Disclaimer: Still don't own Sherlock
2½ months earlier...
A very annoyed Sherlock Holmes paced the living area of 221B Baker Street, holding a deer stalker and very audibly complaining about the 'gift' from Scotland Yard. "Why is it always the hat photograph? What type of hat is it anyway? Is it a cap? Why's it got two fronts?"
"Its a deer stalker," replied an equally annoyed John Watson.
"Stalk a deer with a hat? What are you going to do, throw it?" mocked Sherlock, steadfastly ignoring John as he pursued the newspaper to see what else it said about him. "Is it some kind of death frisbee?" Sherlock said holding the hat like it was indeed a frisbee. Sherlock continued to inspect the hated hat.
"Its got flaps. Ear flaps, it's an ear hat John!" he whined, flinging the headgear in question towards John, utterly disgusted.
Catching the hat, John said, "Okay, this has gone too far. We need to be more careful."
"What do you mean, 'more careful'?" Sherlock replied, sitting down in his chair and resting his chin on the tips of his fingers.
"I mean that this," he answered, holding up the despicable death frisbee, "isn't a deer stalker now, it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. Sherlock, you're this far from famous." John held his fingers around a centimeter apart to demonstrate.
"Oh, it'll pass." Sherlock said flatly.
"It better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock, they always do. And they'll turn on you." "It really bothers you." Sherlock noted aloud, turning curiously toward John.
"What?"
"What people say."
"Yes."
"About me. I don't understand. Why would it upset you?"
John was silent for a moment before blandly stating, "Just find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news."
Not completely satisfied with his answer Sherlock returned into his previous position with his fingers under his chin.
(•)
John burst in through the door. After everything that'd happened recently, Moriarty would have surely come here to gloat.
"Where is he?"
Sherlock looked up. "Who? Oh. Moriarty. He came by a while ago"
"And..?"
"We had some tea, and then he left." Sherlock said, as if it were a daily occurrence to have tea with a psychopathic criminal
"What were you thinking? Your worst enemy comes to the flat and you have a cup of tea with him!?" John practically shouted, "Last time you met, he tried to blow us up!"
"Well, as you can see, I'm perfectly fine." Sherlock spat, slightly annoyed.
"This is going to far. Someone is going to end up hurt. I've made up my mind. You are going on a vacation."
"What?" Sherlock said briefly sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. "You need to get away from the press anyway." John replied, turning his eyes towards his phone.
"I'm fine." Sherlock repeated, becoming more than a little annoyed, as John shot off a text to Mycroft.
"Sorry. Looks like your brother and I are in agreement for once. Sherlock Holmes, we are going to get you out of London." There was a five minute stare down between the two, until Sherlock finally spoke.
"I'm not leaving," he stated defiantly.
"Now, now, brother dearest. Don't make me order you," piped up Mycroft, who had silently been standing in the doorway for the past two minutes.
John practically jumped out of his skin as he turned around to stare at the dignified man (who seemed to have appeared from nowhere), as Sherlock stomped off to his bedroom.
"Where did you come from!?" John rounded on the man, utterly bewildered.
"Don't underestimate me, Doctor Watson. I knew my little brother would not go willingly."
"What are you going to do about it? He won't even listen to you!" John sighed exasperatedly. "Oh, but I know someone he will listen to," Mycroft smirked as he strolled out the door, "Expect a visitor sometime tomorrow afternoon. Take care, dear doctor."
The door shut, leaving John to ponder who in heaven or earth Sherlock Holmes would listen to (though he sort of suspected that, whoever it was, they were from neither), and if he should be worried.
Sherlock did not leave his room the rest of the day, not even to eat (although that was about par for Sherlock), leaving John to wonder if he had heard the conversation between himself and Mycroft. It was fairly likely that he had, and, being Sherlock, knew exactly who their visitor would be. And whoever it was, he was not happy about it. When Sherlock finally did come out of his bedroom, it was out of sheer boredom, which was most definitely not a good sign.
"Finally decided to rejoin the world of the living, did you?" John said, looking up from the book he had been reading.
Sherlock did not reply, flopping himself down onto the sofa. "I assume you heard Mycroft, then?" Once again, Sherlock failed to respond. He didn't even acknowledge that the question had been asked. Typical Sherlock.
"Who is this visitor we will be receiving?" "Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock said, finally turning to face John.
"No, not really," snapped John, somewhat annoyed at how cryptic his flatmate was being.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but once again said nothing. Figuring he would not get anything else out of him, John headed off to bed.
After John had disappeared up the stairs, Sherlock sighed and stalked over toward his violin. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
(•)
Sometime around noon the next day, John returned home from the store to find Sherlock pacing the living area, his billowing coat swishing back and forth as he turned around.
"What are you doing?" asked John, as he set the groceries down on the table.
Sherlock didn't respond. This was getting annoying. John was about to tell him off for not giving him an answer when the doorbell rang.
Sherlock sighed and muttered to himself as he went to get the door.
"Great. She's here."
She? John wondered. And why was Sherlock getting the door? He never answered the door.
There was muffled conversation in the hallway, followed by some shouting. The door violently swung open, and Sherlock burst through the door, followed by an older woman. She was fairly tall, and had grey hair that obviously once been black. Her eyes were cold and calculating, just like Sherlock's... oh. Oh no. Finally, John Watson had realized the obvious. He was looking at Sherlock's mother!
Sherlock turned around and faced her. "I'm not leaving!" he shouted.
"Yes you are. If Mycroft thinks its important enough to drag me all the way down here, than you are going on a holiday!" his mum said firmly. As she scanned the room, she finally seemed to notice John standing open-mouthed in the kitchen. "And who is this?"
"This is my colleague, Doctor John Watson." Sherlock stated flatly. Ignoring John as if she had never heard Sherlock answer, Mrs. Holmes continued in her tirade.
"I already have everything set. You leave tomorrow morning at nine sharp." With that, she strutted out of the flat. As the door slammed shut, Sherlock marched off into his room. Again. And once again, John turned to find that Mycroft had silently appeared in the doorway.
"I'm having a serious case of déjà vu." John muttered, under his breath. "What now?" he asked Mycroft.
"Now, he has no choice." Mycroft smirked. "Oh, and by the way, you will be going with him. I need someone to ensure he doesn't sneak off back to London."
Mycroft sauntered off, leaving John to wonder just what he had gotten himself into.
A/N: When I will update depends on the feedback I get on these first two chapters. Review and tell me what you think!
