Interlude: Missing Misadventures.
A/N: Well, the next chapter is goodbye. But before we get there, I want to send you off with a huge thank-you, for all the follows and favourites and inspiration and encouragement. This has been a big story, and you all deserve congratulations for getting through it.
SO. I went back through the last 7 pages of reviews, and I looked at what you liked. I looked at who had reviewed, and whose reviews were my favourites, and what people were wishing for. In the past, you see, I have dedicated my chapters to many people, but I have never written one for someone. That is about to change.
This chapter is written for you. Ten parts, each of them written with at least one person in mind. They are my thank you for sticking with me through all this, and they take place all over the story. They are the missing misadventures, and I hope that you enjoy them.
Part 1: Mail.
"This idea struck me after reading one of Sophie LeBeau's reviews, so this was written for her and Sigyn Idunn-Kone Loki's, whose wish for John and Sherlock interaction also came into play."
-Tazia101
Well, your first dinner with the Misfits went pretty well. Interested in coming again sometime? –JW
asfgrsdgeheyJohn
Sherlock? Are you okay? –JW
One of your 'Misfits' got a hold of my cell phone and decided that they wanted to send you a message. Unfortunately, two of them were competing for it, and I believe the meaning was lost. –SH
Oh, sorry! Did they follow you home? I probably should have warned you that they have a tendency to do that. –JW
Yes. –SH
I hope they didn't mess up any of your experiments? –JW
Nothing that can't be replaced. The one who says his name is 'Socks' is helping me now. He has a surprisingly good mind for it. –SH
Leo and mini-Jim are there as well, right? I was wondering where my med assistant went. –JW
I do not know about a 'Leo,' unless he was introduced as 'Bones'. –SH
That's him. Little-Jim really likes to nickname people. Well, tell Bones to get his butt back here, because he's supposed to be regulating the morphine. –JW
I will. –SH
And yes, I would like to come again. –SH
Great. How do you feel about tomorrow? –JW
Ooooo000ooooO
So, what do you think of Johnny's puzzles so far? More fun than mine? –JM
They lack your expertise, and some of your theatricality. –SH
However, they are more tailored to my tastes. John is close to exposing how well he knows me. –SH
Has the news storm died down yet? We'd love to have you over soon. –JM
Unfortunately not. They have tents outside the door. –SH
Shame. Well, that's what happens when someone ends up not dead and not a fraud. People want to know what happened. –JM
Lestrade is dealing with them. –SH
While you track down the mysterious killer who seems to have gotten obsessed with you. –JM
Withholding information from the police… isn't that a crime? –JM
Alright, alright, I'm sorry I teased. I hear a few Misfits followed you home? –JM
Two of them have taken over John's bedroom. One of them eats all my food, and the other is assisting me with my experiments. –SH
That sounds about right. –JM
Well, good luck. Have fun. Take care of our boys. –JM
I will. Thank you. –SH
See you soon! xoxo –JM
Part 2: Map.
"This one is for Glorilian, for being with me since so close to the start, and providing the longest-lasting commentary of any person. Also to randomplotbunny, for providing short and sweet encouragement for every single chapter that I posted. I sure hope that everyone knows the song 'Eye of the Tiger' for this one. If not, go and look it up first, because I assure you that you will hear it referenced in the future."
-Tazia101
"It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight, rising up to the challenge of our ri-vals!" Sammy and Jim sang, both of them obnoxiously out of tune, both with the song and with each other.
John leaned back and ignored the headache threatening at his temples, instead looking out the window. He had rolled it down, and the wind was ruffling his hair, easing the volume of the music and his far-too-happy companions.
Jim had insisted on taking 'their' car, much to John's skepticism. After all, the only music systems it had were a really bad radio and a tape player, and Jim always got to choose the tapes. John was right to be doubtful; Jim chose songs to annoy, ones that he and Sammy could sing along to enthusiastically.
"And he's watching us all with the eyeeeee…" John continued watching the countryside pass by outside the car, letting his eyes follow trees and fences as they passed by. He caught a glimpse of a sign as it flashed by, and then frowned.
"Jim."
"Dun! Dun dun dun! Dun dun dunnnnn," they continued singing, Jim tapping away at the steering wheel, and Sammy energetically playing the air-guitar.
"Jim."
"Oh, come on, John, if you can't beat them, join them!"
