Pet NamesIt started out simply enough.
They were at St Bart's examining some soil samples for a case.
Sherlock was determined that they didn't belong in the house, where they were found and they were somehow linked to the killer. But they didn't match the samples that came from his footprints in another part of the house.
So they'd been here for about half an hour with Sherlock bent over the microscope muttering to himself. John had stopped trying to make sense of what he was saying after the first ten minutes and was now simply hovering over his shoulder, watching and waiting for his inevitable breakthrough.
Having heard they were working there, Molly came in with coffee for them, as always.The coffee was more for Sherlock than John of course; but Molly was not rude so she always brought him a cup as well. John was very grateful for this because after the shift he'd just pulled at the clinic and the usual "wear and tear" from a case he needed caffeine.
So he thanked her quite warmly when she h
Getting Tedious"You boys enjoy yourself here." The older woman behind the counter says as John pays for his order of coffee. "We will. I mean we're not - We're just friends." John falters with his answer. "Oh. Of course." she responds with a coy smile that tells him she doesn't believe a word of his protest. Nobody ever does.
They're on a case for Mycroft in small town just outside of London; investigating attacks on government employees who vacation there. There have been four killings thus far. They're staying at an inn up the road from the cafe where the employees and their families usually stay. Apparently the inn is linked to the attacks; according to Sherlock anyway. Something about fibers from a maid's uniform.
Her husband, a short balding man, who is working the other end of the counter pipe in
"You should stop by Lana's for dinner. Its a diner just up the road. Elegant little place; great for some quiet time together."
John's mouth twitches in irritation as he says "Thanks. But really we're
Deductions of AffectionsWhen John opens the door to his flat, he isn't sure what to expect. Living with Sherlock Holmes has taught the ex-soldier to always be on his toes.
So when he opens the door, bags of groceries in each arm, he checks to see if any new bullet wounds have been inflicted on the wall, or if any new experiments are being brewed in the kitchen. He sees no recently made holes and hears no noises coming from the direction of the kitchen. He raises a pale eyebrow in confusion and then his eyes fall on the consulting detective curled up on his side, his front facing the couch. He groans softly, knowing that the lanky male is going through one of his 'phases' again. "Sherlock I'm home," he says, trying to alert the other of his presence. His flatmate grunts softly in acknowledgement and continues to stare unblinking at the brown couch. He makes small patterns in the fabric with the nail of his index finger, a calculating look in his pale eyes. John wonders curiously if he's moved since he left. Th
Twisted Roles (JohnLock)John walked through the kitchen, yawning and ruffling his hair, to take a look in the fridge. He hesitated for a second and wondered what might expect him this time, prepared to look at tongues or toes and opened the fridge. It was not that worse at all, there was just a transparent box with dubious looking slices of meat inside and the label “DON’T EAT!” on the top. He grabbed a jar of his favourite jam and gave the door a slap with his elbow.
“Damn!” John hissed scary and dropped his jar, when Sherlock appeared behind the currently shut door just as if he had been materializing from nothing. Skilled Sherlock’s subtle fingers caught the falling jar without a noise before it had any chance to fall to ground.
“You should look out better, otherwise you might have to eat dry toast one day”, Sherlock taught John and handed him back his jam.
A sigh escaped John’s lips and he went on.
“Let me guess”, he said, after he had plac
A Rather Sick Detective. John noticed it right away. He spent countless hours with the world's only consulting detective. So even the littlest difference in Sherlock's behavior was noticed. Sherlock's nose normally a lovely shade of creamy white was tinged pink. And he was wheezing a bit. John came up with his own deduction that Sherlock must have caught a cold. Being out in this rainy London weather he's surprised he hadn't caught one himself.
"Sherlock? Are you feeling alright?" John asked. True concern in the tone of his voice.
"Busy, John." He replied as they walked back over to the area where the murder they were currently investigating happened to have taken place.
It didn't take Sherlock much longer to call in and report the woman's to Lestrade. It was the man who ran the barber shop over on Woodland. Bit unnerving really for John. That's where he always got his hair trimmed. But nevertheless, soon Sherlock and
Johnlock: It's Ok To Make A Mistake
His face was drawn, eyes almost distant as he resisted a pout, not gazing at John while resting his head upon his fist, embarrassment still engulfing him at his stupid mistake. Of course it was the gas leaked in the area of those woods that had caused the hallucinations, not the blasted sugar in John's tea.
He wondered how he had even come to such a ridiculous conclusion as his brow furrowed, eyes narrowing to glare at the smiling couple pushing their child down the road in a buggy, the sun glinting from the surroundings of the fresh outdoors and leaving the interior of the pub still in musky darkness.
Looking up, John watched Sherlock for a moment before taking a sip of his pint, sighing as he placed it down upon the worn wood of the bench they sat at, a little further away than the rest of the tables as the sun beamed down upon them, trying to penetrate the large umbrella that hung over them.
"What's the matter Sherlock?" he asked, training his gaze to the pale man before him, only r