Dragon Locked Chapter Four,
Kindly edited by Dr. Kitten.
This was a long time coming and based on your reviews and suggestions.
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"You have nice manners for a thief and a liar"
Said - The Dragon
The Hobbit
It was the next day and Sherlock was trying to amuse Hamish, while waiting for John, who had gone out to get milk and cereal for the boy. The little bag containing his toys was beside him at the table.
"I've lost my Lego bricks," the little one wailed.
Sherlock tipped the bag out onto the table. A colouring book and a pencil case fell out, along with his copy of The Hobbit book and a toy hedgehog. A half-eaten chocolate bar also fell out that Hamish began to devour ravenously.
"Look," said Sherlock. "I know you haven't had breakfast yet, but I wouldn't eat that thing. Hamish, please stop gobbling it down. Wait for your cereal."
"My cereal can be second breakfast," said the little chap.
Sherlock growled. He took the half-eaten bar off Hamish and threw it away. The boy looked at him with his little blue eyes and started to cry.
"What's the matter Hamish?" Sherlock asked. "You can't really have wanted that bar?"
"Bored!" Hamish sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
Really children can be so selfish, Sherlock thought. "You are too small and not clever enough to be bored. You still find toys diverting. Wait till you get to my age!"
He needs a puzzle to solve, Sherlock mused. He began to find himself steadily growing exasperated. What do I should he do with this perfidious little creature?
"It's no use bawling, Hamish, that doesn't solve the problem. You have to apply thought. Now, Can you remember when you saw your Lego last?"
This didn't seem to be working, so Sherlock tried to distract him.
"Look here is a colouring book; it's got some of my favourite characters in it. There's one page here of superheroes. Oh look!" he said sarcastically, "Iron man! He is nearly as clever as me - but not quite as good looking. -or here is another one, I like him too - so why don't you colour Thor in?"
Sherlock thumbed through the pages of mythical heroes, fantasy figures, princesses, dwarves, elves, and monsters.
"Oh! Look, Hamish, there is Loki! He has a blue staff and an oaken shield. Let's colour that brown shall we? Thor has a silver hammer. Hmm…"
He looked at the range of coloured pencils and pens. "Grey can be the silver, it's, darker, more like mithril. Shall we colour him in, as well as Thor in? "
"Dor in?"
"You can't say Thor, can you? Try again: Thor. Which colour do you want to grab, the grey or the brown?"
"Colour Or- in." Hamish tried to pick up a pen, but his chocolate covered fingers slipped on the stump.
"Look at this pen I've found Hamish, it's a `glo-in'-the dark one. Try using that one. It's got a ribbed cover round it so it's easy to grip, very `touchi-feli`. That's good; keep the pen on an even keel, eh?"
"Don't want to." Hamish dropped the pen.
Sherlock sighed. This was getting tedious.
"Nor I, let's deduce something about these so called heroes. Are you game?"
Hamish nodded.
"Great, Hamish! Game on! Right … who would win if two of our heroes had a fight? Pick two opponents and observe the build of them. Have you done it? Who did you pick, Hamish?"
"Dose two."
"Those, Hamish? Those two? Snow white and the Elven King? That's easy; the King would win, wouldn't he? Let's return to the characters again and try to pick two equally matched, not women versus men, as they don't fight, do they?"
"Yes."
"Hamish, do your mummy and daddy fight?"
"King would biff ur, boff ur, pow pow!" Little Hamish was moving his arms about. Sherlock picked him up and sat him on his knee to calm him. He was growing a little concerned.
"No, Hamish, ok, let me think of something else. What can you tell me about this superhero?"
Engrossed in pointing out observations in the colouring book, Sherlock didn't hear footsteps coming up the stairs until little Hamish looked up and smiled.
"Door! I … I hear duh door, Serwok!"
Sherlock lifted the boy up as the door began to open, sighing with relief.
"John, you will not believe how hard it is to keep this little one from being bored. I see now what you have to put up with me when I..."
"Mummy!" Hamish cried delightedly.
Sherlock looked towards the door and frowned. This could be awkward. Very Orc wood.
John's wife was standing, framed in the doorway. She was looking tight-lipped at her son being held sitting on Sherlock's lap. She held out her arms to Hamish. Sherlock attempted to cling onto the boy, but he struggled in his grasp.
"Put him down now, Sherlock, I'm warning you!"
Sherlock reluctantly set him down. The boy ran his mother.
"Come on, dawlin!" she said in her slight West Country accent. Hamish took her hand and she turned to go. Sherlock made to stop her. She glared at him. He glared back.
"Look, can't you wait till John returns? We can discuss this ... situation." Sherlock pleaded. He knew John would be angry with him if he let Hamish go now.
"He only wants to look after his son."
"That's why he's gone off and left Hamish with you then? I hardly think that is a good idea. You keep dangerous chemicals and experiments in here. No. If he wants to run off and have adventures and be with you instead of with me, that is what I must accept, but my boy stays safe at home with me."
She drew in a breath.
Sherlock waited. Here it comes, he thought.
"He can't seem to stop it. You entice him with your `I am on fire` remarks and your intriguing texts, even though he can't be much help to you. He's not a genius like you. You just want him because he adores you and says you're brilliant. You love having your ego stroked, don't you? Well, keep off my husband, will you? Don't pull him from me. Get some other impressionable young man. Look at someone else with those burning eyes and keep off the grass, why don't you?"