"Jim! We're going the wrong way!"
"What?" The criminal mastermind finally turned down the music.
"We're going towards Carlisle, we're going the wrong way!"
"Nonsense, darling," Jim said exaggeratedly. "I'm a genius, we can't be going the wrong way."
"Well, the non-genius is going to check a map." John popped open the compartment and started rummaging through the papers.
"You don't need to, we're on the right road."
"Okay, what road are we on, then?" Jim glared at him and didn't answer. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Come on, where's the map?"
"There is no map in the car."
"You're kidding me."
"I'm really not."
"Well…" John floundered.
"The phone!" Sammy piped up from the backseat. "There's a map on your phone, daddy!"
"And you call yourself tech support," John teased. Jim shook his head and pulled over onto the side of the road, then took out his phone and started tapping in directions.
Several minutes later, the car was headed in the other direction, and Jim had finally convinced John to join them for the chorus.
Part 3: Manslaughter and 'Mine'.
"Warning; M-rated for violence and sex. This chapter was written for everyone who voted yes to the shower scene, and especially to ChosenOfAshurha, who finally convinced me to publish my first real m/m scene. So, how does everyone feel about table sex?"
-Tazia101
John was not aware of the person watching him as he stretched across the table to snag an errant paper. He still didn't notice the figure in the doorway as he shuffled the stacks into some sort of order. In fact, he didn't know that anyone else was in the room until a hand touched his hair.
At first, John assumed that it was Jim, and was ready to simply turn around and scold him for startling him. But when the hand smoothed down the side of John's face, he realized that the callouses were wrong to be Jim's hand. He knew Jim's body, every quirk of it, every line of it, and he knew that the person behind him was not Jim.
He spun around and faced the man, who he vaguely recognized as one of his old patients. He had been discharged around a week ago. John remembered that he hadn't said much, just watched the nurses and Misfits as they passed by his bed, his watery eyes invasive and always focused on John whenever he'd been in the room.
"You're a pretty thing," he said now, reaching out to touch John's face again. The ex-soldier hit the hand away, body tensed and ready to move. "And fiery, too," the man observed, his voice breathy and unpleasant. John remembered him better now by his injury, the shot that had cut across his neck shallowly, as well as the one to his leg. It would always hurt him to talk and walk.
"But you're small." He reached out again to grab his hair, and the doctor moved, kicking out at the groin and pressing the arm away, but the assassin blocked his movements. "Breakable. Weak." The thick fingers tangled in his hair and pulled, tilting John's head backwards into an uncomfortably vulnerable position.
He stayed quiet, and assessed the situation. A blow to the inner arm would get him free. 3 kicks, two of them feints and the last one to the near-healed bullet wound, would send the man's arms down to the injury. Then he could get around him and kick him knee sideways, hopefully breaking it, but at least getting him down on the floor so that he could get a foot on his windpipe and crush it, if worst came to worst.
But before he could put the plan into action, the hand suddenly let go of his hair and flailed, catching John across the check. He stumbled back and caught himself on the table, his eyes following what had happened. Jim was swinging a leg over to settle himself on the taller man's chest, a bloody switchblade knife held daintily in one hand.
"Hands off," he sang, and then his hands moved, making a shallow cut down the assassin's cheek. "Don't touch WHAT IS MINE!" And there was that sudden, unpredictable switch, making John flinch where he watched the chaos unfold. The knife reflected the lights as Jim raised it, and then the man was screaming, screaming.
John watched as Jim delicately severed the main nerves leading to the arms and legs, rendering his victim helpless, but alive for several more hours. Almost as an afterthought, he went for the vocal cords with surgical precision, reducing the man's screams to a pained wheezing. When he rested the blade carefully against the side of the larger man's left eye, John stepped forwards a bit.
"Just finish him," he said, and refused to believe that he was begging. "I just want…" I want it to be over. Moriarty raised his head to look back at him, and John immediately got the feeling that one might feel interrupting a tiger's meal. Bad idea. But after a long look, he nodded, and then his knife met several major arteries. Jim tilted them carefully away from himself as they sprayed.
Then he rose, bloody and dark, and rushed at John, slamming him into the wall for a kiss that took him completely off-guard. After a second of tense resistance, the ex-soldier relaxed into it, opening his mouth to the tinny taste of blood and the delicious heat of the criminal mastermind's talented tongue.
