Hide and Seek
Author's Note: This is my first publication for the Sherlock category, not attempt mind you - I've tried multiple times to write a story for Sherlock, but it has never worked out. I hope it's different for this publication because I adore this story line that I've created over weeks and weeks. Please! Enjoy.
3. Marinating Lungs
John watched his flatmate pace back and forth from the sofa to his chair. John had wondered if he kept going if he'd burn himself a whole in the hardwood flooring. He lifted up the newspaper and grumbled, "here's hoping."
"What was that John?"
Sherlock had a knack of doing that: hearing things that John didn't want him to hear and to ignore everything John thought was important. Sometimes John wondered if he simply heard everything he said, even if it was under his breath, and chose to ignore it unless he knew it would embarrass John. 'Nothing' John mumbled, his eyebrows cross, his fingers playing with the back of the newspaper.
"Bored!" Sherlock yelled after twenty minutes of pacing, just as John was nearing the end of the paper, "bored!" He yelled again, flopping down on the sofa, getting into his signature pose, "no murders! No robberies! No kidnappings! Boring, boring, boring!" John looked up at him, irritation clear on his face before grabbing his phone and typing in a message.
He's in one of his moods again. -JW
He set it down quietly, not missing a beat as he folded his newspaper back up and took a sip of his tea that Mrs. Hudson had brought up earlier that morning. His phone pinged, and he silently berated himself for not turning the sound off. Sherlock looked up, "who are you messaging so early in the morning?" John didn't reply as he picked up his phone, holding in a chuckle as he read the message.
Tell him to stuff it, always worked when we were in uni. -LS
"It's not Sarah, you don't have that lovesick puppy look you usually get when she messages you, or vice versa. Couldn't be Lestrade, you never smile when you get a message from him - you usually respond with a sigh. Can't be my brother," Sherlock spat the world out, "he never messages you, or calls you. Daphne. You're messaging Daphne at," Sherlock peered at the clock, "a quarter past eight in the morning. I'm surprised she's even up."
"Yes, I'm messaging Laurel," John admitted but not with out an embarrassed blush, "she's the only one that will listen to my rants."
"About me?" Sherlock stated even though it sounded like a question.
"Of course, what else would I be ranting about?" Sherlock brought his fingers up to his lips and closed his eyes, going still.
I mentioned you and that shut him right up. -JW
When he finished his tea, he poured himself a new cup before going into the kitchen and making some toast. Toast had always filled him up in the morning especially when he sprinkled some cinnamon sugar on the buttered toast. Leaning against the counter, he sipped his tea and nibbled on his toast. His phone pinged again.
I have that effect on him. Usually. -LS
You should've mentioned that earlier! -JW
John laughed quietly to himself before opening the refrigerator to get the milk and found himself repulsed by the stench radiating from it. After pushing around a few items he found himself yelling at the top of his lungs: "Sherlock! Why are there a pair of lungs marinating in the fridge?!"
Laurel chuckled at John's messages, feeling more like a mother than a friend to him at this point. They rarely talked about themselves because John was too busy ranting about Sherlock and talking about him. If Laurel didn't know any better she would've guessed that they were an item. She tucked her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and pushed her hair back from her forehead.
"Do you want something to eat? I can run into town and pick something up." Colum asked from the door way of the sitting room. Laurel was now nursing a steaming mug of coffee, the dark bags under her eyes more noticeable in the natural sun-light, and her fingers worked on her cuticles, making them bleed.
"You've gained weight."
"Are we going to play this game?" Colum asked, exasperated before leaning against the frame, "well you've lost weight."
"I wasn't trying to be mean, just an observation from eating out too much." Colum shrugged at her words before turning on his heel to head out the door, "want something or not?"
"I can make something." Laurel stood up, uneasy on her own feet as she shuffled towards the kitchen, "like what?" Colum started, following her into the kitchen.
"I don't know something."
Laurel opened the refrigerator and peered inside.
John slammed the refrigerator doors shut with a mighty force, enough the shake the condiments on it.
