Chapter 32: Benvolio, Thou Art Known For Chaos

"John, what sort of doctor are you?" I asked over dinner.

"I'm just a physician. Why?" John asked with suspicion tinging his words.

"Just wondering. So, what sort of people do you see on a day-to-day basis?"

"I tend to just do general diagnosis and check-ups. Why?"

Sherlock looked at me in confusion. I raised an eyebrow. His face lit up in realisation. I nodded slightly.

"Okay, what are you two planning? I may not be as much of a detective as you two but I can certainly tell when you two are scheming."

Sherlock and I did our best to look guilty.

"I'm going to bed," John announced, taking his plate into the kitchen and putting them into the sink.

Sherlock and I shared a sad look. We'd decided earlier that day that John had been too strained and stressed lately and thus deserved to have some relaxation time. I'd messaged Mycroft earlier, asking him to send over an abundance of pillows, a few blankets, a broom and some ropes - and pegs - and the entire cinematic series of Harry Potter. He'd complied, bemused and amused in equal amounts.

We 'woke' the next morning to a flat entirely void of hedgehogs. The noises from downstairs had died down around nine, signalling that if was time to put our plan into action. Mrs Hudson had allowed us to make use of the ground floor to make our pillow fort and Mycroft had sent a 'friend' over to bring the TV down into the room we had selected for our plan.

Practically running down the stairs, I rushed into the room where Sherlock was. Seated on the floor beside the pile of pillows, he was sketching rapidly on a piece of paper torn out of a notebook.

"So, Athena, what's the plan?" I asked, moving to perch atop of the pillow pile.

"A nickname for every occasion!" he muttered in a sardonically excited voice before clearing his throat and angling the page so that I wasn't looking over his shoulder quite as close.

"A single pole with rope going, sourcing from it, to multiple extra supporting structures off to the side and blankets draped over it. Think it could work?" I asked, looking over the paper.

He smirked, turning his head to look at me. "Romeo, wherefore doth thou hath doubt?"

"Benvolio, thou art known for chaos," I said, gesturing upwards with a jerk of my head.

"There is a place for everything and everything has its place. Now, are we going to execute your needless plan or shall I go back to finding something more worthy of my time?" Sherlock stood, as if to make for the door, but I did the same, pulling on his sleeve.

"C'mon, Lockie," I said, taking advantage of Sherlock's hate for whining, "You know John would appreciate it if we did this for him."

Casting his gaze toward the ceiling, as if asking for patience, Sherlock turned to the pile of pillows and blankets with a resigned look of his face and began moving them into the centre of the room to make a slightly raised platform of sorts.

Picking up the pole and stand Mycroft had provided us - a broom would have worked just as well but Umbrella-Boy always had to go above and beyond - I moved a few of the pillows in the centre of the pile, making a gap to place it it. I covered the base and wobbled the pole, ensuring that it wouldn't fall over.

Sherlock was right - there were other things we could be doing. But it had been a long time since John, Sherlock and I had done something less fast-paced than our daily lives and it was taking its toll. Sherlock was sleeping and eating less and was more easy to irritate, John was more frustrated and ate less and I was generally more tired and confused - and adopting the mindset that was closer to that of a ten-year-old. Which was more embarrassing and annoying than anything.

So, thus was my idea born. A night of movies, relaxation in a pillow fort and popcorn would do us all a world of good.

Fifteen minutes later, we stood facing a pile of pillows, with ropes like the branches of a spiderweb above, attached to the six chairs placed in a circle around the pole. So far, so good.

Grabbing the edge of one of the three blankets, I pulled it up and over part of the rope structure, Sherlock assisting. Using another bit of rope, I tied the edge of the blanket to the central pole. Continuing along this train of thought, Sherlock did the same around the top knobs of the chairs the blanket rested upon. We soon had a tent-shaped structure that was showing no signs of collapsing or moving in any way.

"Now we wait," I said happily.

The waiting consisted of Sherlock taking John's laptop from our flat and bringing it downstairs to read chemistry and cellular research updates while I played some basic arcade-style games on my phone. We could tell when John arrived home because Mrs Hudson (who had been bubbling with excitement most of the day) cheerily informed him that "They're in the bottom flat, dear!".

To say that the night was a success was an understatement. John reacted as I'd predicted he would: he stood open-mouthed in the doorway, staring in as if it were the abyss he was seeing rather than a pillow fort.

"Wha-? Did you-?" he forced out.

"Do this? Evidently so, as we are the only ones that have been in this room for an extended period of time since last week," Sherlock pointed out and John looked like he might hug him. Or kiss him. Or punch him because even after all this Sherlock was still behaving like Sherlock.

"Yes, we did," I answered. "Do you like it?"

The next thing I knew, I was being hugged as if I'd been close to death. I took that as a yes.

"So, movie?" Sherlock asked with a slight cough, as if the sentiment was disturbing him.

"Yes! John, we weren't sure which ones you'd want to watch, so I asked Mycroft to give us a whole bunch. We have X-men and Avengers and Harry Potter and The Princess Bride and a few different series, along with The Fifth Element because-" I cut off with a scowl, despite the fact that the movie seemed okay.

"Popcorn?" John asked hopefully.

"Of course!" I put on a hurt expression.

A few movies later, John whispered a "Thank you.".

Sherlock and I smiled.

Edit: 25.2.16

In my opinion, Benvolio was the only logically thinking person in the entire play. Make of that what you will.

- Little