Jim's hands flicked over John's body, as though they couldn't decide where to touch, and were settling for everywhere. He drew back, eyes clearly hazel in the bright lights of the room.
"Did he hurt you? Where did he touch you? I can smell him on you, he touched you, he didn't even know not to, that can't happen, John, he touched you. Where? Did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine," John said.
"You're tainted," Jim said viciously, and threw the knife away. John heard it contact with the body, but didn't look away from Jim's eyes.
"Do something about it," he challenged, wanting to forget about the blood and the murder and the larger man's hand on his face. He knew that Jim could make him, and he knew that it was all the permission he needed. He was right.
Jim's hands became more purposeful now, pulling John's jumper over his head along with the shirt underneath, and then tugging him forwards, past the body that was still bleeding, and over to the table that held the papers John had been sorting. The doctor, thinking ahead, swept a hand across them, knocking them onto a section of floor that wasn't covered in blood.
Sure enough, several seconds later, he found himself pushed down against the table, Jim's hands tracing along his bared sides and then down to the belt that held his jeans tight to his waist.
"Say it, John," Moriarty demanded, one hand still on his neck, keeping him down against the smooth wood.
"Yours," he gasped, helpless and half-loving it. "Only yours. Ever. No one else can touch me."
"Good," Jim praised, and his voice came from deep inside him, like a cat's purr, rumbling and uncontrollable. "Now undo your belt." So John fumbled with the buckle until he could flick the button to his jeans open. Then Jim's hands were on his, holding them still. "Stop there." Jim took it from that moment on, sliding down jeans and pants in one smooth movement, leaving John exposed and waiting.
Luckily, neither of them was much in the mood for teasing, so thanks to the bottle that Jim apparently carried around in his sock (John wasn't particularly surprised), it was short minutes until Jim was relentlessly thrusting, and John was crying out, a symphony for his consulting criminal, "Jesus fuck fuck yes oh Christ yours, Jim, yours, please, please, please…" And then there was a hand on him, moving to that incomprehensible rhythm, and the world was made of pleasure, and John was nothing. Everything. Jim's.
Part 4: Mornings.
"Okay, abrupt change. This one is for Aliit Vodeson, because I happen to like ruining people's days with fluff. Well, in this case, a dose of angst and fluff together. And to lostineternity, for recognizing the awesomeness of chocolate peanut-butter ice-cream, and just generally making my mornings better with reviews."
-Tazia101.
"John, wake up, you've slept through your alarm! Honestly, what are you good for? Get dressed!" John groaned as his mother's voice penetrated through his dreams, bringing him back to consciousness. Good morning to you, too, he thought grumpily as he stumbled out of bed.
Ooooo0000oooooO
John rolled out of bed bright and early, rubbing at his eyes. He had to get the company ready for 7 am, which meant some early-morning rounds. The sun wasn't even up yet. "Good morning, John," he said to himself, and then laughed. The sound was slightly hysterical, but then again, he'd only gotten three hours of sleep, so that was to be expected.
Oooooo0000oooooO
"John! John! Where's the fire extinguisher?"
"Under the sink," John grumbled, flipping over and burrowing deeper into his bed.
"I checked there, it's missing! Help!"
"Ugh," John managed as he half-fell out of bed to run downstairs and put out the fire. And this was one of the good mornings.
Oooooo0000ooooO
The alarm woke him up. John brought up one hand to turn it off, and then sat upright. He ran one hand across his eyes, scrubbing away the nightly terrors of dreams, and then pushed himself up to limp across to the closet. Just like every morning since Sherlock's death, and every morning for the foreseeable future. Not a good morning. Not a bad morning. Just dull. Blank. Predictable.
Ooooo0000ooooO
"John, John, wake up, it's another sniper, he's been shot three times and he's bleeding out!" John rolled out of bed, rubbed his eyes a few times, and then followed Leo out of the room at a run, ready to save a life or lose a friend. Good morning.
Oooo0000ooooO
John rolled over and groaned, not ready to leave the comfort of sleep. He had been up until 2am last night, going over facts with Jim, and now the sunlight streaming through the skylight was waking him up. What a great morning. Ugh.
