The Benefits of Wrestling
Genre: Family, Humour, Romance
Pairings: Sherlock and Sally
Main characters: Sherlock, Sally, Michael discussed, Grace mentioned
Sherlock blanched.
"My SON. Into… SPORTS?"
Sally held back a burst of sarcastic laughter.
"Well he takes after his dad."
"ME? I'm as athletic as a bloody garden slug. I've no interest in sports. Physical activity is… BORING."
"Oh? Sally asked, raising an eyebrow.
"MOST physical activity… is… um…" he said, as Sally moved in on him.
"Okay FINE," he said, grinning like an idiot after being thoroughly and completely snogged.
"Physical activity that does NOT involve my gorgeous," he kissed her, "sensual," just one more little kiss, "incredibly intelligent Old Plod," a small peck for good measure, "is boring."
"Better," Sally mumbled.
"But our SON. Seriously? Wrestling?"
"Well," Sally pointed out, not releasing her husband necessarily, but pulling back enough to have a decent conversation with him. "Wrestling IS as close to physical activity as you've ever gotten… apart from me of course."
"Oh PLEASE tell me he's going to DO something with this in the future," Sherlock lamented. He had always envisioned his progeny to be at least as cerebral as he was, if not actually surpassing that.
"Oh come on Git," Sally said, with a scolding tone and a scowl. "How many altercations have you gotten into and lived to tell the tale because you had martial arts training, or self defense, wrestling, or whatever have you. Michael and Grace have BOTH expressed interest in martial arts, it's just that Michael is very keen on wrestling too."
"It's done me no harm, over the years, I confess," Sherlock admitted, his arms still draped around Sally's waist.
"Sometimes being clever means being too clever for your own good, and that will eventually mean you have to put up or get beaten up." Sally remained in her spot, her arms casually wrapped around her husband. "Besides, he takes after you in other ways too, not the least of which is being full to the brim with nervous pent up energy. Athletics are a good, healthy outlet for him."
Sherlock sneered in pure disgust. Then he rolled his eyes, and sighed heavily, as if the admission that he might be mistaken and Sally was possibly correct was a great, overwhelming, physical burden.
"Fine. Whatever," he sighed, as he gently pulled her close and allowed his hands to wander. "Might we discuss this later, Old Plod?" he said, with a cheeky grin and a breathy sigh against her neck.
"A distinct possibility," Sally managed, just barely. "But rest assured my Git, we're not… oh… finished… oh just bloody sod it…" she finally conceded. Pushing him away for just a moment, she raised her eyebrows at his dancing eyes and silly smile, and managed to warn him, "We WILL be discussing this later, Sherlock," before breaking into the warmest of grins.
Sherlock knew that the use of his real name rather than simply being called "Git" meant that his wife indeed meant to keep her promise, and so she did. The debate would again come into focus within the week, but by then, thanks to Sally's gentle persuasions, and a forced trip to Michael's school to watch him in action during a practice, Sherlock would finally be convinced that perhaps athletics wouldn't be such a waste of time, after all.