The tennis ball face-planted into the net. John scrambled up from the sidelines of the Wimbledon final, clad in highwaisted shorts that came up to halfway up his thighs. A magenta visor shaded his face. After grabbing the tennis ball, he scurried back. He waited.
The next serve went long. He was right about to pick it up when Sherlock snatched it out of his hands. A hostile feeling rising in him, he said,
"Sherlock, this is my side of the court."
"Your point?" Sherlock threw the tennis ball up and caught it while retreating. John frowned.
The next ball landed in the alley closest to Sherlock. John made a grab for it but Sherlock was too quick for him.
"Are you going to give me the ball? The sides aren't equal now."
"I fail to see why I should. You're a doctor, you believe in Darwin."
"What?" John squinted.
"Survival of the fittest. You clearly are not a fit tennis-ball-retriever."
"I am too a fit tennis ball retriever."
"Not fit enough. Besides, I'm catching balls for the Slovaks."
"So? I'm catching them for the English." Sherlock sighed, looking up at the sky.
"Dull." They parted ways with the incoming serve. It was an ace for the Slovakian.
"Hurrah!" Sherlock thrust his arm in the air. There was silence on the court as British fans glowered. The Slovak's mother and sister sat in the stands with a cheap flag. His father was there, but sleeping. The next serve was in, but the Englishman returned it to the far corner, out of the Slovakian's reach.
"Come on! Wooh!" John clapped, grinning at Sherlock from beneath his magenta shield. Sherlock fumed.
"Stupid. What are you looking at, no, don't answer I doubt you'd be capable of forming a sentence." Sherlock said to a fellow ball-retriever. In the meantime, the referee called the Slovakian's serve out.
"What's the matter, are you blind? You look, but you don't observe. That ball was clearly within the boundaries. The speed plus the angle and the wind, it had to have been in. Are you an idiot or something?"
"Someone call security." The referee said into his microphone.
By this time, the Slovakian tennis player realized what was going on.
"My serve...It was not out no?"
"These abyssmally moronic officials say it was." Sherlock said, jabbing a finger at the head referee. After a moment of contemplation, the Slovak said,
"But it was not."
"I know. They don't see it." Sherlock shook his head. The Slovak pointed towards the incoming security guards.
"What are they?"
"They want to take me away."
"But you see it, no?"
"I'm the only one on this court full of halfwits." The Slovakian shielded Sherlock.
"Stop. You may not take him. He is my witness." The guard shook his head and said,
"Sir, for the integrity of the game-"
"How dare you speak of integrity when you lie about tennis, stole an extra sample at the coffee store this morning and cheated on your sixth grade pre-algebra test?" The guard turned red.
"You're a bloody liar."
"My witness is my child you can't take him," the Slovak puffed out his chest. Sherlock frowned.
"He means I'm like his child."
"Sherlock, what the devil is going on?" John began to walk towards the net.
"For the honor of our country, you cannot speak." The Slovak stepped between John and Sherlock.
"He's British." John threw up his hands.
"But he has the heart of a Russian." The Slovakian posed, racket over his heart. John frowned.
"Aren't you, um, Slovakian?"
"Well you see one of my grandparents was Slovakian, I play for Slovakians, but we're Russians." He gestured towards Sherlock and himself. "We see." The Slovakian-Russian pointed at his eyes.
"Oy, the tennis player's a Russian. They're imposters. Infringing on our courts, thats what these here clowns are doing." The English player said. He launched a tennis ball at them. It hit the Russlovak. Order went to hell.
"Run, brother." Sherlock took off. John followed.
"Why did you let that happen?"
"Bored."
"You've probably ruined your friend's career. He be banned from the sport." John trotted to keep up.
"I doubt that." Sherlock nodded to a homeless man outside the courts and handed him a ten pound note.
"Sherlock, we need that."
"Do we?" Sherlock smirked. John knitted his eyebrows.
A week later, a package came from .
"What's that?" John gaped at the stack of bills and golden medal pinned to what looked like a small animal. There was no note. "Where did that come from?"
"My spirit brother. He is actually brother of the head of the Russian Mafia." Sherlock picked up the small animal. It was a hat. He put it on.
"What's the medal then?"
"Probably stolen." Sherlock counted his notes with a smile.
"How did you know about it?"
"Homeless network. Tell you everything if you ask the right questions. Now excuse me I have work to do for the motherland." Patting the top of his hat he stuffed the notes in his wallet. "Dasvedanya."
"Which motherland?" John called out after him. No reply.