Chapter 9 - And Then There's the Phone...
Frodo was brought abruptly back to wakefulness by he knew not what, trading remembered dangers for unknown ones. Dim light snaked its way into an otherwise darkened room, casting everything into eerie shadows. Pain shot through his neck and body as he moved and he immediately stilled, locking his jaw shut against any noise as he realised that he had fallen asleep sitting. Less than eight feet from him there came a loud snort, and then a sigh, followed by a male cursing as the unknown sound filled the air again. Frodo winced. Harsh, insistent, loud: it was a noise unlike any that the hobbit had heard before, yet he recognised it at once as what had wakened him. Unwilling to move and thus draw the attention of whatever threat he was facing until he could at least see it he watched as the lump eight feet from him shifted and shaped itself into that of a man. He seemed to search for something. Then a light emerged from the depths of the chair, quite as bright as his own Phial, yet far harsher, and the sound somehow redoubled. The man groaned and cursed under his breath again as he raised the light higher.
"What is it?" he barked, sounding alert; ready to take orders and give them as well. Like a soldier, Frodo noted. The noise stopped and the light disappeared.
"Where is the creature?" a small, thin voice harshly demanded. Frodo winced at the choice of wording. His gaze flicked rapidly around the room, still trying not to move. Where was this second person?
There was a pause as the one nearest him seemed to shrink. When he spoke again the words were slow, weary, and angry. He enunciated each word. "You called me at three forty-five in the bloody morning to find out where your client is?"
"A text would be insufficient to wake you at this hour," the thin voice returned, seeming to think that a perfectly acceptable answer.
There was a sound of someone breathing very carefully as if to avoid screaming, and then the man - Jon Watson, his memory finally supplied - casually asked, "D'you think this is why people call you an arse?"
"Probably," the thin voice returned. "Where is it?"
"He is sleeping on the sofa, thanks," Jon returned. Frodo was silently grateful for the stressing of 'he'.
"You're sure?" the thin voice demanded. That one never asks, Frodo noted.
"Very," Jon growled back.
"Good."
Jon sighed. "Why?" This was followed by a pause and then Jon said, "Sherlock?"
The harsh light abruptly returned as Jon cursed again, and Frodo shied involuntarily, sending more ripples of pain throughout his body.
The man glanced at him and then sighed. "Hey, mate. It's three in the morning; go back to sleep." The light disappeared again.
Frodo shuddered at the thought of willingly climbing back into the abyss from which the noise had first pulled him. "What was that?" he asked instead.
"Sherlock," the man returned wearily, as if that answered everything.
Frodo looked around, openly this time now that the man knew he was awake. "He is here?"
"What? No! No, he's—yeah, go back to sleep," the man dismissed him.
"But - where is Master Homes?" he persisted, still looking in vain for the taller man.
"Still at Bart's, I think," Jon sighed.
The hobbit frowned. "If that is so then how did he cause that other person to speak? Who spoke, and what was the light?"
Jon groaned. "It's my phone."
Frodo waited, When nothing more seemed to be forthcoming he pressed, "And that is?"
"Aren't you tired?" Jon tried.
Frodo felt badly, for the man did seem exhausted, but in truth the dreams would have wakened him within a half-hour's time—or, more likely, woken Jon Watson given the usual bent of his thoughts when his fëa was unquiet—and he had no desire to return to sleep. Indeed, he was hungry. But none of this was mannerly to reveal to one's host during sleeping hours.
"Forgive me, Master Watson," he murmured. "I meant no offence. My curiosity at times can be misplaced and—"
"Yeah, okay, okay," the man protested. "We're good; you didn't offend me. Okay?"
"OK," Frodo returned hesitantly. He'd learnt earlier that this meant 'oll korrect' or 'all right'. It still seemed a very strange thing for Jon Watson to continue to say.
Jon snickered a little at this; likely at the sound of this foreigner using 'his' language. It certainly felt laughable to Frodo.
Of course it is when one does not wish their belly to growl that it will. Frodo felt himself flushing up to his ears as the man sat up very straight and looked at him. The pair studied each other silently for some time.
Finally Jon sighed, burying his face in a hand. "I guess you're not tired," he groaned.