Sherlock snorted. "Really?" He asked.
"Just fly off to another mountain somewhere else and leave my man alone!" she shouted.
"You're scaring me mummy!" Hamish cried, digging his head into her waist.
Sherlock was dragging his hands through mahogany curls, trying to think of something to say as the sun emerged from an overcast sky over Baker Street behind him, shimmering round his figure, giving him a halo like some 14th centenary icon.
"You make me sound like some gangly magic spell-caster who is trying to lure your husband away from his home, hearth, and from you for his my own nefarious ends and errands." He sighed. "I am not in love with John, we are simply friends. Love to me is a fly in the ointment, grease in the lens. It's like taking Thor`s hammer to the delicate precision of my brain."
His words seemed to be having some effect on her so he continued.
"He helps on some of the more dangerous cases; he is invaluable to my work and an asset, nothing more. He has saved my life on many occasions and has helped rid London and the world of many dangerous criminals to keep you and Hamish safe. I have no wish to break up your marriage and you should not be so possessive of him. He is dependable, loyal, and therefore precious to us both". He gave her a sincere look.
"I wish I could believe you" she said.
Sherlock was still standing with the sunshine at his back and his hair now gleamed, reddening in the light filtering though the window them. He winked at Hamish.
"Dragons never lie," he said.
There was a sound of someone clearing his throat behind them. John had come up the stairs and was standing in the doorway quietly.
"Daddy!" cried Hamish, wide-eyed, "Sherlock is a dragon, he just told us."
John smiled. "I know. I bought something special for you." He reached into his bag and took out a plush toy dragon with little felt scales in green and gold.
Hamish's eyes went wide with delight as he held out examined the toy and then clutched it to his face, holding it close.
"Don't let it leave your side," advised Sherlock.
The boy nodded.
There was no question of that. Just try to take it off him and you would have a screaming child on your hands. It would go everywhere with him: kindergarten, play school, and to bed he would cuddle it every night.
Sherlock looked significantly at his former flat mate and then dragged his eyes over to where the hopeful woman was standing.
"Right," said Sherlock. "Now that's over." He strode towards the little family. "John, why don't you take your lovely wife and child home with you? I will call you again if I absolutely can't do without your help."
She looked up at the detective dubiously, holding Hamish by the hand. Finally she seemed placated, nodded and looked at her husband.
As John leaned over and brushed his lips across onto hers, he glanced sideways at Sherlock, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he sighed and put his arms around his wife and started to lead her back downstairs. Halfway down the seventeen steps he suddenly seemed to remember he'd forgotten something.
"I'll just get Hamish's bags and mine dear. He won't go to sleep without his book and I'll see you down by the car," he called out as he ran back up the stairs.
John furtively re-entered the room.
Sherlock had all the bags gathered on the table. He was looking towards the window but swished round with alacrity and narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of his friend suddenly appearing. John stopped, startled, when he saw the look Sherlock was giving him as he handed the luggage over.
"You're quite used to creeping about, a technique from your army training, no doubt. Must be useful in getting past enemy defenses."
"It got me past yours."
"I was not expecting you to enter the dragon's lair and lay claim to the treasure."
"Well, Hamish was sleeping in my old room and I didn't want to disturb him or he could be up all night and you know that couch gives me a crick in the neck. I was trying to be discreet. What else could I do?"
"Take your bags and go, John."
John picked up the bags thoughtfully. He moved back to the open door and closed it with his foot, dropping the bags to the floor.
"Do you think she bought it?" John asked, turning and looking into green and gold eyes, which flashed hungrily.
"Indubitably," the arrogant ethereal creature replied. "Go now while you are still safe. You stole something very precious to me, something I thought no one would ever take".
"What's that?" asked John, moving nearer - fearless now, it seemed.
Sherlock looked away. "My heart. You stole my heart, little doctor, and it feels like it has been burnt. It feels like the sting of a fiery blade has run past my defenses. I am not used to such emotions, so please go now while you still can." John felt hot breath on his face as he turned his head. He closed his eyes.
He felt he could stay like this forever.
"Sherlock, don't send me back," he murmured.
"No, John, you must go back to your family, who depend on you. By all means write about us in your blog. `An Unexpected Meeting` in Bart's was intriguing. Your accounts of our travels and adventures together, it has helped to build my reputation. Then of course there was my death, the fall, my going away and coming back again. Just don't mention what happened since then. What you stole from me like a thief in the night and how I am dying from this and you are the cause of it.
"What are you dying from, drama queen? What on earth is up with you?"
"Go!" Sherlock roared. The room seemed to heat up several degrees.
"Right," John said, a little alarmed.
He lifted up the bags and made for the stairs, leaving Sherlock in the open doorway.
As he fled down them, he heard the slam of the flat door and stood pausing for a second with indecision. Then he sighed.
His wife was outside by the car. He could see his son. He heard his phone chime with a text.
`She should not have believed me; does not she know dragons always lie? `
John chuckled to himself as he fled down the rest of the stairs.
He really was dragon-locked.
The end?
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I have tried to put in a flavour - by hinting at the dwarves names in the text. Does it work? please review and continue to inspire me, thanks,