Here it is, the last chapter in this little story. Say farewell to little Archie, and enjoy!
4. The Doctor and the Two Detectives
John returned at six o'clock, emotionally drained as he always was after visiting Harry. He dragged himself up the stairs to the B flat, ready to face Sherlock's deductions. As he opened the door and peered inside, he blinked and squinted in confusion.
Two Sherlocks?
Either John was going mad, or there were two curly, dark-haired, purple-shirted Sherlocks peering at the floor. One was rather shorter than the other—oh!
With a jolt, John recognized the smaller one as Archie. The memory of his wedding caused an unpleasant lump in his throat; he pushed the thought away.
"What's this, then?" he asked casually, leaving his coat on the hook.
Sherlock looked up. Not counting the giddy, post-case high, this was the happiest John had ever seen him. He was grinning and his eyes were bright. Then he saw his flatmate, and his expression dimmed. The doctor was sure Sherlock could read every one of Harry's excuses and drunken rants in John's grey-blond hair, tousled by frustrated fingers.
"Doctor Watson!" chimed Archie happily. "We made our own board game, look! It's like an extreme Cluedo, for real detectives."
"That's right," Sherlock agreed. "All of London is our game board, from Scotland Yard to the filthiest hovels and the largest mansions."
Curious, John looked at the 'board game'. Its base was an old street map of London as big as a rug, so large that both armchairs and the coffee table had been moved to make room for it. On the map, someone had drawn numbers and letters in marker. A stack of blue cards lay on top of Scotland Yard, and yellow cards lay over the Tower of London. John counted three separate pairs of dice, and chessmen serving as the game pieces. Red and green cards were scattered all over the map, and the patient from the Operation board game lay over the Thames.
"Looks complicated," John said finally.
"Only as complicated as a detective game should be," Sherlock said, throwing a scathing glare at the Cluedo board pinned to the mantel. "The numbers are possible crime scenes. The letters are helpful places to gather clues, such as Barts, the victim's house, and places where my homeless network is known to congregate."
"Yeah," Archie joined in. "The green cards are victim description cards, and the red cards are suspects. Blue cards are interview questions and answers the police got for that suspect, and yellow cards are pieces of evidence you collect."
"And unlike that abomination," Sherlock finished, jabbing his thumb at the fireplace, "it's possible for a crime to have multiple guilty parties, or none at all. Accidental death and suicide are allowed."
"I see." John hid a smile by heading to the kitchen for some tea. "You know, Sherlock, now that you're a hero again, you could probably sell that idea to Hasbro and make it an official Sherlock Holmes board game. You'd make a tidy profit."
He put the kettle on and headed back to the living room.
"You're assuming everyone would like it," Sherlock said, suddenly weary. "Except for Archie here, kids these days only want electronic games that involve shooting things, or whacking at things with magical swords. This game requires thinking."
"He's got a point, you know," Archie told John sagely. "All my friends want to play is Call of Duty or Grand Theft Auto."
"Well, I'm glad you don't, mate," John said fondly, ruffling his curls. "It's nice for Sherlock to see we're not all idiots."
"Nonsense, John," Sherlock protested. "I have you for that."
That was not what he'd said during the pink lady's case, but John held his tongue. For a man who had probably used up his yearly supply of niceness at John's wedding, that was a decidedly flattering statement. In Sherlock's typically backhanded way, of course. He'd still take it.
"Do you want to play?" Archie offered eagerly. "I won the last one; Sherlock got one of the red herring cards and wasted three turns on a bad lead."
"Yes, do join us, John," Sherlock offered. "Archie is the white bishop there, and I'm the black queen."
He offered John a white knight.
"Yeah, alright," said John, taking it, "if we can get a takeaway first, and if you explain the rules thoroughly."
Sherlock looked at Archie. "What are you hungry for, Consulting Detective Campbell?"
The soldier watched the boy's face light up at the title and fought a smile. For such an antisocial man, Sherlock made an incredible babysitter. "Er—Chinese?"
John reached into the nearest cupboard and pulled out the takeaway menus, handing the correct one to Archie.
"I'll have my usual," Sherlock said lazily.
"What's your usual?" Archie asked, still reading the menu.
"The Szechuan stir-fry with noodles," John and Sherlock answered together, to Sherlock's amusement and John's surprise. He hadn't realized just how many tiny details about Sherlock he still remembered.
"Eugh," the little boy replied, sticking out his tongue and scrunching up his nose. "I'll have the Peking chicken with rice, Dr. Watson. And a Coke."