The hobbit flushed again. "No, Doctor Watson," he admitted. His belly gurgled viciously in agreement.
With another tired sigh the man rose to his feet, muttering, "Okay, okay. Are, um, yeah, you're hungry," He looked expectantly towards Frodo.
"Yes," he admitted.
"Um... beans?"
The remark was so very unexpected that at first Frodo could only stare at him in confusion. Then he asked carefully, "Do you mean to eat?"
"Yeah."
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," he agreed, feeling as if the flush on his face was going to become permanent.
"Right," Jon nodded, and then began to walk away. Frodo watched warily as he shuffled towards the gaping hole which marked the next room. Was it another lab? He vaguely remembered seeing it earlier.
Abruptly harsh light filled the room where the man was, spilling into the front room and temporarily blinding the hobbit.
Once his eyes adjusted to the light Frodo rose and followed his host. He found the man rummaging through a tall, silver...cupboard, possibly?...standing against the far wall of what did appear to be a small lab.
"Kettle'll be boiled in a minute," Jon announced, emerging from the 'cupboard' with a small container.
The hobbit could feel his ears burning again. "Master Watson," he began.
"It's John," the man sighed. He set the container down on a white and black box-like thing with what appeared to be knobs and doors and gave the hobbit an earnest look. "Look, could you do that for me? No 'Doctor Watson', no 'Master Watson', no..oh, Mr Watson, maybe? Just John."
"Very well, Jon," Frodo returned quietly. It seemed overly familiar to address someone (who was not a relative) by their first name within less than a day of meeting each other, but if the man truly desired that Frodo could oblige him.
"Thanks," Jon sighed, this time with relief rather than exasperation. He moved to a different set of shelves and began to rummage further.
Frodo followed him. "If I may, Jon," he tried again. "I understand that you are still quite tired" Jon gave him a wry look over his shoulder "and understandably so," he hurried on, "therefore, if you are willing, I can fix my own meal. All that you need do is tell me what I can and cannot use. Then you can return to sleeping."
Jon laughed, rising with a saucepan in hand. "Do you always talk like a book?" he demanded.
The hobbit flinched. That accusation hadn't been levelled at him since his Brandy Hall days. "It depends upon the day and the circumstances," he answered quietly.
Jon sighed again. "Okay," he muttered. He dumped a brown stuff from the container into the small pot. "Well, thanks for the offer, but given that I had to show you how to work the loo, I think that I'll do the cooking."
Frodo's mouth snapped shut and he backed away, certain that by now his entire body was a giant flush of scarlet humiliation. Thankfully Jon had his back to the hobbit and ignored this, continuing with his puttering and shifting of things on a thin table to the right of the lab.
"D'you want toast?" A blue light abruptly blazed to life atop the black and white box, and Frodo gazed at it in awe, and a little suspicion. What sort of magic was that?
"..Only if it will not cause you trouble," he answered belatedly.
The man gave another wry laugh. "Toast doesn't give me any trouble at all," he returned.
Frodo's own laugh was self-depreciating. "Only guests who won't sleep?" he mocked himself.
This time Jon's laugh sounded true. "Yeah, don't worry about that," he shook his head. "I'd have needed to get up and find out what Sherlock was up to anyway. You're just ensuring that I do."
"I'm not certain whether to say 'you're welcome', or apologise," Frodo mused, glancing sideways at his host.
Jon straightened up briefly gazing towards the wall as if thinking and then said, "Yeah, don't apologise again. Please."
"As you wish," Frodo agreed with a small bow.
The man did not see this and continued with his preparation.
"Would you like me to stoke the hearth?" the hobbit offered, trying to bridge the strange chasm between them.
Jon Watson glanced down at him with a bemused expression. "Why?"
"For the toast."
The man continued to stare at him in confusion. Then slowly his face changed to realisation, followed by irritation, and finishing with resignment. Finally he said, "Yeah, we're not doing that."
"O." Frodo fell back again, anxiously wondering what could be so offensive in his offer. Was it the way that he had worded it? Was it the early hour? Likely, but Master Watson had asked him not to apologise again. So... could it be that he had been the one to say it?