Ooooo000ooooO
"Daddy, daddy, daddy, wake up, I'm home from Dublin, daddy, and it was awesome, I brought a new kid home and it was sunny and come on, get up, you can make tea and I'll tell you all about it!" John mumbled something inaudible, and then opened his eyes to smile faintly at the girl who was still chattering on.
"Good morning, Sammy."
Ooooo000ooooO
"Good morning, Vietnaaam!" someone shouted outside his door, John's first welcome to the waking world. Then the door creaked open, and a familiar voice approached the bed. "John, John, wake up and smell the tea."
Finally, his brain clicked on, and he opened his eyes, flipping over to stare at the criminal mastermind who was standing by the bed, holding a steaming cup of tea.
"You didn't," John said, and sat up.
"I did," Jim said smugly, handing him the cup. "Must have my doctor awake and ready."
"Thank you," John said, and took a sip, smiling at the exactly-measured portions of sugar.
"There's breakfast cooking, and Sammy's waiting on the couch when you're ready to come out," Jim told him, and went to leave. "Oh, and John?" The doctor looked up. "Good morning."
Part 5: Mayhem.
"This is for K, who was my first big reviewer, and made me feel like the luckiest author in the world. And to cathernatural.812, who wanted to see Sherlock and John both happy. Here you go, guys!"
-Tazia101
"Shirley! Get away from that corpse, it's not for you to take!"
"Damnit, Jim, get off me, I'm a med assistant, not a step stool!"
"Would everyone please shut up?"
"Was this man whipped? Why?"
"He said that I should do it! Please don't hurt me!"
"This is ridiculous, stop that."
"And then I said to him, 'don't touch my bike!' But he didn't listen, so I pulled out my gun and-"
"You're a big fat liar! Liar! Liar! Liar!"
"Daddy, daddy, Dean took my lollipop!"
"No, don't climb that, you idiot!"
"Help me hold him, he's the one that took the lollipop!"
"Hey, hey, HEY!"
"I don't know, Shirley, I'm sorry."
"Avada Kedavra! Ha! Now you have to lie down and be dead!"
"Jim, please do something."
"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!"
There was silence, with Jim's scream hanging in the air.
"Thank you," John said, from his place beside the other man. "Mini-Jim, get off the bookshelf and apologize to Leo for stepping on him. Sammy, let go of Dean, that isn't helping. Dean, give Gabriel his lollipop, you should know better than that. Shirley, that corpse is off-limits, and you really shouldn't use M's men to teach Socks dissection. Will, put down the stick and stop trying to curse everyone. Everyone else, turn down the volume and stop arguing. Everyone move in three… two… one. Go."
John clapped his hands, and the kids moved to obey his instructions. The three adults gathered in a corner to oversee the action.
"They're monsters," Jim announced.
"They may be," John agreed, "but they're worth it."
"True," Jim conceded, throwing an arm around his co-parent's shoulders. "Oh, and Shirley, you can take the corpse if you really want it. I didn't like him much anyways."
"Thank you!" the consulting detective said, his eyes lighting up. "I'm going to teach Socks about the physical effects of heroin usage over time."
"Good idea. Maybe we could put together a lesson for all the Misfits," Jim suggested. "I gave them a lecture on smoking, after I caught a few seven-year-olds with cigarettes, but I haven't done the drugs talk."
"I can text you photos," Sherlock offered.
"Amazing."
"No blood puddles in the photos," John put in. "Drain the body first, we don't need any traumatic flashbacks."
"I can do that," Sherlock said.
Outside their group, the Misfits had, predictably, gotten bored, and the mayhem had begun again.
Part 6: Mittens.
"This one goes out to PetrichorRaindrop, who wanted more of Sherlock and the Misfits. Cheers, darling. Also, to Paradice-Cream, for totally calling me on my review-fishing techniques. You got me. But hey, they worked, right?"
-Tazia101.
Sherlock helped Socks get his left arm into the blue coat, and then zipped it up for the young boy. Once this was done, he gave him an eyeball to play with during their walk. Socks turned it over and over in his hands as they turned off Baker Street, pulling a little magnifying glass out of one of his trouser pockets to inspect specific parts.
"Species?" Sherlock prompted him, as they headed to the steps for the Underground.
"Bovine… probably a farm cow."
"And your deductions?"
"It died of old age and lived in a field. Used for the purposes of breeding, I hypothesize."
