Oh, Lawd.
My precious darlings, I'm so sorry this is out so late. I couldn't get the boys to co-operate with me, and I had children thrust upon me (a babysitting job that starts at five a.m really kills)
This was meant to go about three different ways, all had porn times, but then I realized I never gave a proper heads up (and I remembered Irene Adler exists).
Thanks go out to the marvelous Mirith Griffin for the reminding me of Mycroft's umbrella. Seriously, I forgot all about the possibilities with that thing, even if you don't see much of its power in this chapter.
Warning: Un-beta'd, mistakes a'hoy. Also, I know certain (one) quotes aren't quoted correctly, so if you're super fanatic about that kind of thing, you're warned.
Sherlock, I'm Trying to Be Heterosexual. Stop.
Their peace lasted for a only a few more minutes when they were ambushed. Once they were properly seized John was able to recognize their leader as Gregory Lestrade, head of the notorious gang Scotland Yard. One of his minions, a dark-skinned slender thing, came up and pinched Sherlock's chin with her fingers.
"What odd eyes you have." She practically purrs before digging into his shirt and pulling out John. "What the- Freak." She spit before dropping the poor animal back into Sherlock's lap.
"Donovan." Lestrade barks, "What have I said about touching?" the woman named Donovan merely sneers before turning away and stalking to the back of the group, a rat faced man standing beside another woman whom he was clearly in intimate relation with judging by how close they stood and how she had an arm wrapped around his waist, watches her go, you could barely see the flinch in his entire being that clearly shouted "Let me follow!"
"Greg, what are you doing?" John snaps, eyes dancing with electricity, continuously darting from their attacker to Sherlock. "You know I don't have anything of value, and this guys about as valuable as a rock on the path." Sherlock's pride flares up at the insult, but the tiny terror that was now John sent such an furious look his way he kept quiet.
"John, I'm sorry, but it's routine to ransack any village we may pass and terrorize any poor somebody who crosses our path." Greg keeps his arms crossed as he nods his assent for a few of his cronies to plunder and pillage their singular bag, coming back into John and Sherlock's view holding Sherlock's bag.
"Boss, we've got ourselves someone important here." He said holding up the crown John had originally nabbed from the Queen's chambers.
"Don't be absurd. I stole it fair and square. Take it." John spits. Sherlock watches as he shifts minutely. Was he preparing to fight? There's no way he could take all of them at once. There were at least ten of them. Sherlock figures he'd be able to test out his combat skills soon.
"John, is he who I think he is?"
"Drop it, Lestrade." John growls, a noise so unlike the John Sherlock has known that it set his every nerve ending on edge. This was no longer silly thief, nor tiny terror. This was something entirely different. Entirely new. Yes, this was a soldier of sorts.
"Tell me, Watson. Who. Is. He-" John's foot connects with the bottom of Lestrade's jaw with a sickening crunch, just as he reaches over and tugs Sherlock into a safety zone behind him by the wrist. Acting on pure instinct, the nine other people surrounding jump into action as their leader lay knocked out cold. Sherlock let himself be tugged along as John took down two others then thrown to the ground when John was sure he was far enough back. The tall man watches in fascination as the shorter man seemed to move flawlessly through the thugs until it was just him, Donovan and Anderson.
"C'mon, John. We used to be brothers." Anderson sneers, his rat-like face seemingly pointier, a bit of blood dripping from his eyebrow.
"Keywords "used to be", Anderson." John snarls as he lunges for the thin man, swiftly knocking the air out of him with a knee to the gut, and pinning him there, flipping Donovan over his shoulder as he hears a twig snap behind him, alerting him to her presence.
"Now you're nothing but dirt beneath my boot. All of you." He growled in Anderson's ear. "So you better stay the fuck away from me and Sherlock."
John sways the tiniest fraction of a bit as he stands, regaining his balance, striding over to collect his genius, horse, and hedgehog.
"Let's go." He mutters, dragging Sherlock by the bicep.
"That was brilliant, John!" Sherlock offers, hoping to calm the angry ex-something (clearly he had been trained, no one is just that good, yet stands as if he's receiving orders). John stops, and releases a long, strung out sigh. He lets go of Sherlock and rolls his shoulders a few times, attempting to relieve himself of the stress thrust upon him, if only for his companions' sakes. He takes a few deep breaths, and offers Sherlock an apologetic. tired smile.
"Sorry about that. Sometimes this little bit of my past comes barreling through and I need a moment to come back to the present." Sherlock smiles, and brushes past him, climbing atop Harriet.