"It was an experiment John!" Sherlock exclaimed, holding the tray of his marinating lungs in front of him, "I wanted to see-"
"No, no! I don't care, just get them out of the fridge!" John exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically over his head, "I don't want to see body parts when I go to get the milk! Or smell it, for God's sake Sherlock!" John watched as Sherlock went to put them in the microwave, "no! Not there either you nit!"
Colum popped open the microwave, shoving the television dinner inside of it, and set it on five minutes.
"Always eating healthy I see," Laurel joked as she stabbed at her salad with cut apple slices, "I'm glad to see that my brother is going to die from a clogged artery instead of a bullet wound." Colum ignored her as he stared at his lunch go around and around in the microwave, "or from radiation." Laurel mumbled under her breath as she stuffed more lettuce into her mouth.
"Oh stuff it will you?" He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his foot impatiently. When the microwave finally beeped, sounding that it was done with its job, Colum opened the door and sat beside Laurel at the breakfast bar. Since it was just the two of them in the large house it seemed almost silly to even have a dinning room.
"Remember when Mum got this silly thing installed?" Colum started, picking at the floppy steak and almost plastic looking vegetables, "she was always excited to make pancakes on the weekends." Laurel was quiet as she polished off the rest of her salad and dumped the plate in the sink. Her phone buzzed on the marble counter top.
He had lungs in the fridge. -JW
Laurel quirked a brow, but wasn't necessarily surprised. She vaguely remembered the time he stuffed a dozen live rodents into her dorm room and filled it with a nauseating smell that definitely was supposed to recreate the scent of burning flesh. "I needed to see how the rats would react to the smell - it's an experiment Duckie." "In my dorm room though?" "Well I obviously wouldn't do it in my own."
He's a prat, a brilliant prat. -LS
The phone vibrated in her hand before she could even set it down. When she looked at the screen she immediately froze. New message. From: Sherlock Holmes. The last few weeks John had sent her some messages, to get better acquainted ("He's flirting, you nut," Colum would say) however, Sherlock had not once messaged her. Or called. She took a deep breath and opened the message.
You really should. -SH
She was confused, she should what? She quickly typed out her response: Should what? -LS
She fingered the phone, flipping it around between her fingers and running her fingers over the silk like texture.
"You should just move out there already. You spend more time looking at that phone than anything else." Colum said as he stabbed some of his steak and putting it into his mouth, "it's practically like you're already living with them."
"Why would I want to live with Sherlock Holmes?" Laurel said more to herself than her brother, "that egotistical, arrogant, self-involved, self-important -" Her phone went off and she quickly looked at the new message.
Come to London. I'm bored. -SH
"It 'im ain't it?" Colum asked with a mouth full of food before swallowing and looking at his sister's face, "what ever happened between the two of you?" Laurel snapped her head up and with a cold glance, picked up her cigarettes and went outside.
Mrs. Hudson opened the door to 221b, not really shocked by what she saw. John was in his chair, a proper angry pout on his face as he sipped on a cup of tea and Sherlock sitting in the kitchen with a pan that contained lungs and what looked to be gravy. She propped the door open with her door as she carried in a tray of biscuits and jam.
"Have another domestic did you?" She teased as John straightened up, hearing the door open.
"No," John answered, exasperated, "I found a pair of fresh lungs in gravy in the fridge though." Mrs. Hudson gave a not-too surprised gasp before crying out a sharp: 'Sherlock!' Sherlock didn't bother to look up from the pan as he cut at them with a sharp scalpel. Mrs. Hudson put the tray down on the coffee table, looking back at Sherlock before making another surprised noise.
"Oh! Sherlock I fixed up one of the upstairs room, you said you had an associate that would rent it? Can I have his name?" When the word 'associate' left her mouth, she looked almost worriedly towards John who threw his arms up again yelling 'We aren't a couple Mrs. Hudson!'. Sherlock straightened himself up, tugging at his shirt slightly before answering.
"Her name. Daphne Strickland, I believe she'll be in touch by the end of the week."
And she was.