Only in the Mind of Sherlock: Ch. 2

A/N: I had a whole little plotline for this story, and don't you know it—the moment I get the first chapter out, it just falls right out of my head. Well, here's how I think the next part went, anyway. Sorry it's a short one, just this just seemed like a good stopping point. We'll get to the real fun in the next chapter!

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Two weeks later, Sherlock sat down in front of his microscope in the early morning, well before he expected John to wake up. Normally, he would have lain in bed with his partner, until something forced the two of them up, but today he was beside himself with excitement. He was a talented actor, and he was sure he could pull his plan off magnificently, but there was no point in tempting fate. Too much proximity to his beloved doctor, and he might end up just blurting the question out, and spoiling all his hard work.

He smiled to himself. Thankfully, nearly everyone who had a role in his scheme also had a soft spot for romance, so they were all just as eager as he was for this to go smoothly. Besides, he actually did have an experiment on—something to help absorb his nervous excitement while the plan came together. He turned his attentions to the slide and began making notes while he waited for John to rouse himself naturally.

Nearly two hours later, A rumpled-looking blogger ambled out of the bedroom. He put the kettle on for the first cuppa of the day, and pressed a slightly groggy kiss to Sherlock's forehead while he waited for it to boil.

"You were up early today."

"I had to check on the samples from the Wheats case. The cultures from their garden are fascinating."

"I can't believe he was stupid enough to poison his wife with foxglove from their own flower bed."

"Most people are stupid, John; Wheats only slightly more so than average. Besides, I'm more interested in what he's been putting in the soil. The plants are growing in a most fascinating pattern."

John smiled fondly, and shook his head. He was sure whatever they had been using for fertilizer was interesting to Sherlock, but he was just as happy not to pursue that line of questioning. He fixed them each a cup of tea, then moved over to the stove to start breakfast. With Sherlock just off a case, there was a pretty good chance of him eating—with a little persuasion, of course.

Behind John's back, Sherlock looked up and studied him closely. He was in a good mood—an excellent sign. Of course, with no hours at the surgery scheduled for today or tomorrow, and having just closed a case the previous night, he had no reason not to be cheerful. Today, John's mind would be awash with plans for blogging, tea and telly. All the same, the detective figured by the end of the night, he would be happy for those plans to have been spoiled.

Bleed-do-doop! Sherlock's mobile chirped.

Ah, speak of the devil.

John frowned slightly as he spooned eggs onto two plates, already laden with toast. He set one dish down in front of Sherlock.

"I don't care how badly Lestrade wants our statements, they can wait until after breakfast!" he said sternly, as his sweetheart checked the message.

"It's not about our statements. He has a case for us." Thankfully, John trusted him enough not to check the message himself. The text glowed in his eyes for just a moment more before he pocketed his phone again. So far, so good.

This is your nine o'clock alarm! Good luck, Sherlock. I'll see you later. -GL

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Greg put his phone back on his desk, and waited for the next signal. He turned his last conversation with the odd detective over in his head for the hundredth time. He had been stunned speechless at what the man had asked of him, but after thinking about it for a time, he realized how unsurprising it actually was. For all his scoffing at sentiment, Sherlock certainly did have a knack for it. Greg supposed if you were to ask him, he would have said something about knowing how the average idiot thinks, and how useful it is to The Work, et cetera. Be that as it may, Sherlock wore his love for John Watson like a badge of honor, and there was nothing he wouldn't do for him—even get a little sentimental. So, when the self-proclaimed sociopath (Ha! Just try to hold on to that image after tonight, Sherlock!) had asked him to help in his proposal—Greg just couldn't refuse. It was good to see how much the doctor had changed him, in little ways, and definitely for the better.

With his feet up on his desk, he looked over the file that had been dropped off by the elder Holmes that morning. A full itinerary for the day, a backup plan in case something went wrong with the first one, and a backup plan for the backup plan. He'd never seen anything so airtight—but then, it wasn't like Sherlock to do anything by halves, especially when it came to John. Plus, when it was so important to the detective that he had voluntarily involved Mycroft in the proceedings… well, the British Government was bound to make sure that everything ran smoothly.

The DI stood up, and strode purposefully out the front door of New Scotland Yard, into the rare sunshine of London. He smiled to himself.

Even London's fog took the day off today. I guess it's true that the world loves lovers, after all.