Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Also, sorry for the unexpected hiatus but I had surgery and then my beta fell ill too, so...yeah, it seemed like the universe was telling us to stop. ''' Not that it matters, but if you need my headcanon for the thing with peas: they're having green pea sabzi with lamb and basmati.
Sherlock shifted back to human, with a "Well, that's awkward."
"Not quite the adjective I'd have used," John sighed.
The sleuth frowned. "No? But the issue at hand was trust and prying and – am I really expected to ignore that admission, John? Am I authorized to try and deduce as much as I can about it? Maybe discover it on my own, any way I can? Or are you going to tell me what happened?"
"Ok, you were right. Awkward." The blond shrugged. "I guess I walked into that one, right? There's literally no other option, and we all know number one isn't actually in the cards."
"I guess I could – try." Sherlock grimaced. It wouldn't be easy, nor pleasant, and it would require more self-control than he'd exerted in a long, long time. But if that was what took to keep John's trust, he would. His alpha could say he didn't want to lose Sherlock all he wanted. Surely, if he lost all confidence in him, John would eventually cut him out of his life. It'd be the sensible thing to do, after all. His inner wolf whined, half in protest and half-fear, but it really wouldn't be up to Sherlock to decide, right?
His alpha actually laughed at him, which was confusing and – should he get offended? Before he could react, John said, "I'd quote Yoda to you, but you would just think I was being weird."
"Quote whom?" Sherlock instinctively cocked his head to one side before catching himself and regaining a normal attitude. He was human now, dammit.
"A character from the Star Wars movies, never mind that. I'm easily amused. No, considering the actually available options...Yes, I am going to tell you everything. Well, everything. Names might be changed and details – you know, some things are really none of your business and not actually mine to tell anyway."
Sherlock wondered if he should put the kettle on or grab a block note to jot down the important bits. He still didn't feel entirely sure that his wolf wouldn't run amok and upend exactly the one vital piece of furniture in his mind palace. Especially if, as logic demanded, the relevant info were to be contained in what he was starting to think of as the creature's den.
Before he could choose, John added, "Obviously, when I'll tell you the rest of that history."
For all his hatred of repetition, Sherlock could only bitterly echo, "Obviously."
"Hey, what do you say we plan it for tomorrow, emergencies notwithstanding? I'll even make that thing with peas you like. It's a recipe I learned at the time, so it seems fitting."
"That would be acceptable," the sleuth graciously replied. Privately, he thought that an emergency which dared to be in the way of such revelations better be at least a 9, and preferably of international importance. Anything less, and he would be commanding the world to take a break and come knocking again the day after tomorrow. Hopefully, John would see things the same way.
Sherlock would be the first to admit that the day after, he wasn't the most pleasant person to be around, as three aspiring clients could testify. Then again, they were two 3s and a 2 – who was going to pop by next? Someone asking him to locate their bloody cat? Even in normal circumstances, he would have sent them away, but perhaps in a less growly fashion. He was ready to admit that anxiousness didn't improve his disposition.
Why had no one invented a real version of the 'skip' button? Yes, yes, physical impossibility he would have said...but he would also have said that werewolves were impossible, and they clearly weren't, so – it was entirely possible that someone had just slacked off in their research. Or it was withheld from the general public. If he ever discovered that Mycroft had one, his brother would learn a lesson about sharing.
Wondering about the mechanics of such a device distracted him through John's return home, and it was only the delicious smell of mixed spices that alerted him that what he had been anticipating all day was about to happen.
"Speak for yourself. As if I'd miss him," the wolf grumbled, appearing at his feet.
"Well, why didn't you mention it?" Sherlock snapped.
"You didn't ask." The wolf gave him a lopsided smile and trotted away. As much as he hated to admit it, Sherlock couldn't deny the resemblance between them.
The sleuth followed his nose. "I still don't know how you got so good at cooking, John."
The blond smiled at him. "I actually like eating."
"I do like eating. This is lovely." Sherlock grabbed a spoon that lay next to the pot and tried to snatch a sample, to demonstrate his viewpoint, but John was quicker, taking it from him.
Instead of scolding him, though, John used it to take a bit of peas and rice from the pot himself. "Nope. You like being fed." He offered it to the sleuth, who considered leaving, so as not to concede the point, but...his inner wolf whined.
"And only by people you like," John concluded, when Sherlock gave into his alpha. Well, at least John got that. He wasn't going to be just anyone's pet.
"Now, get talking," he demanded, after swallowing the delicious morsel.
"As soon as it's ready," his blogger retorted. "You don't want me to burn this, because I'm distracted...and besides, you really need to learn some patience."
"I am patient," the detective huffed, "when there's a reason to be."
"The reason is I'm asking. I promise, I won't try to weasel out of it. Just wait a bit. Please."
Damn. John didn't pull the please card often, and even before he was turned, Sherlock found it impossible to resist. Now? There was no way that he could bring himself to argue. Besides, smell was a powerful trigger for memories. John said he'd learned the dish then. Maybe he was using it to better gather his thoughts. It wouldn't do for him to not mention some detail with info that might prove crucial to Sherlock simply because he'd forgotten it...because the detective wouldn't even let him think.
"What do you want me to do, then?" he asked, annoyed at himself for the instinctive question. He shouldn't have spoken. One, maybe he was interrupting John's necessary ruminations. Two, he was perfectly capable of occupying half an hour or so by himself. In fact, he could self-entertain for days on end...even if that often ended with someone or other protesting some of the byproducts of his activities, be it noise, smell, or leftovers, vastly different from the ones John's current endeavour might lead to.
He half expected his alpha to be equally frustrated, but John smiled at him. He looked fond, if anything, and even if the powerful mix of spices in the air and Sherlock's own novice status in the art of deducing mood through smells didn't make him too confident in his own conclusions, he smelled it, too. The sour notes that would be in the air otherwise should be hard to miss, since they'd undoubtedly ruin the delicious combination hitting his nostrils at the moment. "Why don't you tell me if we have a client."
Sherlock snorted. "I would have if we did."
"Would you?"
"Don't I always?" Not a straight answer. John clearly knew where his priorities lay at the moment anyway. "We'd have started investigating tomorrow, but..."
"Really? And let clues be destroyed by time, accidents, and who knows what else?" His blogger smirked at him.
"We'd have investigated tomorrow. I'd check the scene for a few minutes. If it was something entertaining enough that it warranted the both of us examining it, you wouldn't have to ask now, would you?"
John huffed a laugh. "Yep. Well, not unless you drugged me. Again."
"Don't be stupid now. Drugging you that early into an investigation? I need at least a testable theory for that. And even if you like to give your readers the impression I solve things in under five minutes, that's only true for cases I wouldn't take today."
"What cases would you take today?"
"I haven't, so what does it matter?"
"Just curious how I rank. Or at least the story I'll never, ever be able to blog about. Am I a six? A seven? Or am I wildly overestimating my own appeal?"
"Underestimating – but that's always your M.O. isn't it?" Sherlock shrugged.
"My modus operandi? Am I a criminal now?" John smirked.
"Not that I know...yet. We'll see if I'll have to amend my opinion at some point tonight," the detective grinned back.
"Fair. And you technically didn't answer. Am I an eight, then? I'm honoured."
If he didn't know that John could smell lies, he'd probably have agreed. The truth of how much he wanted to know every detail about his alpha – past , present, and hopes for the future – was embarrassing, in a way. Instead, he admitted, "Nine. So don't hide any juicy details – you wouldn't want to downgraded, would you, Captain?"
"We'll see, Holmes."...Damn. There was no way John would miss how much he'd liked that.