"Explain."
"Cataracts like this, here, take years to form, and only occur at old age. If someone had shot it in the head, as per usual mode of operation on a farm, the blood vessels here would be burst from the pressure, but they aren't. And the nerve cord, at the back, is regularly developed, unlike those of farm cows raised in the darkness of company barns."
He pointed out the features as he spoke, showing Sherlock through the magnifying glass when he needed to. They were earning a few strange looks from citizens on the Tube, but this was London, and no one looked for very long.
"Good," Sherlock praised. "Or rather, it would be, if it really was a cow's eye." Socks looked up at him, wide-eyed. "It's a horse's."
"But I have never even seen a horse before!"
"And there is your lesson for today. Just because I've only ever given you cow eyes doesn't mean there isn't another type. There are always things that you haven't seen before."
"Oh." Socks returned to staring at the eye, and the rest of the ride was made in silence.
Six stops later, they got off and walked several blocks more, then turned onto a run-down path. They followed it through foliage, and came to a horrid-smelling dump, which they passed soon after, and kept going until they came to a large old warehouse that was a brewery, once upon a time.
In the clearing outside the building, in the unexpected inches of snow, children ran back and forth, tossing snowballs at each other.
"Shirley!" John ran over and grinned. "Socks. Still bugging our favourite good guy, then?" Socks held out the eye for the doctor's inspection.
"It is from a horse," he said firmly, and then retreated behind Sherlock's legs.
"Hey, Shirley-Socks," said Jim, strolling over. "How are you?"
"Good, thank you," Sherlock said, with the usual stiffness he had when he was talking to Jim. Socks came out again to hold up the eyeball.
"He's not wearing mittens!" Jim gasped, putting one hand over his mouth. "Shirley, how stupid is that? It's cold, he'll get frostbite!"
Sherlock watched the criminal mastermind sweep his young follower away. It was strange, to trust the dangerous man with such a precious, fragile thing. But he did. Despite the fact that Jim's concern seemed too overacted to be real, Sherlock knew it was sincere, in some way. He knew that Socks would come back, laughing, with blue mittens to match his coat, and a human eye to occupy him.
He looked over at John, who was smiling after the consulting criminal and the child he was carrying on his shoulders.
Sherlock also knew by now that John wasn't coming back to him. But as he had learned that, he had also come to accept it. John was happy here, with the Misfits and his patients and with Jim. Although Sherlock didn't quite fit here, maybe he could learn to. Perhaps their happy ending had a spot for him after all.
Part 7: Migraine.
"This one is for R.A. Draylin , for sticking with me since the start, when you had a different name and I didn't even ship Johniarty. Also, to BrightWatcher, a more recent reviewer who sees a lot and gives me just what I want to hear. Love to both of you."
-Tazia101
John rolled out of bed with a faint pain in the back of his head, but he quickly dismissed it. What could be done about it, anyways?
He went into the kitchen to make himself some tea and toast, then went out into the med bay to hear the reports while he ate. Leo and Kathy ran up to him, the young boy snapping a salute at John, and the woman folding her hands behind her back as she began to speak.
"Patients 3 and 4 are stable. 1's morphine dose needed to be upped in the night, his data has been updated on the clipboard. 2 just woke up and was asking for you."
"I can check on 1 and 2," John said. "Leo, why don't you come with me? I haven't talked to you in a while. Kathy, great work, go and get yourself some sleep. You probably need it."
"Thank you," the red-haired woman smiled, and left.
"How's the night shift going for you?" John asked, as they walked side-by-side to the first bed.
"I like it. It's quiet. And sometimes I get to run in and wake you up, and that's fun." The little boy had a somewhat vindictive streak. He took care of the Misfits' scratches and bruises now, handing out Band-Aids to every crying child, but he was never gentle about it, and was often to be caught berating them about their stupidity. "Sometimes I have to correct Kathy, though, and that's just weird."
"It's good that you know enough to speak up," John praised. "We'll have to chat tonight and you can tell me where she's slipping up. That way, I can organize another training session. You're a faster learner than most of the adults; I wouldn't be surprised if you were the doctor someday."
"Maybe," Leo said, in a flatly certain tone.
