A Prompt fill for my beautiful friend SirienneHolmes's birthday. May you have a happy one!
Lovely. Another hand to shake. Another person to smile at with false gratitude. More inane babble to listen to. God, he could do with a cigarette.
Sherlock drew in a deep breath, imagining that his lungs were filling with hot smoke rather than the pleasant air of the morning. It was a good day for a wedding. The weather hadn't dared to do anything differently, of course. Sherlock had struck fear into every man or woman that might have upset John's special day. It wouldn't surprise him if the weather had picked up on that as well.
He had just given Mary's old ex-boyfriend a terse smile when a small something came running up and attached itself firmly to his middle.
"He's really come out of his shell, I don't know how you did it," said the woman following behind, beaming at Sherlock and then turning to congratulate Mary and John.
"Hello Archie, well done at the ceremony," said Sherlock, looking down at the small boy hugging his waist. He patted his curly head lightly and gave him a small smile.
"I earned my pictures right? Can I see them? Now?" he asked in a sweet little voice.
"Come and find me after the reception. I've-" Sherlock was cut off by a loud rumble from his stomach. Archie, who had been resting his cheek against it, turned to look at it and then up at Sherlock with wide blue eyes.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
"Uh, yes. I suppose I must be," said Sherlock, glancing away for a second.
"Haven't you eaten today?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Funny how children are unafraid to ask the right questions.
They see. They observe. They wonder. They ask.
Adults have forgotten to. Good job Sherlock hadn't become one of them.
But now, a simple question like that should have a simple answer.
But it didn't. Sherlock fell silent, his lips parted, then closed. They were moistened by a tongue that was suddenly less sharp. Archie just looked up at him patiently. Waiting. Sherlock's stomach groaned pitifully again.
He just hadn't had the time. He'd been too busy to devoting thought to the decision, preparation, and eating of a meal.
He'd been jittery that morning. Stupidly so. It wasn't as if it were his wedding. He had had a few sips of tea. No biscuits. Nothing for lunch or the day before. It had just... slipped his mind.
Sherlock swallowed.
"Come along, Archie," said the boy's mother, smiling at Sherlock and lightly taking Archie's arm, "John and Mary have loads more guests to see. Let's have a seat and get some ice cream, hmm?"
Archie followed his mother obediently, but turned to look at Sherlock over his shoulder as he was lead away, his little face scrunching into a puzzled frown. Sherlock sighed and tightened his core before plastering an almost pleasant smile back onto his features as he shook hands again and again with guests. Their faces seemed to blur together after a point. Sherlock's traitorous tummy let out another growl. He clenched his abdominal muscles and stood up straighter. Hopefully that would shut the damn thing up.
"Hungry, mate?" asked John, clapping a hand on Sherlock's shoulder as they sat down at the high table set out at the front of the reception hall.
Sherlock opened his mouth to give his usual reply in the negative, but closed it again. He…he was hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper meal.
"Starving," he admitted, glancing over at John. But he was already talking to Mary again.
The first course was some sort of shrimp thing. Tiny pink shellfish tails were dressed in a mayonnaise looking spread and then laid out on a leaf of lettuce which was placed atop a piece of toasted bread. Sherlock picked up his utensils. He felt as though his hands were shaking. He took a long breath and glanced discretely sideways. Janine was already cutting into hers, and lifting a bite to her mouth. John had attacked his with similar gusto. Sherlock looked back at his plate, took a deep steadying breath and cut his own bite. Just a small one. He lifted it to his mouth carefully. Opened, chewed, swallowed. And found himself ravenous.
The second course was a few slices of roast pork, pale at the center but with crisp golden fat rinds at the top. Tiny perfect potatoes roasted and seasoned with rosemary. Colorful spring greens. Sherlock felt his stomach growl again. It shouldn't still be growling. He had eaten now! He'd be fine for another couple of days at least. He shouldn't have anymore and least of all this… His stomach sent another jolt of painful hunger through him, making his head swim ever so slightly. Well, it couldn't slow him down that much. He wasn't technically on a case. There was no reason he shouldn't be able to eat. At least quiet his traitorous middle. He attacked his new plate while his belly groaned in triumph. Ridiculous thing.
Third course. Dessert. Sherlock didn't even hesitate this time. Tiny balls of vanilla ice cream dipped in chocolate. A small bunch of fresh raspberries. One, two, three and the morsels were inside him. Sherlock sat back and reached for his champagne. His hand was still shaking slightly. He didn't know whether to run to the loo or just accept what he'd done. He settled for folding his hands over his middle. There was a comfortable weight there. A fullness. His stomach was brushing his waist coat a bit more. He did feel a bit queasy. He wasn't used to eating a full meal like that. Not anymore. The fullness wasn't what was bothering him, though. That actually felt a bit nice now that he thought about it. No, that wasn't it. He'd almost forgotten.
"Silence for the best man," called someone in front of him. Sherlock swallowed and got to his feet. He buttoned his jacket. Well at least with a proper meal in him he wasn't swaying anymore.
Later on, after the minor excitement during and following his speech, Sherlock found himself wandering about the bright yellow hall, peering at the empty tables, reviewing the facts in his mind. A small something came hurtling towards him and caught him round the middle. Sherlock smiled slightly despite himself.
"Hello again, Archie," he said, patting the curly head that had buried itself at his navel. This time his stomach didn't grumble for attention.
"Better?" Sherlock asked, and he wished that he hadn't sounded so uncertain, so desperate for affirmation. He was all sorts of off today.
Little Archie, however, just piped up with an enthusiastic "Yes!" and hugged Sherlock a bit tighter. "Can I see those pictures now? You promised."
Sherlock chuckled, placing his hands on Archie's small shoulders and stepping back a bit so that he could kneel down and look the boy in the eye.
"Of course. You upheld your part of the bargain. And brilliantly helped me prevent a murder on top of that," said the detective, his voice gentle and proud. He pulled out his phone and began flipping through the crime scene photographs he had promised Archie. Sherlock pulled out one of the chairs and helped the young boy climb into his lap so that he could see as he flicked through them. Sherlock answered Archie's many questions quietly and simply, explained how he had solved each case from the clues. His stomach was still and silent, still contentedly churning away at the food from the reception. It wasn't such a bad feeling. He felt calmer than he had in days. And Archie only seemed to appreciate the warmth radiating out from it as he sat in the detective's lap.
Perhaps... it was better this way.