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The Road Less Travelled By
A Sherlock fanfiction
Sherlock is the property of Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and The BBC.
This story is purely for entertainment – please do not get offended
Enjoy…
Part XIV
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Once he was fully content that all the files were organised to his own standards, and that the lights were switched off, John donned the jacket that hung on the back of the door and grabbed a hold of his leather case, closing the door firmly behind him. He bade goodbye to his colleagues, even receiving a small smile from Sarah (she was still not on fully friendly terms with him), and removed his phone from his pocket. Three text messages. Boy, did he ever feel popular.
U left ur fone charger at my place. Im gonna come dwn 2 london soon – wil bring it then. Gives me a chance 2 meet this gf of urs :D
27 Feb, 2012 09:37AM
From: Harry
So that had been what happened to his charger. He was worried he had lost it somewhere on the train. Also, Harry was planning on paying him a visit sometime? To be perfectly honest, he was rather wary about introducing her to Molly. After all, the last girlfriend he introduced to Harry decided to turn lesbian and leave him, even going so far as to marry her. He supposed it was a good thing that he and Clara were never that serious. He wasn't bitter about the ordeal … he just did not want a repeat episode. He was well aware of Harry's type of girl: sweet and kind, the patience of a saint (one has to be when in the company of Harriet Watson), a good sense of humour, natural looking (she hated manufactured girls who were more plastic than flesh) and above all-
Dear God! Molly is exactly Harry's type!
Swiftly moving along to the next message.
Sorry for missing your calls. Had a lot on my mind and will tell you everything later. Promise. See you at yours after work Xx
27 Feb, 2012 12:12PM
From: Molly
Leaving the Surgery, thoroughly pleased to be finished for the day, John didn't hold back the smile that formed on his lips upon seeing the message from Molly. He wasn't going to lie and say that he wasn't worried about Molly, because he was. He had been worried about her before he left for Scotland, and then Cheshire. The last conversation he engaged her in had left him slightly on edge and relatively unnerved. Even after she brushed it aside, claiming it to be unimportant, he felt that she was holding back. He needed her to realise that he would be there for her whenever need be.
At least he'd get to see her though, which turned his smile into a beaming grin.
Now for the last message.
We need milk.
SH
27 Feb, 2012 01:04PM
From: Sherlock
How? How could they need milk? He was 100% certain that he'd left four whole pints (minus amount used for one cup of tea). He was certain of this because he was the one who opened the fresh carton, pouring the milk into his drink. He would have realised if he'd accidently poured four pints of milk into a mug of tea. No, this was the one mystery that he needed to solve, even if he died trying.
Fact One: Sherlock does NOT have milk in his coffee.
Fact Two: He (John obviously) only used approximately 30ml of milk this morning, leaving approximately 2242ml remaining.
Fact Three: Sherlock does not eat cereal or anything that would involve milk.
John's Conclusion: Either Sherlock sits in his chair, drinking pint after pint of milk, which John find's highly unlikely, or the other simply pours it down the sink, giving him another excuse to order John to purchase more. Perhaps this is a game Sherlock plays. He calculates how many times he can send John down to the shop to buy milk, and then tries to beat that total the following week.
Obviously, his deductions were not on par with Sherlock's – that much was obvious.
It has been a long and weary day, after all. That is the excuse he's sticking too.
Oh, another text.
Fancy a pint later?
27 Feb, 2012 01:33PM
From: Mike
"Christ yes!" he replied quickly.
Placing the coins on the counter and bidding farewell to the shop assistant, John smiled as he pushed open the door, squinting his eyes as the sun's magnificent rays shone down on him. A dry laugh escaped his lips as he recalled the front page of The Daily Express: 'Temperatures set to drop all across the UK, with London facing it strongest snowfall in decades'. Upon fully opening his eyes, seeing the little bright flecks of white light dance across his vision, he could see how this could be mistaken for a snowfall. It was a simple mistake. Oh, who was he kidding? It made him wonder whether the people down at the Met Office had a chart of weathers attached to the wall and one lucky member of staff would throw a dart, choosing the day's weather prediction. It made perfect sense to John. After all, who could forget fateful events leading up to the Great Storm of 1987?
Stealing a quick glance towards his watch, John groaned - twenty minutes later than he had originally anticipated. The fault was entirely his own. He should have realised that something was amiss when one of the other doctors asked if he could see to one of their patients, as a last minute emergency. John, being the overly compliant and dependable person that he was, or idiot being the favoured word of Sherlock, agreed. The patient turned out to be the same middle-aged man that came in at exactly 12:45pm, every Monday, feigning some illness – John mentally diagnosed him as a bearer of Munchausen Syndrome and would be sure to inquire about this during his next shift.
Turning the corning onto Baker Street, John had never been so pleased in his life, mainly because he could get rid of the large carton of milk that was now making his fingers go ridiculously numb. A measly ten minute walk seems much longer when ones fingers are threatening to fall off. The next time the shop assistant asked if he required a bag, he would accept. Try as he might to save the environment, he cherished the feeling in his fingers more.