The sound of Jon's spoon scraping along the bottom of the saucepan was loud amidst the silence filling the lab.
After a few minutes the man left off his stirring and turned to face Frodo, crossing his arms a little, but not in a particularly hostile manner. "So," he began casually. "How are you feeling?"
"I beg your pardon?" the hobbit frowned. Surely they had— he stiffened slightly as he remembered what 'doctor' meant.
A hint of a smile played at the corners of Jon's mouth. His eyes, however, remained steady, reassuring... and probing. "Yeah," he agreed with the unspoken realisation.
The hobbit shrugged a little. "What can I say?" he forced himself to give the man a small smile. "Given the circumstances I would say that I am doing very well."
"Okay, yeah," Jon agreed. "And not under the circumstances?"
A typical healer's response. Frodo raised a brow. "Doctor Watson," he admonished.
The man's jaw twitched a little. "Look, mate. I get it. You don't know where you are; you don't know who I am... Between Sherlock and the map you really have no reason to trust me, do you? But I am a..heal-er," he pursed his lips in displeasure over the word. "Yeah. I am a healer and—" The kettle began to whistle.
Frodo looked up at it in surprise. Surely they hadn't been up that long! Then he stared at the shrieking glass contraption in confusion. Was that a kettle, or something else altogether? It certainly sounded like a kettle...
Jon sighed as he moved to attend the...contraption. "Tea?" he offered.
"I would be honoured," Frodo answered, bowing correctly.
Jon blinked at him again. "Right," he nodded belatedly. "How do you take it?"
The hobbit's favourite very private indulgence was a tea with cream and a little honey, but did Jon Watson even know what those things were?
"I am content with however you wish to serve it."
The healer must have still been quite tired, for he made an exasperated noise which didn't fit with the patient, albeit frustrated man who had assisted him earlier. "Look, mate. You're going to be staying with us for at least three days, possibly more. I need to know if you've got any allergies or medical conditions that prevent you from eating certain foods; if there's anything which you have to eat for medical reasons; and while we're at it I'd like to at least get you a decent cup of tea. How do you like it?"
Three days. Frodo flinched. Three days of being trapped in this nightmare, far from home or family, with a man who seemed to delight in pointing out Frodo's ignorance of this place. A place where nothing was familiar, not even the books! Between the libraries and the two bookshops which they had searched he had been given ample time to examine the books here, and yet somehow every one of them was wrong. Irregular truly put a more accurate word to the problem, but the word wrong struck at the heart of the matter. Even the books here felt wrong. Cold. Jarring. Irregular.
He shuddered and turned his attention back to his waiting host. "Forgive me, Dr Watson," he confessed, "but all that I truly wish for at this moment is a good cup of strong black tea. Perhaps later my tastes shall change."
The man barked a single laugh. "That I can handle," he smiled, and turned his attention back to his...kettle. "D'you drink coffee?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Yes, I am rather fond of it."
"We'll get some later, once it's light out."
Frodo flushed again. "You needn't do that for me," he began.
"I'm not," his host returned. "Sherlock's using it for an experiment, so I need to go get some anyway. And some milk. And the shopping in general. So on that note, do you have any allergies or medical conditions?"
The voice of Aragorn detailing out the injuries he'd received during the Quest assailed his memory, but he quickly pushed it back.
"I have no requirements for food save that it not be too fiery, or too tasteless."
Jon laughed at his words. "You do realise where you landed? Britain? We're practically famous for tasteless food!"
Frodo felt his heart fall at the words. "You are?" he returned cautiously.
"At least, that's what the tourists say," Jon mocked. With a shrug he added, "Maybe you'll figure out differently."
The hobbit could think of nothing to say to that, so he let it be. Jon Watson too was silent as he finished steeping the tea. Then the mug was handed to Frodo with a half-apologetic, "Hope you like it."
He took the mug cautiously, wrapping his small hand around the handle and attempting to find some sort of balance between the large mug and his injury. One never truly feels how small they are until they attempt to use a Man's cup. He gingerly placed his other hand against the side of the mug, and a sigh escaped him as the heat began to warm his chilled fingers. The tea within the mug smelt rich and dark, just as it would have had he been the one to brew it, in a kettle, on the hearth of Bag End. The homesick hobbit inhaled deeply.
