Rating: M
Summary: "I love you, but you don't love me. John loves me the way I wished you would. So tell me, Sherlock, why should I choose you?"
Pairings: SherlockxOCxJohn
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.
-CHAPTER 1-
To say that Sherlock was annoyed at the current stagnation of things would be an understatement. To everyone who knew the younger Holmes, the man practically lived-off from solving cases. The man could go on without food or sleep for days but would lash out whenever he finds himself idle or in his words "being dull, just like everybody else."
A call from Lestrade earlier this morning telling them about a case made adrenaline rush through Sherlock's veins. He didn't even give the DI any time to explain. He just bolted out the door with the ever-reliable Dr. Watson tailing behind him. When the duo arrived at the Yard, they headed straight for Lestrade's office; eager to take-on the case regardless of how difficult or dangerous it may be.
The case, as it turns out, was to find out who killed the son of owner of the biggest jewelry store in the city, Mr. Marlon Green. The case seemed promising enough but as soon as Mr. Green had given out the details of the murder, Sherlock looked as if he was desperately keeping himself from uttering a snide remark. This case cannot get any easier! Even dear old, Mrs. Hudson can solve this one. He thought.
The man continued to ramble about his son's death and was startled when the detective interrupted his little speech and rationalized how it was his second wife who had committed the murder insisting that her alibi was a complete lie considering that she had been in town during the murder and not in the country-side where she told her husband she was off to. Sherlock added that his wife was having an affair with their Puerto Rican gardener. Mr. Green was stunned at the speculations the detective had made. This detective had deduced all of that from merely scrutinizing his appearance and a few titbits of his little back-story.
Although it did not make sense how the bloke found out about his gardener being Puerto Rican, what Holmes said was plausible. Karen Green had always been a greedy woman and when she found out that it was Robert Green, Marlon's son from his first wife, was the one to inherit the store, she started to act differently, almost bordering secretively. But her alibi was too perfect to be questioned which was the reason why he decided to ask the yard for their help. Sadly, even the Great Scotland Yard seemed baffled by the mystery that Marlon almost lost hope until the man called Sherlock Holmes came busting in the office. He looked as cold and passive as Marlon had seen in the papers. With his towering height, he loomed over Inspector Lestrade's table with a face that meant serious business. The detective didn't bother with formalities and went straight to the point; asking clues and information regarding the cases. In not less than 3 hours, Karen Green was arrested for murder and adultery with their gardener, Pedro, as her accomplice and lover.
Mr. Green was about to approach the young detective to say his gratitude and amazement for the man's outstanding deduction but was taken aback when he saw him snap at Donavan and Anderson. Holmes was telling them something along the lines of "pathetic imbeciles" and "your presence decreases the intelligence of the room." Marlon Green was so engrossed by the banter going on between Holmes and the two members of the Scotland Yard that he was startled when a hand suddenly gripped his shoulder.
"You'd have to forgive him for lashing out like that. He'd just been very frustrated from the lack of cases these past few weeks" A man, with blonde hair and blue eyes that looked at him apologetically, said.
Marlon recognized this man to be Dr. John Watson, the assistant of Sherlock Holmes. He was just as famous as the detective seeing as they always appear side-by-side in the newspaper and he also stumbled upon his blog a few weeks ago where he had read about the ingenious which Sherlock Holmes was. He suddenly felt so honoured at having the famous duo work on his case that he was just rendered speechless. He was suddenly pulled out of his reverie when the doctor was pulled not-too-gently by Holmes himself as he call them a cab, ignoring the blonde man's protest. Lestrade sighed and stared at the retreating taxi occupied by the two.
"Seriously, Holmes needs to stop acting like a kid. He needs to learn that he can't always get what he wants" he muttered into no-one in particular. Marlon Green just stared at the man with a curious expression, clearly baffled by his statement.
"The man lives from the thrill of solving cases. As promising as that is, it's a dangerous job. The bloke's too smart for his own damn good that he made himself quite a number of enemies." Mr. Green gave him no response but just ushered for Lestrade to continue. The latter sighed deeply.
"You'd wish a woman would tie that fool down but no, the man's way to asexual for his own good."
"You mean he and Dr. Watson are not..?" Mr. Green looked so genuinely surprised that Lestrade couldn't keep himself from letting out a hearty laugh.
"Oh heavens, no! But it would make a whole lot of sense if they were." He chuckled and gave Mr. Green a good pat on the back; the client not oblivious to the mirth dancing in Lestrade's eyes.
John Watson would sometimes wonder 'why on earth is he still sharing a flat with Sherlock Holmes?' The thought of living in the streets and becoming part of the 'Homeless network' seems more peaceful than having to listen to the so-called genius detective's childish rants. He was in the middle of the process of cleaning up the kitchen earlier that morning when his sociopathic flatmate almost dragged him out of the apartment building to the Great Scotland Yard. This was certainly not the first time when Sherlock had dragged him while he was in the middle of something. He could not even keep count of the number of his dates that were ruined because of Holmes' insane orders. God, he even forgot to do the grocery shopping today.
Sherlock may have been used to keeping his hunger in check, but as a doctor and as his best friend, John was having none of it. He was seriously thinking whether the agreement on being the flatmate of Sherlock Holmes included being the obnoxious man's nanny. He should've gotten that money from Mycroft, John thought begrudgingly.
The dark-haired man continued to rant and rave about things John did not bother to listen to. He just made small noises and grunts every now and then to pretend that he was still listening. The blonde doctor opted to stare out the window and watch the panorama of images as the cab drove to their destination.