Patient 2 just wanted to chat, so John sent Leo away to sleep, and conversed with the woman for a while. She had some fascinating stories to tell, from her teen years on the streets and experiences with the mafia to the very early years of Moriarty, when the young criminal mastermind was just getting the whole 'empire-thing' sorted out.
"He wasn't very scary back then," she told John, smiling a little. "He wore jeans sometimes, and sure, he killed the people who disobeyed, but he just chatted away with the people he liked. He had a lot to learn about intimidation. He was sweet, I thought. So sad, the way he died." And she gazed off at the far wall.
John loved to listen to her, and since the med ward was relatively empty, he had plenty of time on his hands. But as the hours dragged on into the afternoon, the pain in the back of his head had become a red sea, coming and going in waves.
He did his best to push it aside and keep working, but he had to tell Alice, one of the day staff, to turn off half the lights. He said that they were annoying one of the patients. No need to worry them, after all. He could still work.
At five o'clock, he went back into his flat and put a pot of water on to boil. Then he started cutting up the carrots, being sure to use a wood cutting board instead of his preferred glass one.
Jim burst in a minute later, the door crashing against the wall and making John wince. It was the criminal mastermind's general entrance after a good day, so at least John knew the other man was feeling happy.
"Hello, Johnny boy," he said, as he came up to John. Then his eyes flashed around the room, taking in the turned-off lights, the wood cutting board, and John himself. The change in Moriarty was immediate. "You idiot,' he growled, but kept the volume down. He paced over to the stove and snapped the water off.
"Hey!" John cried, then winced as his own voice echoed back as pain. "That's for dinner," he finished hoarsely.
"Oh, yes, the dinner where you're going to sit surrounded by dozens of noisy, yelling kids, and then you're going to read them all a story, despite the fact that you can't even yell at me because it hurts? That's going to go marvellously. No, I'm cancelling dinner. The Misfits can survive a night without us, while you rest. Like you should have done five hours ago!"
"Ow," John complained, as the other man's voice raised at the end.
"Serves you right," Jim said, but softly. "Now, you're going to bed. I'll text the Misfits, clean this up, and get you meds with a glass of water. Then you will sleep, and I will work in the living room, and my doctor is going to get better." His tone was sharp, but he traced one hand slowly through John's hair as he spoke. Then he smacked the side of his head, sending jabs of pain through his skull. "Go. Now."
And John went, his irritation mixed with thankfulness.
Part 8: Monopoly.
"This is for Smiling Loki and superwholock888, it's been a while since I heard from either of you. But you both liked the John and Jim and Sherlock dynamics, so I wrote this little piece for you."
-Tazia101
"Five… six… seven," Jim said, and clicked down his piece. "Safe and sound, and I would like to buy this railroad, thank you very much."
"Calculaying basdard," Sherlock said, and then blew his nose, glaring.
"That's me," Jim agreed cheerily, as John sorted through the property cards for the correct railroad.
"It's a game of chance," he sighed, and slid the card across to Jim.
"Some dumbars are moar liley," Sherlock managed. Jim giggled.
"I like it when you're sick. Say a tongue twister."
"Noe."
"Okay!" John said, breaking the awkward silence. "My turn." He rolled the dice determinately, then moved his piece forwards 7 spaces. "Damnit."
"Pay up, Johnny!" Jim crowed, holding out one hand. John reluctantly pulled out several slips of paper and handed them over.
"See?" Sherlock said glumly.
"Shut it," John warned, and then sat back. "Your turn." Sherlock picked up the dice, swirled them around in his hands, then tossed them down elegantly. He picked up his piece and moved it forwards, passing 'Go' and landing on a square that John had already bought.
The two men exchanged proper notes, and then sat back.
It was a good morning.
Exactly one hour later, the fire department had to be called, and all three of them ended up at Brewer's until they were told that the smoke levels were safe.
Part 9: Mistletoe.
"And this piece of fluff that I found in a corner of my head is for all the reviewers that I haven't mentioned, because they didn't request anything or haven't reviewed for the past 1.5 months. Lexisfightingrobots, 8fangirl8, Vortanized, OneCutePig, Persephone, Bitter Recognition, featherkitten, piewacket, An Enigma, snakelaces, DarkReapress, Face of Poe, Gumi Holmes Lupin, pruplup4, kotane, and everyone before page 10 that I don't want to bore people with. Let it be known that I have read each and every one of your reviews and I love you for them."