He was unaware that he was being observed until Jon said sympathetically, "Has it really been that long?"
There was a kind look on the man's face, and Frodo found himself murmuring, "Nearly eight months." Eight years. Eight hundred years. Could it really only be less than eight months ago that he had left the Shire?
"Yeah, that's a long time to go without a decent cuppa," Jon agreed.
Frodo nearly corrected the man, for Sam and Merry had done their best to ensure that the fellowship had a 'decent cuppa' whenever possible along the journey, but a look in Jon's eye stilled his tongue. The man knew. The soldier had experienced the heartache of being homeless, of wandering the world with no assurance of living through the next day. 'A decent cuppa' to him, as to Frodo, meant the comfort and safety of being home and knowing that your task is over.
The hobbit silently nodded and took a sip of the tea. Jon returned to his pan and... everything else. The smells and noises of cooking were beginning to fill the air nicely. Frodo took a step back at this and examined Jon's position and movements again. Was it... Was it just possible that the strange box-like table was actually a stove? Were stoves usually in labs?
A few minutes later a strange ker-tick noise from a table to the side of the...stove-like contraption broke the silence, startling Frodo. Jon hastily grabbed a plate from a rack beside... Frodo peered at the white basin embedded into another sideboard. Was that a sink? If it was, then was he standing in a kitchen?
"Jon?" he began cautiously. "Forgive my ignorance, but is that a sink and pump beside you?"
Jon stared down at him again with that look of one caught off-guard. Finally he offered, "That is a sink, and a tap."
Frodo frowned at him, thinking over the word. Finally he echoed cautiously, "A tap?" and gently tapped the sideboard with one finger.
Jon watched, frowned, and then laughed. "No, no," he hastily corrected, still smiling. "That is a tap, yeah, but here in Britain we also call our...water spigots taps."
Frodo thought that over whilst Jon, seeming to believe the matter finished, returned to his..cooking.
"Again, please forgive my ignorance," Jon gave him a weary look and the hobbit flushed again, but continued doggedly, "Why is it called a tap?"
"No idea," Jon returned carelessly. "Here."
He handed Frodo a plate with the brown stuff, now heated and smelling properly of food, and a slice of nicely done toast. He looked up at the man in startlement.
"'Fraid we don't have any butter," Jon was saying. "He's experimenting with that too. Like I said," he shrugged, rummaging through a drawer, "I need to do the shopping." He stood back up, a fork and knife in hand. "D'you want to eat.." he glanced around the messy room, "in the living room?"
"Wherever you wish, Master Watson," Frodo bowed politely. The man grunted.
As they left the lab Frodo asked, "What sort of experiment is Master Homes doing with the coffee and butter?"
"Basic home preservation," Jon returned. Then he paused. "Actually, since it's Sherlock doing it, probably not that basic at all."
"Food stuffs?" That would be a fine common ground. Perhaps he could even assist Mr Homes—
"No," was the decisive return, accompanied by the grim smile only a battle-hardened soldier could give. Again it seemed as if he'd been weighed in a balance and found wanting. The hobbit quailed inwardly.
Outwardly he smiled and queried politely, "What, then?"
"Eh..." Jon glanced down at him. "With Sherlock's experiments you're really better off not knowing."
"O."
Frodo stood silently, holding his plate whilst the man cleared a space for him on a very crowded table, trying to identify what was in the beans beyond beans and sugar. Perhaps a very subtle amount of onion, and certainly some salt... bacon, perhaps? But what would cause the sauce to be so..reddish? He sniffed more deeply.
"Here you go," Jon announced. He then stepped away, withdrawing his fone from his pocket. "I'm going to see if I can get ahold of Sherlock."
He gave Frodo a half-apologetic smile, raising the fone a little and Frodo nodded, puzzled. Then he decided to put the strangeness of Men out of his mind temporarily and turned to observe the Standing Silence.
o
When he was just over half finished with his plate, which sadly took very little time, Jon dropped into the chair across from him.
