Chapter 36
John punched the cab window, ignoring the angry shouts from the driver. "Can you believe the nerve of him?"
Mary shrugged and smiled. "I like him."
John spat coffee all over the seat in front of him. "What?"
"I swear, I will stop this cab," the driver said, but was ignored.
"He seems like a nice guy," Mary said, sharpening a knife. "I'm sure we're going to have tons of fun. Also, where did you get coffee?"
"Shut up."
-Bart's Hospital-
Molly entered the locker room after a long day of work. She opened the door to her locker and gasped.
"Hi there. I'm back," Sherlock said from where he was crammed in the medium-sized locker. "Could you help me out? I think I'm stuck."
-Parking Garage-
Lestrade woke up from where he'd been napping on the roof of his car. He looked down. Someone had stolen his shoes again. "Shit." He got in his car and cranked the engine.
"Those things will kill you, you know," Sherlock said from the backseat.
Predictably, Greg screamed in surprise, slamming on the gas and shooting backwards into the car across the aisle.
"See? I'm a genius," Sherlock said as the other car's engine began smoking.
-John and Mary's House-
The two of them were lying in bed.
"You up?" John asked.
"Yeah," Mary said.
John heard crying from somewhere in the room. "What's that?"
"Oh, must be the baby."
"What?"
"We're married, remember?"
John screamed and sat bolt upright in bed, covered in a cold sweat. He looked around the room, relieved to find no signs of a crib or a baby. He looked over and, yep, Mary was still there. "Dammit."
-Baker Street-
Sherlock pushed open the door, then went to Mrs. Hudson's apartment, knocking on the door. She opened it and, upon seeing his face, screamed and used her frying pan to flatten his nose for the second time in twenty-four hours.
-Bart's Hospital, Two Years Ago-
"Goodbye, John." Sherlock spread his arms and plummeted over the side of the building.
"SHERLOCK!" John yelled, frozen in shock. Then he blinked in surprise as Sherlock appeared back at the top of the building. This time he was wearing a tacky red cloak and had a cringy goatee.
"Dormamu! I have come to bargain."
"Okay, hold up, hold up," Anderson, breaking the flashback sequence. "No fandom crossovers," he said to the fan who had been stating her theory. "That's one of the rules of our creepy, ridiculous fan club that would honestly be better suited on tumblr."
The girl who had been telling her theory frowned and started to retort, but was cut off as her phone buzzed. She checked it and her mouth fell open. "Oh. My. God."
Hashtags like #SherlockLives and #SherlockHolmesAlive! and #SherlockHolmesNotDead began flying around the room. The member's of the fan club quickly realized that the hashtags were pretty sharp and began fleeing the room, screaming for their lives.
"How does he do that?" Anderson asked after narrowly avoiding being decapitated.
-John and Mary's Flat-
Mary grinned at her iPad. "His movements were so silent. So furtive, he reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking up a scent. I couldn't help thinking what an amazing criminal he'd make if he turned his talents against the law."
John sighed from the bathroom. "Are you seriously reading fanfiction about me and Sherlock?"
"No, this is straight from your blog!" Mary looked down at the iPad again. "And I couldn't help but imagine what a great lover he would be if he'd turned his talents to the bedroom…"
John turned red. "Now you just made that part up, I didn't write that!" All of my Johnlock smut is on my AO3 account anyway, he thought to himself.
-Elsewhere-
Sherlock tilted his head down, his voice coming out all rumbly. "London. It's like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents, and drifters are irresistibly drained. Sometimes it's not a question of 'Who?"; it's a question of 'Who knows?' If this man cancels his papers, I need to know. If this woman leaves London without putting her dog into kennels, I need to know. There are certain people that are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up, like rats deserting a sinking ship." He looked up from the microphone. "How'd I do?"
The man on the other side of the glass at the recording studio scowled at him. "You're supposed to be advertising London, mate! Not telling it like it is! I hired you because Benedict Cumberbatch has deepest, sexiest voice ever, the kind that could convince the Pope to sin, but you can't even do this right!"
"Who's Benedict Cumberbatch?"
-221b, Later-
Mycroft growled as the game in front of him buzzed once more. "I'm supposed to be playing Operation, but this one annoying little brother keeps kicking my ass."
"Why are you narrating your life? I'm sitting right here, I can see everything you do," Sherlock said.
"Sherlock's supposed to be shutting down a terrorist organization, but this one army doctor keeps distracting him."
Sherlock smirked. "Are you jealous?"
"The hell would I be jealous of?"
"I can tell that you're lonely. I thought you would have found someone to spend your time with while I was gone for those two years."
"I need no one," Mycroft growled, unwilling to admit that he'd completely immersed himself in meme culture and had no time to dedicate to a relationship.
"Suit yourself." Sherlock looked down at the Operation board. "Yet you can't handle a broken heart, how very telling."
Mycroft put on a pair of huge sunglasses and a luscious wig. "I can't read suddenly, I don't know."
So after the shitshow that was season 4, I have returned. I don't know if you're all as disappointed as I am but rest assured that the shitty writing will make it even easier for me to parody it! So stay strong and I'll see you with another chapter soon!
(Also I started a Walking Dead parody if any of you are interested.)