-Tazia101.
"It's too early for this," John complained, leaning back on the couch with his cup of tea.
"Ebeneezer Scrooge," Jim teased.
"I love Christmas!" John said indignantly. "I hate mornings."
"Drink your tea," Sherlock told him. "The rest of them will be here soon."
"God help us all," Sebastian added from the kitchen.
Sure enough, several minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and Jim and John went to answer it. A group of around eighteen adults was waiting outside, arms loaded with brightly-wrapped presents, grinning away.
"Merry Christmas!" the ex-Misfits sang.
"Wow!" John said. "Glad to see you could all make it…. That's a lot of presents. What did you do, steal a school bus?" Silence met his words. "Right. That was supposed to be a joke. Well, never mind. Come in, come in."
He stood back and watched them pass.
Sammy, at twenty-nine years old, was a beautiful woman with shockingly blue eyes. She gave them both a kiss on the cheek as she made her way inside. The man that John would always think of as 'Socks' walked in with the blond Jim, who had really grown out of the label 'mini-Jim.' He was laughing at a story that he had just told, and although Socks had his usual unimpressed expression, his eyes were smiling. Leo was several steps behind the pair, rolling his eyes at the story.
Will had grown his hair longer, and had to shake it out of his eyes to smile at the two men. Lily strutted past, dressed in high heels and a tight-fitting T-shirt, tossing flaming hair over one shoulder. Rose waved at them as she and her boyfriend edged around the rest of their old friends. Gabriel and Dean walked in, too busy bickering to even say hello. Both of their younger siblings followed them, chatting quietly about the symbols used in the original Christmas story. They paused to greet both men, and then continued on.
Others followed, all from the original dinners, and the two men greeted each of them by name. Once everyone was inside, John and Jim closed the door and made their way back down the hallway.
"Uh-oh!" the younger Jim laughed when they reached the living room doorway. "You'd better look up." Both men obediently turned their eyes upwards.
"That's mistletoe, isn't it?" John asked resignedly.
"It most certainly is," Jim agreed. "Now, which of you came up with this?" Gabriel's laughter gave him away. "I see."
"You know what to do!" Sammy yelled.
Jim turned to John, who cautiously smiled. "I do indeed." So he swept John forwards like they were American black-and-white film stars, and they kissed like a theatre was watching.
They drew back, both breathless and smiling, to find their audience blinking at them.
"Your fault," Jim shrugged, and tugged John along to sit on the couch. Vaguely apprehensive, John looked over at Sherlock, and was surprised to find him smiling.
"What?" John asked.
"He loves you," Sherlock answered, with a certain kind of satisfaction.
John looked away, unable to come up with a response, and found himself meeting Sebastian's eyes. The man was leaning against the kitchen doorway, and his lips were pressed together.
"I'm sorry," John found himself saying, the words almost drowned out by the Misfits' chatter around them. "I didn't-" think. Just like he hadn't thought about how those pet names would look, all those years ago, that one little moment of impulse that had given Sebastian his permanent limp.
Well, actually, it was Sherlock who had shot him, but John still felt guilty. The two of them had made it up, of course, and were now good friends.
"It's fine," Sebastian mouthed across the room, and then he came over, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Don't worry about me. I'm happy for both of you, honestly." And John knew, in his friend's half-smile, that it was true.
He looked from Sebastian to Sherlock to Jim, and a phrase popped into his head, repeating like a song that won't go away.
Happily ever after.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Part 10: Miscellaneous scenes of Merrymaking.
"This one goes out to all the guests out there, who reviewed without a name for me to remember, but stole my heart anyways."
-Tazia101
Sherlock moved between the beehives slowly, his movements graceful and deliberate. The second hive was swarming, and bees covered him from head to toe, buzzing against the canvas of his suit. His keen eyes followed the main cloud of bees as they pursued the queen to their new nesting spot.
Gone from the rooms of his mind palace were the two hundred and forty three types of tobacco ash, the ten most common motives for murder, the hundreds of clues that splatter patterns could provide about weapon, intent, height, and relationship between victim and murderer.
In their place was the movements of bees, peaceful yet purposeful, random to the untrained eye, but beautiful to the ex- consulting detective.
The bees were flying to their new nest, and Sherlock Holmes followed them, finally happy in that chaotic chorus.