"Oh, no worries. Let's just get going to the capital." John pauses to take a moment to just... absorb the image of Sherlock on a horse, holding the reins, back ramrod straight, a determined look on his face-
"For God's sake, John, quit ogling me, and get on the horse." Sherlock huffs, flicking a stray curl out of his face.
"I'm not gay." John mutters as he nears the horse.
Once the odd quartet finally manages to set a pace without a tiny John pooing on Harriet's head, or a bigger John not thinking about Sherlock and certain assets of said man, they were well on their way to the capital city.
Naturally, though, Sherlock would want to explore every village, cottage and cave on the way there.
"But, John," it would always begin, "Science!" or "... locked away in a tower!" or John's personal favorite, "John and Harriet need to rest!", because hedgehogs are notorious for becoming exhausted just by sitting atop its thoroughbred's head.
They were staying at one particularly large city when it happened. Something John wasn't sure if he ever wanted to do or not again.
It is running around a absurdly large city, chasing some villain beside Sherlock after assisting the local law in finding him. Sherlock had had a field day messing around with barely-there clues, and hints, prodding the locals nearby. John just tried not to let himself get shot, and keep the maniac from getting killed/kidnapped/drugged/etc... Eventually Sherlock found a faint foot pattern or something (John honestly was only mildly paying attention due to the fact he was ready to fall over dead, tired as he was.)
"Looks like we can bump up your status from Consulting Pain-In-the-Arse to Consulting Detective." John comments that night as they lay in bed at a hotel, Sherlock happily snuggled against John's side not unlike every other night.
"John, I was never-"
"Yeah, I know. You were never labeled that, but surely you get the point I was trying to make." With an indignant huff, Sherlock rolls away to face the other side. "You and your bloody pride." John smiles, following his bed mate so he was pressing against his back, reaching a hand up to gently pull his fingers through the dark curls.
"John, you do realize that we are "cuddling", right?"
"Sherlock, I am not gay. Nor am I cuddling you. Now shut up and let me live in denial." Oops, had he said that last bit out loud? Apparently, if Sherlock's quiet laughter was anything to go by.
The next morning, the two prepare to leave when a young woman walks up to them, eyes red and puffy as if she's been crying for hours.
"Sherlock Holmes?" She looks between the two of them, unsure who she should be addressing. Sherlock sticks out a slender hand to take shake the young lady's.
"Yes? What is it?" She begins to visibly shake before throwing herself upon him, sobbing into his chest.
John stifles his giggles at the look of utter displeasure, and disgust on his friend's face.
"Oh, it's horrible. Just terrible!" Her voice muffled by the wool of Sherlock's coat. He places his hands on her shoulders, and gently begins to peel her away from himself.
"Ma'am, you're going to have to be more clear than that." He says, gently, still wary of anymore attacks. The lady sniffles a few times before dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief.
"Ugh, how embarrassing. I'm terribly sorry about my behaviour. It's just that I'm in such a state of distress." John is already by her side, nodding along and steering her towards the inn.
"Come on up stairs. We can talk inside." He soothes, taking her shaking hand in his for support. John looks over his shoulder at Sherlock, sending him a look that clearly says Well, c'mon, ya big git.
Upstairs in their room, John prepares her a cup of tea to calm her nerves as Sherlock settles in across from her, preparing to hear a hopefully interesting case.
"Well, you see, I'm a maid-servant to a very wealthy lady, and it's truly her problem that I come to you with. I cannot reveal to you her true identity in case someone is listening to our conversation, but I do hope you are still willing to help us. You see, we have heard of you, Sherlock Holmes. We have heard how you traipse across the country solving cases like... like... like it's as easy as breathing for you."
Sherlock contemplates the woman silently, fingers steepled against his mouth, as John brings in tea for their visitor.
"I hope you don't mind it unsweetened. All the sugar is packed away."
"Oh, no, it's fine." The maid blushes, looking down as she reaches out a hand to accept the proffered beverage.
"I don't think I ever got your name." John sits beside her, smiling charmingly. "Mine's John Watson."
"Mary Morstan." She brushes a stray blond hair behind her ear.
"Liar." Sherlock's deep baritone startles the both of them.
"Excuse me?" Mary stutters.
"Liar." Sherlock says, much more conviction in his voice this time.
"Sherlock, please, if this woman says her name is Mary then-"
"But it isn't." Sherlock looks at John as if he had been expecting him to realize this as well. Sighing, he held out his hands for Mary's. Once she had placed them there, he began to pick about her fingers, examining each one carefully.
