Hey guys! So I was going to make 'Pillow' just a one-shot, but then I got inspired when my GT English class was reading a Midsummer Nights Dream (I got to play Puck :D even though I'm a girl. I always thought if mischief were personified, it would be a girl.) so I just whipped this up and decided to add it on. I'm going to make this a collection of drabbles, and I am totally open for ideas and requests * wink wink* so enjoy! And don't judge me by my bad old English, I know it probably sucks. Enough of my rambles.
If you want a disclaimer go to Chapter 1. I'm too lazy to put them in every chapter. And being reminded that I don't own Sherlock is depressing.
Shakespeare
Some of the most exciting, scary, and irritating of times in John Watson's life took place not on investigations, deducing criminals, or even chases, but when Sherlock got bored. John never knew what to expect.
Sherlock had a series of moods on times like these-when there were no cases and the experiments had gone cold.
Some of the time he was cranky, playing screeching terrible notes on his violin, or complaining about telly- which always bored him.
Sometimes he was very calm-just lying on his couch, eyes closed, hands steepled under his chin, thinking about things unfathomable to John.
Sometimes he was annoying; telling John to make him tea, come cuddle with him, give him a puzzle, or worse- just watching him.
But some of the time- and this is very uncommon- Sherlock was hyper. Sometimes he would find something, and on some rare, very rare occasions, it would interest him. Then he would be obsessed with this thing until he got bored of it, something else caught his attention, or the next case came up.
Today was one of those days.
When John came home from lunch with a friend from the hospital, what he found made his hands go slack, sending his mug of tea crashing to the floor.
Sherlock was in the living room, the radio was blaring opera, and he was reading very loudly out of a Shakespeare book. The strangest part was that he had a plastic set a fairy wings strapped to his back, and he kept changing his voice like he was rehearsing for play.
When he heard John's mug shatter, he whipped around o face Joh. His eyes lit up dangerously, and John saw what he was reading.
"A Midsummer Nights Dream, Sherlock? What the hell brought this on?"
Sherlock, ignoring him, replied in a ridiculously modified voice: "oh John! They say that 'absence maketh the heart grow fonder', but I feel a pain when you leave- the world becomes a place devoid of color and light. Oh, how my heart doth ache!"
John rolled his eyes and replied in a flat voice, "Thine english doth suck."
Again, he was ignored. "John soldier brave, partner mine, thine presence doth light my world like a sun much brighter and...hotter (this was punctuated with an eyebrow wiggle) then that which shineth overhead."
John went to turn the opera off with a sigh. "Wow, you were that bored."
Sherlock slapped John's hand away from the off button and pulled him to the center of the room, thrusting a copy of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream into his hands, and shoving a fairy wing set over his head. "Come John, frolic with me in bounds of merriment- we have all the day before us, and no case nor experiment doth hinder me from play."
John stared at him in incredulity. "You're kidding right? There's no way." he scoffed as he shoved the book back at his deranged flatmate.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Time bring out the big guns. He leaned in close to John, lips barely brushing his ear as he brought his voice an octave lower. "If thy chooseth to humor my whims, the rewards should be high in thine favor."
As Sherlock murmured in his ear, John's face got redder and redder.
Sherlock pulled back, smirking. "There be my sun"
John cleared his throat and pulled the book out of Sherlock's hands, flipping to the page he was on. "You draw me, you hardhearted adamant! But yet you draw not iron, for my heart is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw, and I shall have no power to follow you." John recited and Sherlock grimaced.
"I liketh not this part. Helena doth love Demetrius and be scorned. This shalt not do here because-" and to emphasize his point, he put an arm around John's waist and buried his nose and John's hair. "My love for you is so much stronger than Demetrius' could ever be for Helen- drugged or not." John rolled his eyes, but leaned into Sherlock's embrace all the same.
Later, when Mrs. Hudson opened the door softly to check on them, she saw Sherlock and John, decked out in fairy wings, jumping around and making absurd love declarations in old English. She chuckled, shaking her head, and closed the door quietly.
"My boys..." She said fondly, and went down again to make them some tea.
Not that she was their housekeeper, of course.
I hope I didn't just lose a bunch of readers with my butchering of Shakespearean speech. So review! And give me requests please! They'd be well appreciated!
Ta! (I'll try to update as fast as I can crank 'em out)