"Well, he's not answering."
The man sounded unusually irritated that he could not be heard, particularly since the loudest Jon had become was when he had muttered an annoyed curse at Sherlock—a curse barely loud enough to be heard in the lab (which could be a kitchen). Frodo frowned up at him.
"Did you not say that Master Homes was at Bart's?" he asked cautiously.
"Yeah," Jon muttered. "But if he doesn't answer I don't know that for sure."
"How was, well, forgive me; how is he going to hear you?"
Jon waggled the fone at him again.
In return Frodo raised a brow at him.
Jon groaned. "I forgot; you don't know that!" he muttered.
"No, Doctor Watson."
The man's jaw twitched a little at the words. "Eat your breakfast," he muttered.
Frodo sighed and deliberately pushed away his plate, much as it pained him to do, and turned to face the man. "Master Watson," he began politely, "I am attempting to make sense of your land and its ways and customs. But it makes..no sense to me when you claim that Master Homes should be able to hear you from a place..well over a quarter-hour's walk away. Could you please explain to me what a fone is and what it does?"
Jon stared at him for a minute and then groaned again. "You really don't like taking the easy way out, do you?" he accused.
Vividly to Frodo's mind sprang memories of the climb to Cirith Ungol, the wastelands of Mordor, his own small voice at the Council of Elrond... Inwardly he shook them away.
"I have found it better to attempt to understand the people and culture around me, and in that manner hopefully avoid making an grievous blunder of some sort."
The man stared at him for several seconds before.. "Right," he nodded. "Okay. Okay, fine." He glared at the hobbit. "Eat your breakfast, will you? This is going to take a while."
Frodo nodded and pulled his plate closer again whilst Jon continued to scowl, clearly thinking.
"Okay," he finally said. "We of," he paused and eyed Frodo again, "...the modern life.. have developed a way to..communicate with people far away. Em, this is not magic," he added hastily. "It's probably going to seem like it to you because I don't have half of the answers you want. Probably not even a quarter of the answers. But it's not magic."
Frodo nodded, nibbling at his dwindling toast.
"So.. We have developed a way to..send our..voices—electronically—through the air... No."
He paused, seemed to sort through his thoughts, and began again. "Okay, I can't just talk out loud and Sherlock can hear me far away. That's not how the world works, right?"
"It - isn't how my world works," Frodo answered cautiously.
"Yeah, it's not how my world works either," Jon agreed. "But when I talk into this box, into my phone," he raised it a little, "it has a special...electronic part in it which will connect to his phone, far away, and his phone has the same electronic part in it - aaaand, those two electronic parts connect to each other...invisibly, by means of electricity through the air— no, I can't explain it further," he added quickly, "and I'm able to hear him and talk to him - via that.. invisible chain."
Frodo waited, but the man sat back as if finished. Finally Frodo prompted, "Alright..."
Jon sighed. "You don't get it at all, do you?"
"..No."
"You're not going to," the man returned patiently. "I'm sorry, but you're really not. It's.. technology which has been developed over the last one hundred years, give or take a few. And," he breathed a frustrated chuckle, "without going into a lot of complex explanations you're not going to understand it at all."
"Yes," Frodo agreed quietly. He pondered the man's explanation. "Could you explain what elec— eclect— elec-tron-ic is?"
Jon was already shaking his head before the hobbit had finished the word. "No," he laughed, slightly incredulous. "No, I really can't! It's— It's—" He dropped his head into a hand and muttered a curse in an undertone. Frodo stiffened a little in disapproval, but remained silent. It was poor manners to judge a person's language, regardless of how ill-bred the words made Jon seem. And he was clearly trying the Man's patience...
"I withdraw the question," he murmured.
"You can't withdraw the question!" Jon snorted. "If I don't tell you you're going to be wondering about it for the next five days!" He cursed under his breath again, massaging his temples in frustration.
"Okay," he finally started. "I'm sure you guys have lightning, right?"
"Yes!" the hobbit brightened, relieved to hear a word he knew. Then he paused. "Well, allow me to make certain that we speak of the same thing. Lightning where I come from is the forked tongues of light which split the sky during a storm—"
"Yes!" Jon smiled, looking just as relieved as Frodo. "That's lightning. Lighting is—" he paused, frowning thoughtfully at his guest yet again. "Actually... Do you know what lightning is made of?"