"You aren't even a servant. Your hands are too neat." His eyes squint at her head. "Your hair is well maintained, not to mention your distinct knowledge in grammar. So, who are you?"
Not-Mary's face was beet red with anger and embarrassment.
"I never- how could you have possibly known all that?" Not-Mary tore her hands away from Sherlock like he was a foul beast. John merely watched him with amazement.
"It isn't important. Just tell me who you really are, and why you're here." Sherlock looked over as John bumped into him, obviously unaware he had been drifting closer to the other if you were to go by the look of surprise of being so close to Sherlock.
"I am Lady Branum, the fiancée of Prince Victor." Her entire being had shifted with this confession. Gone were the tears, gone was the shaking. Instead, here sat a posh woman with a fiery attitude, and a severe want to punch Sherlock. "I have come to you today because of a rather idiotic mistake I made while out with the ladies celebrating the engagement." She shifted in her seat, flattening the wrinkles from her borrowed servants' clothes. "I had discovered the – services of one Miss Irene Adler." A faint blush coloured her cheeks. "Regrettably, that vicious woman had photographic evidence, and is threatening to show them to Victor the night before our wedding." Lady Branum let out a small cough. "Unfortunately, nothing I have offered her will change her mind, nor has she asked for anything, leaving me in a bind."
The room was silent, the inhabitants soaking in the information before being interrupted with-
"Alright. I'll see what I can do." Sherlock stands and heads to the door. "Until then, my lady, you should probably return to wherever you are staying." He bows as he opens the door for her. "And you, John, should tell the good inn keeper we'll be needing this room for at least two more nights."
Sighing, John stands up, ignoring the creak in his bones, reminding him of just how old he's getting, and makes his way down to the front desk.
"Hello." He greeted, already counting coins for the next two nights' fee.
"Hi." He was greeted cheerfully by the teller. "My name's James, but my friends call me Jimbo, and I'll be serving you tonight." John let out a huff of a laugh.
"Uh, okay. My friend, and I will be needing our room for the next two nights." He said, passing the small stack of gold coins over the counter.
"Sorry if I'm a little enthusiastic." James ducked his head shyly. "It's my first night on the job." John offered a reassuring smile.
"I think you're doing fine, lad. Have a nice day." He waved before turning to ascend the stairs to their room.
"Wait!" John turned at the top step, James standing at the bottom, looking embarrassed for his outburst. "Can, uh, can you come back down so I can ask you, erm, a question?" John, sceptical, slowly descended
"Yeah?" James twirled his washcloth nervously between his hands.
"I was wondering if you wanted to go out for drinks tomorrow. After my shift at eight?" John was completely taken aback.
"James, I'm not- erm that is-" he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not gay, James." He looked up at the poor guy, clearly not knowing how to handle the rejection. "But, as friends, I suppose, we could go out for a pint." John tried to reassure him. That seemed to do the trick, for Jim was back to his perky self. He muttered a thanks before dashing back behind the countertop. John chuckled at his exuberance, remembering his younger days of chasing tail. Though, it definitely had been with more courage.
"What took you so long?" Sherlock asked from his bed in the corner, staring at the ceiling. He had been thinking then.
"Uh, I think I made a friend of the teller." He huffed. "He was... adamant we make plans for tomorrow night. Going out for drinks after," he twirled his hand in the air, as if he could suddenly grab hold of the words he needed, "whatever it is we do tomorrow."
"What?" Sherlock opened one eye, glancing over at John out of his peripheral. "What about me?"
"What about you?" John sat down heavily into a chair in the "kitchen", if you could call it that, and began to examine the crown he had forgotten about.
"Well, what am I supposed to do while you're out?" Sherlock sat up now, agitated. "It's not like I've grown up in society, and know how to "go out"."
"Sherlock, you've been out of your tower for long enough now that I think you can handle socializing, even if it's just downstairs in the sitting room with other tenants." They both fell quiet, Sherlock sulking, when John had a realization. "This could be your mother's. I did steal this from the capitol after all." John tossed it on the table, and wandered over to his bed, throwing himself on it. Sherlock was still sulking, curled up into a ball facing away from John. Usually when this happened, hedgehog-John was skittering all over Sherlock's face, trying to cheer him up.
"Where's John?" John sat back up, looking about the room. "I haven't seen him all day." He made his way to the door, throwing his jacket on. "I'm going to check if he's down in the stables with Harry." Sherlock looked over his shoulder as he heard the door shut, then opening his hands, John stuck his tiny head out.
