Magic One Shots (Sherlock BBC Fic)
AN – this is basically a dumping point for all the one shot cracktastic stuff that the magic verse threw up but didn't fit into the two fics. Also, it's an excuse to torture Mycroft.
Warning – slash, established relationship. This holds for all the chapters.
Disclaimer – characters and settings as depicted in BBC series (or any other established setting) are not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.
Unwelcome Guests
"John, where is the sugar?" Sherlock called, rather annoyed that he couldn't find the tin that usually held the sought after commodity. It wasn't that he was making tea or anything, more that he needed to see the effects of adding sugar to the rather interesting compound he'd discovered as a by-product of his last experiment. The results were certain to be interesting, if not dynamic.
There was no response to his question and Sherlock tutted under his breath, annoyed but willing to check if his partner was in fact present in the flat before he sulked. It did not take long to determine that John was out – a moment's thought reminded him that John was at his other job now, working in the ER. That didn't mean he was willing to wait for John to return to find the sought after commodity.
Where is the sugar? SH
While he waited for a response – John kept his phone on silent in the ER and checked on a regular basis as per Sherlock's demands, the consequences of disobedience usually ending with damage to the flat – Sherlock started checking in the front room, just in case John had moved the blue and white tin out there in a fit of whimsy. John could be very whimsical – Sherlock had learned not to say illogical after the last argument – when he wanted to be, and Sherlock had learned to cope with it. He was quite proud of that, really.
In the kitchen next to the tea. JW
Why? JW
The texts came one after the other, and Sherlock smiled, checking the time. A five minute turn-around was a good response time, really.
Need it for experiment. Tin not next to tea. SH
As he waited for John to remember what he'd done with the tin, Sherlock turfed the cushions off the couch and out of the armchairs as well – or at least out of the armchair that had cushions to turf. He found a variety of coins, Mycroft's once cursed pen, a paperclip and a business card he'd been looking for the last three weeks and a phone charger that didn't fit either of their phones. There was also a burnt feather from his duck down experiment, three metatarsals and four human canines. Under the couch proved to be something of a goldmine as he discovered two nicotine patch boxes, both half full, a bicycle clip, three socks, none of which matched, and a Yorkie bar that he was certain hadn't been poisoned. He ate the bar while slapping on two patches and frowned around the flat, wondering where else he should check.
Have you looked with your eyes open? JW
A less than flattering response, but a valid one, as the last time Sherlock couldn't find something he had been searching blindfolded. Just to make sure that he hadn't forgotten and shut his eyes this time around as well, Sherlock went back out to the kitchen and looked next to the electric kettle, where the tins for tea, coffee and sugar sat.
Eyes are open. Sugar gone. SH
He deliberated for a moment and then sent another text as well.
Tea tin also gone now. SH
He was beginning to wonder if there wasn't someone in here with him. He had been certain that the red and green tea tin was sitting next to the kettle in its usual place when he'd first started looking for the sugar. It was a bit perplexing and certainly not what he expected of kitchen condiments.
Coming home. Wait downstairs with Mrs H. JW
That reply was totally unprecedented. Sherlock hesitated and looked around the flat, wondering why missing sugar and tea would prompt John to leave his shift two hours early. Perhaps his last suspicion was correct – there was someone, or rather something in the flat with him. Being the full time lover of the Mage of London meant that now and then they had the odd unwanted guest. In the past this had been everything from practitioners of Magic that had strayed from the correct path, to demons to his brother and a cursed pen.
Sherlock stepped out into the front room once more and ran his eyes over the contents of their home, trying to spot whatever it was that had come for an unwanted visit. The skull on the mantelpiece looked back at him. It was a rather baleful look.
Mrs Hudson complained that 'if he kept slamming that door it would fall right off its hinges one day, young man' when he knocked on her door, but invited him in for a cup of tea anyway, asking after his health.
Apparently he looked a bit pale.
They both heard a small commotion about twenty minutes later, directly above them. From Sherlock's excellent sense of spatial awareness, he surmised that there was something going on in front of their fireplace. Mrs Hudson was concerned by the noise but Sherlock explained that it was John, mentioned in passing that his partner had come home early from work and was prone to nightmares when unwell and that soothed her worries somewhat. He gained points in her favour when he promised to go right upstairs and take care of John, though he made sure to linger out of sight at the top of the stairs.
Best not to distract his partner when he was busy.
John came out ten minutes later, a bite mark on one finger that Sherlock identified as coming from the skull itself. He captured the bitten finger in his own hand and examined it carefully, curious to see how teeth without the benefit of gums around them marked living flesh. John indulged him.
"What was it?" Sherlock asked when he'd seen enough. He led John into the bathroom, the better to wash and disinfect the finger in question. John sat on the edge of the bath and let Sherlock do as he would – yet another sign of how well his partner matched him.
"A couple of brownies," John replied, "Mischief makers that have a liking for sweet things. They must have followed you back from that crime scene with the tree sculptures – you know, the one where the artist was nailing road kill to the branches. You'd been sucking on mints for that sore throat of yours."
Sherlock blushed – he'd become quite hoarse due to a marathon shagging session they'd had – and swiped an antiseptic wipe over John's finger. John jumped, but didn't otherwise complain, apparently enjoying his blush.
"Does it need a poultice?" Sherlock asked and John shook his head, smiling as he got up. He caught hold of Sherlock's hips and pulled him close, kissing him with intensity while pushing a thigh between Sherlock's legs. His scent was cold and clear as snow again, making Sherlock's head spin with desire. He loved it when John smelt that way.
"No, but I could do with a shower," John replied, "Want to join me?"
Sherlock grinned and reached over to turn on the water.
End (for now…)
More? Let me know…
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