Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, that amazing honour belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Moffat and Gatiss. I can dream though!
A/N: This chapter has taken a horrific amount of time to write and I am afraid it is indecently small in size, but this story is officially dead in the water for me. If I manage to write more chapters in the future, then I definitely will put them up, but until then . . . this is on permanent hiatus. I feel so bad for saying it, but there we go.
There was only mild awkwardness when John and Sarah discovered the one bed in their room - but hey, they had to get to the bed-sharing stage at some point, right?
John awoke the next morning, nightmare free, to an empty bed and the smell of frying bacon. After a quick shower and a change into a clean set of clothes, John moseyed out into the kitchen.
Ngaire, Michael's wife, was hovering over the stove-top, now frying eggs. John had met Ngaire once before in an airport before deployment. She was taller than Michael by three inches and bore an intricate Moko on her chin. (See A/N.)
"Tena koe (There you are) John!" She said in a heavy kiwi accent. She left the stove-top and embraced John in a bone-crushing hug. "I am so glad you have come!"
John heard Sarah's hysterical giggle from the living room.
"Michael is telling Sarah about how you got your nickname! You naughty boy Three-Continents Watson!"
"What? Oh no." John groaned and rushed into the living room as Michael was saying:
"Well, after all that you can imagine what we all thought when we walked into the barracks to find him passed out drunk, naked and with a pelican gobbling up all the rations!"
"Sarah, don't listen to him, anything and everything Michael says has been taken out of preportion!"
"Don't be embarrassed John, it's not like that was the worst nickname out there! Remember that guy Spork?"
"Oh yeah. Tell Sarah about old Sporky."
"Okay, but don't think I didn't notice the change of subject there John." Michael launched into another story as John gratefully ate up the plate of food that Ngaire pushed into his hands.
"Okay, so I'm thinking I'll give you a big tour of Ashburton today; show you the sights and all that - Lee will join us later."
"Oh, where is Lee? I haven't seen him since he was ten." John looked around as if expecting Lee to pop up out of thin air.
"Out with friends, hellraising probably - you remember how it was." Michael chuckled.
"Never too old." John muttered thinking of his escapades with Sherlock.
"I really wish he wouldn't go out at night, Michael." Ngaire said collecting John's plate. "Not with the gangs about." She disappeared off into the kitchen, sighing.
"Gangs?" Sarah asked timidly, thinking of the Black Lotus, and John and Sarah's first date.
"Yeah, 'The Hungry Dogs.' Bunch of animals, they've been passing through here a lot more often now they have a clubhouse over in Methven." Michael shook his head disgusted. "Terrorising innocent civilians, vandalism. Petty stuff, but still intimidating. They think they're tough guys - but they're just little boys with a power complex."
They spent their morning driving around Ashburton, learning about the local culture and enjoying the sights.
They drove past a protest line standing under a large sign saying 'The Pukatea Forest Reserve.'
John and Sarah read the picket signs with slogans promoting the Reserve's preservation.
"What was that about?" John asked Michael.
"Oh, big political drama. The Priskings Energy Corporation is our biggest energy company and they want to buy and deforest The Pukatea Reserve. If they don't, they'll go bankrupt; but if they do, Ashburton will be pollution central of New Zealand and our fair country will be footing the bill for their expansion for years to come - it'll probably plunge New Zealand into a recession."
"Well that's not good. Who owns the Reserve?" Asked John, his Sherlock-induced detective instincts rearing it's head.
"The government. Priskings offered a lot of money for the Reserve . . . definitely enough to tempt Parliment." Michael shook his head. "Actually the Prime Minister is coming to Ashburton to announce the government's decision tomorrow evening."
Michael grinned. "Something to look forward to anyway."
A/N: A Moko is a tattoo of Maori design, often on the face. It's an extremely personal thing and thought to be very spiritual.
As far as I am aware, in New Zealand, The Hungry Dogs do not exist - we have other gangs, but they're all a lot more inventive with their names than I am. :)
Also, there is no Priskings Corporation or Pukatea Reserve.
Just so you know for any future chapters, I've changed the name of the New Zealand Prime Minister to comply to site rules.
Oh, and Methven is a half hour drive from Ashburton, in case anyone was wondering.
Any and all reviews and PM's are welcome, whether you liked it or not. Constructive criticism is very useful to me. I will endevour to respond to all of them.