case; he picked up the instrument and began to pluck at the strings before he started to play a depressing, slow melody. Soon the whole flat was filled with the wailing of the violin. John smiled to himself, he had hidden Sherlock's microscope as he had plans for the evening and they didn't involve finding any part of the human anatomy in the kitchen. He left his room, needing a cup of tea and he knew Sherlock wouldn't make him one if he asked.
As John entered the room Sherlock continued to play soon the hum of the kettle started and Sherlock smiled to himself, of course John was making tea that's all John ever did was make tea. A cup was placed on the table with the handle pointing towards Sherlock as John normally did. Sherlock snapped his head around and looked at John for half a minute.
"Who is she? Anyone I know?" Sherlock knew John had a date. John was wearing a new shirt and a different aftershave it had a heavier scent than his normal one.
John rolled his eyes, of course Sherlock would have noticed the little changes he made and deduce that he was going out. As all ways Sherlock was right. "It's a blind date sort of thing. You wouldn't enjoy it; you are not thinking of coming are you?"
"Of course not, why would I? It will be filled with shallow people or annoying people. It would be a complete waste of my evening." To punctuate his point Sherlock flopped onto the couch and stretched out, John knew that he wouldn't move from that position unless he absolutely had to.
"Fine be like that, just remember we are meeting up with Lestrade for a meal tomorrow."
Sherlock's eyebrows raised then he remembered that it was Lestrade's birthday.
"Damn you John. I'll be bored to death; there will be a lack of intelligent conversation you know. The most stimulating conversation I can have is between me and my skull. Everyone else is so stupid."
John chuckled to himself, Sherlock always complained about forced social interaction and the fact they were going out for a meal would make it worse. Getting Sherlock to eat was always a task; John dreaded seeing Sherlock's reaction to be given a menu and being told to order something. He picked up his grey coat and headed for the door. Sherlock hadn't realised that he was alone.
"John. John pass me a nicotine patch will you."
Sherlock was in exactly the same position, lying on the couch, when John returned.
"Did you not hear me John, I said pass me nicotine patch."
John shook his head and smirked, he had been out of the flat for three hours and Sherlock hadn't even noticed. John ignored the request and put the kettle on. Sherlock rolled his head so he could see John in the kitchen; he wanted the nicotine patch but didn't want to move. An idea hit him when he saw his phone on the coffee table; he could reach the phone without having to move too much.
Ping
Ping
Ping
John checked his phone and saw he had three new messages, all of them from Sherlock. Struggling to hide his smile he put the phone down and carried on making tea. The phone chimed away and the exhaling of air was heard coming from the couch, Sherlock was frustrated. John found all of this very amusing; Sherlock could be so lazy sometimes. He picked up his mug and left the kitchen making his way to the stairs that led to his room. He reached out and flicked the light switch off.
"Good night Sherlock."
There was no reply from the couch.
Sherlock stared into the darkness, his internal monologue running in his head. John had come in quietly not through fear of disturbing him but because the date went badly, should he have said something? But what, that was not his area of expertise he just ignored emotions unlike everyone else. Why couldn't they see that emotions made you do stupid things? Sherlock's internal thoughts continued all through the night, eventually he fell asleep.
"Sherlock. Sherlock wake up. God for someone who despises sleep you are awfully hard to wake up." John was standing over Sherlock shaking his shoulders in a vain attempt to stir his friend. "You have until I count to ten; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and nine…"
Sherlock flung open his eyes just in time; John was readying himself to pour ice cold water over Sherlock. He scowled up and a grin spread over John's face, the beaker of water still hanging over Sherlock's head. He looked at the clock and raised an eyebrow; it was four o clock in the afternoon. Almost time for the meal with Lestrade, what joy John would expect him to be civil and eat. He had no want to comply with what John wanted. Picking himself up of the couch he left to shower and get dressed. John watched Sherlock leave the room praying that his friend was in a good mood and not bored. When Sherlock eventually reappeared John rolled his eyes, knowing that he was in for a painful evening as Sherlock was preparing to head out in pyjamas and his dressing gown.
Odd looks followed John and Sherlock as they entered the Italian restaurant. The eyes if the adults just lingered but children openly stared.
"Mum, I want to wear my pyjamas too. Why can't I? It's not fair."
Sherlock smirked; his latest stint had at least one supporter, even if the supporter was five and covered in pizza. Lestrade saw the pair approaching and wished the ground would swallow him up, the one night of his life he wished Sherlock wasn't so obscure and was a bit more socially aware.
Soon John and Lestrade were deep in conversation, talking about trivial things as far as Sherlock could tell. A natural lull in the conversation gave Sherlock the opportunity to start talking.
"Honestly the nerve of some people. The man on table four is having an affair with the woman on six. The waitress is 'busy' as in she and the manager are more than friends. Table one is going to turn into a one night stand, just look at how low her top is and where his eyes keep going. Table two is a blind date gone wrong; the poor woman is so disinterested."
John and Lestrade looked at each other, trying to find a diplomatic way to tell Sherlock to shut up. Meanwhile Sherlock was reading the wine menu laughing at the prices and complaining about how basically it was a scam. The occupants of the surrounding tables were starting to cast glances at the three men, the pained look on the faces of two of them and how the third was rambling on without care. Sherlock put the menu down and looked around the restaurant commenting about the personal attire of all the people inside, those on the street and the general atmosphere. John started to notice the unimpressed looks his friend was attracting. Before he had time to shut Sherlock up a flustered waitress appeared with the menus, they were being fast-tracked.
"Ah, I'll have a children's pizza, no ham. John will have the macaroni cheese, children's portion, and for Lestrade the vegetarian lasagne. Why no meat products, well I highly doubt that you will use real meat anyway. The place mats are all fakes so I'm assuming that this is a money making exercise designed to make as much profit as possible. The angry manager in the doorway is confirming my suspicions. Also we refuse to pay the extra money for a plate that is marginally bigger and doesn't contain much more."
The waitress merely nodded before leaving with the order.
"Sherlock! You are unbelievable; you can't just say things like that in public. People don't like it. And I don't care if it's all true we came out for my birthday and you ruined it. Thanks a lot."
Lestrade turned his back to the offending man and scowled. Sherlock felt like a child being told off by his mother, he wrapped the dressing gown around tighter and crossed his legs. The restaurant soon returned to a normal level of volume but the three men stayed quiet, their food arrived quickly and they all eat in silence. As the waitress cleaned up she asked if they want dessert, Sherlock's eyes lit up. A quick shake on John's head dashed his hope; he glowered at John trying to weaken his friends resolve.
"But I want ice cream" whined Sherlock "it's not fair"
John was having none of it; he paid the bill and left with Lestrade giving Sherlock the option to stay or to follow. Like a child Sherlock followed, dragging his feet and whining about his unfair life.
Hey, so this is my first piece. A review or two would be nice. If you have any ideas for the next chapter or what you want to happen just tell me, I do find it easier to write to set idea. Thanks :)