"Well, that went well." Now Sherlock had a least twenty more minutes to think in silence like he was used to in his tower.
Down in the stables, John was checking all the empty stalls and barrels of hay for the horses, his search for the critter proving fruitless as time progressed. He was just preparing to leave the stalls, when a figure emerged dramatically from the side, pulling him into a sealed off stall and locking the door. He turned to his attacker, ready to lash out, but the feel of something buzzing, and sharp pressed against his chest directly above his heart stopped him.
"You've fallen far, Doctor Watson." He gasped, a pain, not due to the weapon pressed against him, bloomed in his chest. He felt the pressure remove, thte sof sound of fabric ruffling before he was bathed in a dull blue light. Looking up, he found an umbrella hovering between himself and another man, taller, the light coming form the umbrella.
Huh.
"Don't even think about screaming, Anthea has this room sound proofed." the man warned, tapping the handle lightly, causing the umbrella's light to shine a bit brighter. "Much better."
"I wouldn't scr- I don't scream." Perfect. Manliness defended. "But, that's beside the point. You called me Doctor Watson. And who the hell is 'Anthea'?"
"My umbrella of course, and, well, yes. I did call you Doctor Watson." The stranger seemed bemused that John was questioning this. "That is who you are, after all." John shook his head.
"I haven't been 'Doctor Watson' in a very long time." He corrected the man, miffed that he had brought up his past.
"My apologies, then, John." He made a big spectacle of being less formal.
"Who are you anyway?" this man was slowly starting to get on John's nerves, what with him knowing so much about John, and John knowing nothing of him.
"My name is not important. What is important, however, is how Sherlock is." John was nearly knocked over in surprise. Of all the things...
"Wait, you're that witch that's kept him prisoner all his life." John was back up again, clearly regaining the use of his legs as he marched the short way forward to jab the witch in the chest. Probably not the safest thing to do, now that he thinks about it. He sighed.
"Yes, I am. Now would you please remove yourself from my personal space. It's already quite claustrophobic in here without us breathing the same air." the umbrella dipped down some to nudge John away.
"Well, you're not getting him back. Not under my watch." John crossed his arms, glaring at the taller man.
"Oh, heavens no. You can keep him." He said, as if the idea of even wanting Sherlock back was laughable. "It's about time he went home. I'm not my young, foolish, greedy younger self anymore, and I do regret taking him from his crib all those years ago. I do, however, wonder what he is to you for you to be so loyal so very quickly."
"Uh, I do believe that's none of your business, yes?" John snapped.
"Oh, but it is my business, Doctor." John bristled.
"What do you want?" He snapped, ready to just go back up to the room and sleep. In his own bed. By himself.
"I want you to report to me what Sherlock is up to. Nothing personal, nothing you would feel bad about telling me."
"You want me to spy on him?"
"I'd pay you, of course. I'm sure that a thief's salary is a small one."
"One minute I'm a doctor, the next I'm a thief, huh?" John raised his eyebrows, and the man sighed irritably.
"Are you going to or not, Mr. Watson?" John hummed and spun on his heel, facing the door.
"No. Now, I would like to get some sleep if you wouldn't mind."
"Oh, by all means." He gestured to the door as it swung open. "Goodnight, John. Do take care of young Sherlock, please." John waved his hand as an affirmative before striding out of the stables, and into the rain.
Up in the room, only the candle by John's bed was lit, Sherlock was sleeping in his own with a furry John curled up next to his face. He glared at the duo, figuring out Sherlock's little heist almost immediately. He shed his layers until he was down to his underwear, and crawled into his bed, grateful for finally being able to rest, sighing rather contentedly, feeling the stress vacate his body as sleep overtook him.
He was nearly completely out, when he felt the bed dip, and a warm body press against his back, an arm coming round to pull him closer and trap him there.
"Sherlock, g'way." He grunted, attempting to escape. The only response he received was to be pulled closer, and to have four tiny paws step on his face before settling in the crook of his neck. So much for sleeping by himself.
… This is becoming way longer than originally intended. I was thinking maybe, maybe three chapters. Now I have no idea how long this will go for...
Anyway, please leave a review. Not sure when the next update will be, but hopefully faster than this one (I must be swift as a coursing river, with all the strength of a great typhooooon). Already have the next chapter started.
Major thanks go out to Mirith Griffin, Wolf Princess girl, JustBeAQueen, and earthhitchhiker for the reviews, They made me all fuzzy and warm inside. C:
Thank you to everyone who favorited and alerted as well, and, yes, thank you so, so much for reading.
~Ariela