Ooooo000ooooO
"Hey, do you remember that time you tried to stab me?" asked Greg, leaning back against Mycroft's shoulder.
"I do. You broke into my house, at night, unarmed, and probably woke up half the city when you tripped on the armour."
"Oi! You're the one who owns a suit of armour! And you came at me with a sword. Who uses a bloody sword?"
"I do."
"I knew you were gonna say that. I deduced it," Greg bragged, stretching out his legs so that they hung off the side of the couch. "Take that."
"No more alcohol for you," Mycroft murmured, stealing Greg's glass out of his hand and draining it himself.
"Hey!"
Oooo000ooooO
"Okay," Sebastian said, putting a hand on the child's shoulder. "Aim for the head, but miss low if you have to. A throat shot can still kill, but missing completely will just make them run." The boy nodded and adjusted his aim slightly. "Check your safety," Sebastian reminded, and the boy did. "Ready?" Another nod. "Well, then, fire at will."
A hole was punched straight through the dummy's forehead, and Sebastian gave the sniper-in-training a high-five.
"Awesome!" As he turned his attention to the next student, the grin dropped away and he rushed forwards. "No, no, that's not right at all…"
Ooooo000ooooO
"Alright, that's enough of that," the blond man announced, cutting off the woman mid-sentence. "We've got the point. Let's move on. Science?" He spun around in his chair to face the new speaker expectantly.
"The Queen has ordered two programs to be shut down, the Omega Initiative and project Relativity, but I happen to know that Relativity is only being moved underground. I am placing three men in the program now. Nothing else has changed."
"Thanks, Socksies."
"My name is-"
"Yeah, I know, but you'll always be Socks to me. And Bones? How's the little one?"
The other dark-haired man didn't bother to protest his own nickname. "Patient 1 should be ready to go in the next week. Same with 4 and 5, but 2 and 3 are going to have to stick around Med Bay for a couple more months."
"Awesome-sauce, looks like we're done here. Come on, we can get some doughnuts on my paycheck. Who wants to tag along?"
Everyone wanted to have a doughnut.
Ooooo000ooooO
"I can't believe that you do this on a regular basis," Jack hissed.
"I can't believe you've never done this!" Sammy replied, yanking on his hand. "Come on, careful!" They crept along the metal catwalk, trying to keep as quiet as possible.
"If we get caught, I'm dead."
"Your dad will bail you out of jail, relax."
"One of my dads is the British government, and the other is an ex-Yarder. They'd bail me out and then kill me."
"You're over thirty years old, you really shouldn't be afraid of your own parents."
"Are you telling me that you want to explain to Mycroft Holmes what we were doing up here?"
"Shh, the show's starting," Sammy said, tugging at her partner's hand. They lay down on the metal walkway, far above the audience, to watch the stage as the play began.
Ooooo000ooooO
"What if we get caught?" John hissed.
"Relax, we're fine," Jim replied confidently, yanking at his hand.
"Jim, you do realize that if the police arrest you, the news will get back to Mycroft?"
"Yes, but the police wouldn't take me. I have an understanding with the British government."
"What?"
"Oh, about a dozen years ago, I just caused a bit of trouble to get their attention. Then I showed them how many of their men were actually mine, and then told them that I had no intention of harming them as long as they behaved. And then I gave them three terrorist groups as a sign of good faith."
"That was you?"
"Yep!"
"That…that…"
"Was amazing, I know. Thank you, John."
"Yeah. That's it. Wow."
"So, no arresting and no Iceman." Jim came closer, trailing a hand across John's shoulders. "You can relax now."
John laughed, slightly hysterically. "I can't believe that we just drove for an hour to rob a grocery store because you had a chocolate craving. You're insane."
"And so are you."
"Or we wouldn't have come here," they said, and laughed.
A/N: Well, that's all, folks.
I want to let the characters end the story, so I'm going to tell you now that you guys have made the last couple months of my life a whole lot better. You made me feel better about my writing, and about the strangeness of my ships, and about myself in general. There were some days when my only reason for dragging myself out of bed was to see if there were any new reviews for my story.
So thank you. For favouriting and following and reviewing and reading. I love you, I actually truly do, almost as much as I love the characters that I spend so much of my life writing about. And lastly, I leave it to the characters to say goodbye. Let us move on, to the last chapter of Things That Start With M.