"John, are you listening?"
"Yes, Sherlock, I'm listening" John drawled uninterestedly, his face betraying his words.
"This is one of those times that I wish I had the skull as a companion, I've had more logical arguments with him than you"
John felt a vein pop in his head. He tried to calm down his breathing to ease his slowly rising anger. "Ignore the 'punch me' pretext, John" he said to himself, whispering the words like a mantra. This is definitely going to be a long day.
The moment the two entered the front door, Sherlock had abruptly stopped his incessant ramblings and ran through the several flight of stairs to their shared apartment. John was so surprised that he just stood there and stared at the staircase that his flatmate rushed to climb and slowly followed him.
That was surely odd, even for Sherlock. The consulting detective stopped in midsentence, something the bloke never does. If there was one thing that Sherlock loved, it was making his point. He would outlive God in having the last word. John's silent deduction was cut short when he suddenly heard Sherlock growl out in frustration. Fear started nipping at his nerves and he found himself almost soaring through what seemed to be, an endless flight of stairs.
When he reached their apartment, he conditioned himself to expect for the worst. Being associated with Sherlock Holmes meant having to be prepared for battle at the most unorthodox places, which includes their humble apartment. He shoved the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbow and opened the apartment door, bracing himself for a surprise attack by an unknown enemy, only for his nose to be filled with the floral scent that was lingering in the air. Flowers?
The moment John had finally gotten a good look at their apartment, the only thing that he could comprehend was how clean and so-utterly different it was from how they left it this morning. Everything was just so…feminine.
The drapes were changed from the simple red velvet to a transparent floral pink that illuminated the whole room. The news papers and books that scattered everywhere a few hours ago are now neatly arrange in the bookshelf by the fire place. The coffee table has been wiped clean and decorated by a vase of lavish roses and lilies. The furniture was arranged and the purple carpet had been vacuumed, all looking as good as new.
John stepped onto the kitchen and was just blown away. Sherlock's chemistry equipment that usually littered on the dinner table were washed and polished and are now neatly arranged in the shelves. The dinner table itself is now draped in light blue linen with several placemats, table napkins and utensils resting on it. Another vase of what seemed to be lavenders adorned the exquisitely arranged dinner table. He could hardly believe it was the same dinner table where Sherlock's collections of thumbs were laid out a couple of nights ago.
He walked over to the newly polished refrigerator and was fully expecting to see a severed-head inside. After all, Mrs. Hudson couldn't be brazen enough to move that disgusting piece of rotting human meat from the fridge. When he opened the machine, he was surprised by the lack of a certain human anatomy inside and was more surprised at the wide range of food that has been neatly stacked inside the fridge. From eggs to down to Sherlock's favourite cereal (The man refuses to eat any other cereal brand and product. He was very picky). Different types of meat are inside the freezer and FRESH vegetables and fruits of different colours were neatly arranged at the bottom of the fridge. Now that he thought about it, he was able to spot a couple of spices sitting near the stove on his way to the refrigerator.
The doctor let his eyes wander around the apartment one more time, just to make sure that what he saw earlier was not his mere delusion. Mrs. Hudson had been very nice and patient to the two of them but never this nice. Panic suddenly started to bubble inside John's head. What if Mrs. Hudson is dying and this was her subtle way of showing her final act of kindness? John rushed to his room mate's room, intending to share his own share of deductions, only to find him muttering curses as he rummage through his possessions.
"Sherlock, I think Mrs. Hud-"
"Save it, John. I need to have a word with Mrs. Hudson." The dark-haired man said in finality. His grey eyes narrowed in slits as he made a bee-line for the door, probably headed straight for the landlady's room.
John had a feeling that things are going to get really ugly soon if he doesn't stop Sherlock. Social protocols had always been his weakness. In this situation, a nice "thank you, Mrs. Hudson" was probably the last thing in the so-called genius' mind.
Sherlock almost jumped from the stairs to Mrs. Hudson's doorstep before he started furiously banging on her door calling out for her. John came to him a few seconds later and held his arm to keep him from disturbing their landlady or in this case, the entire Baker Street.
"Sherlock, enough of this! You should be grateful that Mrs. Hudson had been kind enough to clean up after our mess! She even went grocery shopping for us, for Christ's sake!"
"John, I may have problems in trying to grasp social necessities, but I do firmly believe that it is crossing the line to go through other's private belongingness! And besides, it is perfectly clear that this is not Mrs. Hudson's doing! What I am trying to find out is who on earth did my brother sent this time to clean up the flat!" John was taken aback. It wasn't Mrs. Hudson?
"Of course it's not Mrs. Hudson. Do keep up, John." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I already have you to force vegetables down my throat; Mycroft should really learn how to respect a man's privacy. I am a full-grown man, perfectly capable of living on his own, thank you very much."
John was about to throw his own retort when Mrs. Hudson's door suddenly opened. A blinding light from the warm afternoon sun filled the entire household.
"Sherly, darling! I've missed you!" a feminine voice cried. John spluttered at the unusually pet-name
"Sherly?" The usually stoic detective seems as if he was torn between being confused and embarrassed at the same time. A red hue suddenly sprayed across his normally pale cheeks. The only person who calls him that is...
"Lizzy?" he managed to call out before a blur of pink, red and green blinded his vision. He felt a pair of small arms encircle his neck and soft, satin lips descend upon his own. He was about to protest until the smell of sweet peas overwhelmed his senses while recognition and nostalgia crash through him like a tidal wave.