"Right," said John, taking back the menu. Once he'd had all of these numbers on his phone, but he'd deleted them after moving out of 221B. Instead, John read the number from the back of the menu and dialed, as he'd done so many times before. Even after two years, the lady who answered the phone was the same. It was almost soothing, to fall back into these familiar patterns with Sherlock and the old flat.
When Archie's mother came to collect him an hour later, laden with shopping bags and exhausted, a smiling Mrs. Hudson showed her upstairs and opened the door to 221B. Peering inside, Cynthia saw Sherlock and John on the floor, playing a gigantic board game with her son. Empty takeaway boxes lay on the coffee table, stacked precariously and forgotten.
John rolled the dice, oblivious to Cynthia's presence. "Two again! I swear, Sherlock, if you're giving me loaded dice, I'm going to shove them up your skinny—"
"Shut up and walk back to the crime scene, Dr. Watson," Sherlock ordered. "Clearly you haven't found all of the clues yet."
Archie looked up, grinning, and saw his mother. "Mum!"
Sherlock and John looked as well. "Hi, Cynthia."
"Hello," she said, stepping into the flat. "I hate to interrupt you boys when you're having fun, but it's getting late. It's time to go, Archie."
"Aw, just when it was getting good," he sighed, leaving his cards and standing up slowly. "I was this close to catching the bad guy and winning the game, Mum! I had four pieces of solid evidence, a murder weapon, and witness testimony!"
"It'll keep," Sherlock said encouragingly. "I won't let anyone touch the board until you come for another visit."
John raised an eyebrow. It was a nice gesture for Sherlock to do, but seriously? This thing was bigger than their living room!
Before John could object, Sherlock dug up a roll of Sellotape. He taped all of the pieces to the map, and moved the cards off, keeping them in separate piles. As the other three watched, he stood in one fluid motion, crossed the room, and pinned the giant map to his 'case' wall, covering the yellow smiley face and bullet holes.
Archie hugged him impulsively. "Thanks, Sherlock. You're the best."
Sherlock smiled down at the boy. "I know."
He winked down at Archie, who laughed.
"Any trouble?" Cynthia asked, more out of politeness than anything. She could see there hadn't been.
"None whatsoever," the detective answered. "Archie is welcome here anytime."
As the woman reached into her purse for her wallet, Sherlock stopped her. "No. I'm a friend, not a babysitter."
For a moment, John thought Cynthia would hug his flatmate too. Then she gave him a soft smile.
"I owe you, then," she said finally. "Archie, get your coat on, love."
Grumbling, Archie shrugged on his coat and followed his mother downstairs, stopping when Mrs. Hudson claimed a hug. Sherlock and John walked them out, and waved as the mother and son left in a taxi. Archie chattered at his mother all the way, recounting his adventures with Sherlock.
"Well!" sighed Mrs. Hudson as they shut the door. "How did you like your new apprentice, Sherlock?"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't make him my apprentice if he were anything but brilliant."
Their landlady giggled. "You know, Sherlock, between the hair and the shirt, I thought I was looking at your son this morning. The thought wasn't as frightening as one might think," she added wistfully.
"What, adding another Holmes to terrify the world, and granting my mother what she wants the most? Perish the thought immediately," he answered, bounding up the stairs. "Good night, Mrs. Hudson."
"Night, Mrs. H.," John added, following Sherlock.
Without a word, Sherlock tidied the living room, moving his chair and John's back into their usual places. The stacks of game cards were labeled neatly and placed in a drawer, though the pile of takeaway rubbish stayed where it was. After all, Sherlock was Sherlock.
"Well, that was fun," said John, sinking into his chair. "How did Archie come to be here?"
"Cynthia had some divorce issues to settle," Sherlock explained from the sofa, leaning all the way back and staring at the ceiling. "She rang this morning and asked if I could watch Archie for a few hours, and I told her to make it a day."
John's surprise was evident. "She asked for a few hours, and you volunteered to watch the kid all day? Are you insane?"
The detective shrugged. "What else was I supposed to do while you were out? He's a smart kid, and Gabriel is still upset that I won't say who shot me, so I have no cases."
John chose to ignore the last bit and focus on what was safe. "Greg, you idiot. Greg!"
"Whatever."
There was a moment of silence, as John caught up with the news on his mobile, and Sherlock lay on the sofa, staring at nothing and thinking.
"Right, I need a shower," the doctor said finally. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
Sherlock's answer was a light snore. John shook his head, amused, and covered up his best friend with the nearest blanket. It wasn't cold enough for a fire just yet, but he was taking no chances with the detective's recovery.
Once Sherlock was covered up to his nose, the good doctor had his shower.
Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, everyone! While this story is over, the A Chair In Its Proper Place series continues with the next installment (after John is done showering), Friendly Advice.