Frodo blinked at the question. "Light?" he offered cautiously.
Jon chuckled a little, but not in mockery. "Sort of," he nodded. "Actually, it's made of electricity, and we —of the modern life— have invented a way to harness that electricity and make it work for us."
"Harness it? As one would a pony?" the hobbit echoed incredulously.
"...More or less, yeah," Jon nodded. "If you let a pony just run around doing what it pleases then it's wild, right?"
"It can be," Frodo agreed carefully.
"Maybe even a little dangerous?"
"I would agree..."
"But when you put a harness on it then it has to listen to you and do what you want, right?"
Clearly Jon Watson did not know how stubborn a pony could be at times.
"More or less," Frodo nodded.
"Okay," Jon smiled, clearly feeling that this conversation was going the way that he wanted it to. "That's what we've done to electricity. We've managed to capture it and put a sort of harness on it, and make it work for us. Electricity powers almost everything around here, from the lights," he gestured toward the lamp attached to the ceiling, "to the phones, to the equipment back at the lab— Pretty much anything that you see around here that works by pushing buttons or flipping switches is working because electricity is making it work."
Frodo considered the man's words. "Was the togel switch for Detective Inspector Lestraad's car window working with electricity?"
"Yes," Jon nodded.
Frodo thought a little more. "Very well," he finally nodded. "What then is elec-tronic?"
"That just means that a thing uses electricity," Jon explained. "So, my phone is an electronic because it uses electricity. The light is also an electronic because it uses electricity. The lab equipment, Lestrade's car window, the telly, the microwave.. yeah. You name it, if it uses electricity—"
"It will be an electronic," Frodo finished for him.
"Yeah," Jon smiled.
Frodo pondered this for a while, but in the end was forced to admit that he did not understand this explanation any more than he understood how a Ring could hold the spirit of Sauron. How was lightning to wear anything? How was it to be captured, when it was always there and gone again so quickly?
"I am sorry, Jon," he finally murmured. "Thank you for trying to explain."
"You don't get it?" Jon confirmed.
"No," Frodo admitted. "But it is enough. I understand that somehow you are able to speak into that thing and Master Homes should be able to hear you."
"Yeah," Jon agreed. "And it's not magic."
"No," Frodo agreed, forcing a small smile.
"Sorry I can't be more help."
Frodo's smile became a little smaller. "You did not make me feel foolish for asking, and for that I am grateful."
John winced at the words.
"Yeah," he sighed. "I'm sorry about him too." The duo sat silently for a little while before Jon spoke again. "But for what it's worth, Sherlock makes everyone feel.. foolish. He is a.. certified genius. No-one can do what he does." He paused, and then amended, "Well, a few people can, but... but not really."
Frodo nodded silently.
"He... And because he can... Mm..take for example—" he scowled at the word "—yesterday; when he was deducing—when he said all those things about you?"
Frodo scowled a little at the reminder of Mr Homes' invasive words, but nodded.
"How much was accurate?"
"I couldn't understand about half of it," Frodo reminded him.
Jon pursed his lips. "Tr-ue," he returned slowly. "But of what you did understand..."
The hobbit remained silent for a minute, unwilling to give that much of himself to a stranger. In one afternoon Mr Homes had pointed out and "deduced" more about him than he was willing to tell even Freddy or Folco; more than he was even willing to discuss with the Fellowship. Yet, Jon Watson sat waiting for him to affirm the truth of things he could not even bring himself to think of? How would this man react were he to admit just how very accurate the words of Mr Homes, and Doctor Watson himself, had been?
Something shifted in Jon's expression and he nodded with more understanding than he had shown yesterday whilst detailing the hobbit's health to the detective. "Okay," he murmured. "Okay, you don't have to tell me." They sat in silence a little longer.
"But...he can do that to anyone," Jon finally continued. "When he and I met he took one look at me, just..a quick glance," he chuckled, "and then he asked me where I'd been stationed. Just like that he could tell that I was a soldier who'd been to war."
