Dragonlocked 2

And Smaug laughed aloud. He had a wicked and a wily heart, and he knew his guesses were not far out…

The Hobbit

John came down the stairs after tucking Hamish in and kissing him goodnight. Sherlock was curled up on the couch. He was wearing a red-and-gold-patterned dressing gown that gave him an air of ethereal arrogance. Watson moved toward the fire, which burned merrily in the grate. Above on the mantelpiece were a few of the treasured possessions his friend had accumulated over the years: the skull, a silver, jewel-encrusted paper knife stuck in a pile of letters, a Cox's orange pippin; the famous English variety had been dipped in wax to preserve it. He picked up the apple to see the bite in the middle and I and U carved on the other side. These were golden mementos of their time together. The skull had been there before he had joined Sherlock, but he remembered fondly many of the other trinkets as the memories came flooding back. Near the fire was an old crimson Turkish slipper with loose tobacco stuffed in the toe.

John hoped Sherlock hadn't gone back to smoking rollups again. Smoking tobacco was an addiction he had also once succumbed to. It was one of the reasons he was always so dead against his friend continuing to smoke. Like so many others in those days he had started using ridiculously cheap tobacco in the army and following the bad example of some of his men tried mixing it with the local weed. He had to quit, he knew of course the dangers of tobacco and couldn't be a hypocrite to himself. Not only that, the local weed was well known for addling the brain and as a doctor he couldn't afford to lose competence. He did remember one memorable day however, trying the mixture in a pipe and blowing smoke rings into the air. It had been great fun until he got caught and severely reprimanded, narrowly avoiding a charge. That had nearly been the end of both his medical and army career. It had also been the last time he had smoked.

Shaking his head, he came back and sat down on the couch, shoving the detective's legs out of the way. He sighed. Sherlock had made him a cup of coffee; this meant he was after something. There was even a slice of seed cake that Mrs. Hudson had no doubt baked for him and he had not eaten.

"You have had an argument with your wife - several arguments, and you have had trouble sleeping." Sherlock looked up from his laptop. Two little puffs of smoky vapour escaped his nostrils. He held up his electronic cigarette when he saw the expression on John's face. "I'm trying these instead of nicotine patches" He clarified.

"I've left her," he sighed. "Well, before she actually kicks me out. I've come straight to the dragons` lair so to speak,"

"So I see, and what were you arguing about? Was it me?"

"What do you think? You call me out at all hours of the day or night asking me to come if convenient or if not come anyway! Yes, I love the cases, I love the danger, but it's destroying my marriage. Can't you see that?"

"Don't come then," Sherlock said dismissively "I could have done with you on the last case and you refused to come. I had a difficult time with those short people who asked me to find their special trophy cup. It turned out they had no legal right to it anyway, so I kept it."

"You can't just keep a valuable item like that."

"Well," laughed his friend, "I didn't get on with them, I think they were rather afraid of me."

"Everyone's afraid of you, Sherlock! Except me," John knew that wasn't strictly true. Sherlock did make him wary even after all this time, it wasn't exactly fear, it was that strange sort of fluttery feeling he got when he was with him.

The detective gripped his cup of coffee tightly, and looked mischievously at him "Aren't you?" His eyes suddenly flashed in that moment. He was often quick to anger and John felt a hint of nervousness creep over him.

"She told me not to help you out on another case until we'd worked things out together." John was trying to keep calm. "She said … she said-" He gulped, not knowing if he should reveal this. –"that you'd got your claws into me." There, he thought, I've said it. "What the ... are you growing your nails?" Sherlock's hand cradling his coffee cup looked somewhat talon-like.

"I've bought a new instrument - a guitar -and needed to grow the nails on my left hand for the fingering. What is the matter?"

"You're not joining a band, Sherlock?" He had a sudden vision of a pop concert with Sherlock rocking the room, his hair flying back in the path of a wind machine and his amethyst shirt billowing behind him. His muscular pale chest was exposed to the packed arena as the music blasted out. Then out of the cheering crowd a lone man drew a weapon, took aim and shot him in the heart. John imagined Sherlock falling, fluttering and swooping down from the height of the stage to his death in the mosh. He shuddered. It was too great a risk to take, it could happen, just like St. Bart's, just like before.

John felt the memory tearing him apart. "Fallings just like flying" He murmured softly.

Sherlock leant forwards looking concerned at the last expression he read on his friends face. "John?"

"It's enough to put up with your violin caterwauling and screeching at all hours of the night. I don't want to go though all that with another instrument."

"I'm not joining a band, John, It's a Spanish guitar and as you know Spanish guitars are very soft-sounding and melodic but aside from that" he continued, "you're not here anymore, or at least you weren't." John looked slightly uncomfortable. Sherlock smiled glitteringly. "Ha! So you've left her for good, have you?" John looked down and bit his lip. "Why are you still wearing your wedding ring, then? It can't be precious to you anymore. It's good to have you back, John, it really is. It will be so convenient; to keep you here. Give me the ring and I'll put it in my drawer where I had to put your chequebook and credit cards when you got into that online gambling. For safekeeping of course." He held out his hand.

John moved away from him. "I ... I don't know, this seems so final, Sherlock. Give me time. And anyway"- He raised his chin up defiantly. `

"I'm not giving you my ring."

With special thanks to Dr. Kitten for editing my story, thanks also for your reviews. (hint?)