After a brief minute of fiddling in the bottom of his bag, trying to find his keys, John finally managed to enter his home. He had seen Molly's car outside, which made him wonder whether both her and Sherlock were sitting in an awkward silence. What he had not expected to see, however, was Molly standing ridiculously close to the wall with Sherlock positioned behind her, way-too-close for John's liking, hands firmly on her shoulders.
"You're thirty three minutes late, John," Sherlock stated bluntly, not looking over in his direction.
"Something came up at last minute," he replied.
"In future I suggest you inform the hypochondriacs that line up outside your office door to stop wasting valuable time – this is far more important."
"Oh, I couldn't agree more, Sherlock. Earning money to pay these overdue bills so we can continue to live is a complete waste of time." Rolling his eyes and shaking his head from side to side, John placed his bag on the sofa but kept a firm hold on the milk.
Upon hearing John's voice, Molly removed herself from Sherlock's grip, smiling coyly as she quickly ran her fingers through her hair, allowing it to cascade over her shoulders. She bit her lip lightly, walking a few feet before stopping, over linking her arms and standing awkwardly, casting her eyes slightly downwards. Tilting his head, John observed, silently laughing at her behaviour. She currently reminded him of a naughty schoolgirl who had been reprimanded for misbehaving and was currently awaiting punishment. The sudden image of exactly that erupted in his mind and John fought hard to shake it off. Now certainly was not the time for such gratuitous imagery.
"John, you'll have plenty of time to mentally undress Molly once this case is closed," Sherlock sneered, the corners of his mouth turning into a smirk.
Tearing his eyes away from Molly, he rapidly looked around the room, hitching a breath. "O-no, I … got the milk," he stammered, a hint of embarrassment filling his voice as he held up the carton.
"Not important," he claimed, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "I need you to stand in front of this wall."
John blinks, raising his brows in surprise as he stares at Sherlock for a long second "I'm sorry?" he murmurs.
Sherlock motioned the wall with his hand. "Stand here."
"Is this like being sent to the naughty corner?" John laughed, the noise, which was a tad higher than he would have liked, filled the room.
Sherlock crossed his arms, a sly smile cross his features, as he took a small step forward. "That depends entirely on whichnaughty corner you are thinking of though, John," he said in a suggestive voice.
"To the wall then."
"You have precisely fifty-six seconds to get well acquainted with everything on that wall before we go to Scotland Yard," he informed John, patting him on the shoulder before removing his coat from the back of the sofa. "Molly, don't just stand there with your mouth open. Why don't you make yourself useful and put away the milk."
"O-okay," she muttered meekly, removing the carton from John's outstretched hand and making her way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she took a step back as she spotted a small jar with a large toe in it. "Sherlock, are you aware that you have a large toe in a pickle jar?"
"Really? I would never have realised that without your brilliant observational prowess. Thank you, Molly," he sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm as he tied his scarf around his neck.
"No need to be such a dick, Sherlock," John groaned, turning from the wall. "What is this all about anyway?"
"Why must I constantly be surrounded by idiots?" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands over his eyes.
"Just luck, I guess." He dug his hands into his pockets. "Oh, just so you know – I don't have any change for a cab."
"I wouldn't worry about that too much, John. Molly will be driving us there."
Taking a step out of the kitchen, suppressing the image of a rotting toe into the back of her mind, she pointed to herself. "I will?"
"Of course," he smiled, walking out of the flat and leaving Molly and John alone.
John smiled, gesturing for Molly to leave first so he could lock up behind him. She thanked him, waiting just outside of the door. "Oh, by the way," Molly said suddenly, grasping a hold of John's tie and running it over her fingers. "I love a man in a suit."
"Oh, do you now?" John replied in a smooth voice, feeling Molly pull his tie down. "You do realise how distracting you're being, don't you, Miss Hooper?"
"Really?" she said, moving slightly closer to John, pulling his tie tightly. "Then I guess you won't want me doing this then?" She kissed his right cheek. "Or this?" She kissed the other. "Or even this?" She leaned forward and placed her lips upon John's, sucking gently before pulling back to look at him.
"That can be an exception, I suppose," he whispered in her ear, pressing his lips to the smooth skin just under.
"John! You know the rules: case first, everything else after," Sherlock's voice shouted up the stairs, full of irritation.
Molly laughed, releasing John's tie. "We can't keep Sherlock waiting, can we?"
"Of course not."
To be continued...
The past couple of chapters have been fun to write and I've even managed to have a bit of everything. I'm glad to have John back though ... it just isn't the same without him. Plus, the more him and Molly are together, the more it will (even more so) bother Sherlock, which is the main thing :)
I'm glad you're all enjoying this so far. I know my mystery/case is no where near as good as a proper one ... but it will have to do.
Anyway, thank yous for reviews now: eccentricpetal, Tokigami, Nocturnias, Lawlliet and olivetrees
Oh, just one more thank you to all the readers. I certainly did not expect: 74 reviews, 14,134 hits, 26 fave story and 71 story alert XD