"He could?"
"Yeah, and he knew things about my family, and my habits, and... Just that fast he could look at me and see all these things, and it's crazy. He can do that with anyone." Jon paused and his enthusiasm began to fade. "Annd... the problem with that is he doesn't realise that other people can't do the same." At Frodo's look of incredulity he hastily added, "I mean, he does know, yeah. Of course he knows; he's Sherlock. But..apparently some of the stuff he sees is more obvious than others and he figures that we'll at least be able to see that. And then when we don't...well, that's when he gets... um..." he paused as if searching for the correct word.
"Assertive?" Frodo suggested dryly.
The man grimaced. "..Not a bad choice of words," he admitted.
The words sounded so much like something Bilbo would have said that Frodo felt a tiny smile twitch onto his face.
"He gets really frustrated that no one else can see the clues that he can," Jon explained. "And, yeah.. When he gets frustrated he - tends to get loud about it."
"I see," the hobbit murmured.
"But," Jon added gently, "once he is invested in someone's problem he will move mountains to help them. He just - likes to hide all that behind the bored child façade. So don't tell him I told you that," he added in a confidential whisper.
Again the words were so much like Bilbo's that Frodo almost expected him to place one finger along the side of his nose and wink. Naturally, nothing of the sort happened and Jon sat back as if finished expounding upon the strengths and flaws of Sherlock Homes. The hobbit grinned at him.
"How long have you known each other?" he queried.
"About ten months."
"Do you do much together?"
Jon chuckled at that. "Almost everything," he returned. "Usually I'd be at Bart's too, trying to stay awake while he does his tests or I'll be working on another section of the case, gathering information, interviewing witnesses, and the like. We make a pretty good team, I think. When he bothers to tell me the plan," he added with a touch of irritation.
Frodo smiled a little. "Would you tell me about some of your 'cases'?"
Jon grinned. "Well.. the first time I met Sherlock Holmes..."
o
They talked long, trading tales. Jon learnt much of the Shire and hobbits and their quiet lives and simple ways whilst Frodo heard story after story of the dangers and thrills of life with Sherlock Homes. Jon seemed to love the chaotic life he had, and though he would speak with irritation at times of Sherlock's recklessness Frodo could easily hear how fond he was of the man.
They were deep within a discussion on the pilfering and then preparation of mushrooms when a loud cry of, "JOHN! JOHN!" came from downstairs, accompanied by an excessively loud clatter of feet pounding up the stairs. The pair looked at each other in surprise, Jon's face almost immediately changing to one of anticipation. He rose at once and met Sherlock at the door.
"—amazing! It's remarkable!" the detective was exclaiming, quite loudly enough to waken the landlady downstairs. "I knew that he was unique as soon as I saw him, but even I didn't expect the significance! Not even on the Periodic Table! It's not a trick," he added, not slowing down for breath, but giving Jon a gimlet eye. "Tested it against every element; it's not there! The machine was working fine, but it always erred at that component; it could identify every other element though! I tested it myself while I was waiting for the scans to finish; it has several unique properties. I wasn't able to isolate it yet, but I tested it with several other elements—"
"Wait, slow down!" Jon protested. "What are you talking about?"
Sherlock started, his mouth snapping shut as he stared at his friend. "The element in his blood, of course," he countered. "I thought that was fairly obvious."
"Yeah, well, I haven't exactly been in the lab all night," Jon reminded him calmly. "Start over. The last that I knew the only problem was that you say he's not human."
"He's not!" Sherlock returned in surprise just as Frodo sternly put in, "I'm not."
"Okay, okay!" Jon protested, throwing up his hands in a defensive gesture.
"We have been discussing this for some time," Frodo added quietly.
"Yeah, okay!" Jon yelped. "But— c'mon! Not human?"
"Eru created several different peoples—" Frodo began.
"Yes, mystical religious beliefs aside the physical make-up of his body proves that he isn't human," Sherlock interrupted, forcing several papers onto his friend. "I printed my findings."
"Now," the detective turned to face Frodo, "we find out what that means."
-0-0-0-
fëa - basically the elven word for soul
