Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from this series. Because honestly, if I did, hot damn c;
Pairing: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes
Word Count: 762 Rating: M to be safe. Warnings for language and adult themes.
Synopsis: Apart and aside from the infamous blog of Dr. John H. Watson, there is a separate version of their stories that John keeps close to his heart. Located in a journal tucked deep within the depths of 221B, lies the cases and accounts of their adventures that he would rather not share. The private tales of a consulting detective and his blogger.
Author's Notes: hey guys! Okay, so I've been wanting to write a BBC Sherlock fic for ages, and I had so many different ideas on what to write, that I simply couldn't settle for just one. Recently, I discovered a fic called, That One Night (go check it out, it's simply brilliant) where the author basically takes prompts and goes with it. That gave me the idea to just write mini ficlets based on you, the readers, prompts and ideas. And I mean, with these two and their never ending shenanigans, the possibilities are endless! Just assume everything here is post-reichenbach and current, okay? So, in the words of Mario, Here We Go!
070913
When Sherlock Mildly Resembled a Flamingo
"Sherlock? Sherlock dear?" Ms. Hudson shouted from the kitchen.
"Oh Sherlock, what have you done to your kitchen table!" she continued, staring sadly at the now ruined table in question.
"Can't explain now Ms. Hudson, for the game is on!" was all the explanation Ms. Hudson got out of Sherlock before he grabbed his coat and scarf and raced out the door.
"John dear, really?" she continued.
John looked at the broken table, then back to Ms. Hudson and began to blush.
"Long story Ms. Hudson," was all he muttered before exiting the flat, running after Sherlock.
Upon arriving at the scene of the crime, Sherlock popped his collar and walked over to Lestrade.
John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's never ending attempt to look mysterious before realizing how awkwardly Sherlock was walking.
He was limping.
"What do we know?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, fishing in his coat pockets for his magnifying glass.
"Hello to you to Sherlock," Lestrade griped, noting the funny way Sherlock was walking. He dismissed the thought, however, as John walked up to the pair.
"Afternoon Lestrade," he greeted.
"You too, Dr. Watson."
"Uggh," Sherlock groaned, "You lot really are useless, exchanging pleasantries when there is a case to be solved!"
With that Sherlock turned on his heels and awkwardly limped away, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape.
John noticed Lestrade staring questioningly at Sherlock, and knew he had to interrupt before Lestrade said anything.
"Ahem," John muttered.
"Ah, yes, um a man was murdered here around midnight last night," Lestrade began, "35 years old, 6'2, goes by the name Michael Taytum."
Lestrade continued to describe the case, but John had already tuned out, releasing an internal sigh of relief. Relieved that Lestrade hadn't pushed the state of Sherlock's saunter any further.
Once Lestrade believed he brought John up to date, the two ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, and walked over to what was quite the spectacle.
They walked over to the scene to find all of the Yarders standing around in a semicircle, failing to fully stifle their giggles.
At first, John was slightly annoyed because, damn it people, you can't giggle at a crime scene. That was when he realized what exactly they were giggling at.
Regretfully, his eyes cast downward to find Sherlock examining every inch of the corpse with his magnifying glass. Only, he couldn't quite assume the crouching position needed, but instead stooped down on his right leg, and kept his left extended and elevated in the air, not wanting to bear weight on it.
Thinking back on it, he somewhat resembled a crippled flamingo.
Sherlock scurried left and right around the body examining, then flamingo limping, examining, then limping.
It really was a sad sight.
John just shut his eyes very tight, and hoped no one would notice his partners' odd behavior.
Just then, John heard a clearing of a throat and winced.
"Ahem," Anderson chuckled.
"Of course it would be you" John seethed under his breath.
"Hey freak, are you alright?" he questioned.
Not looking up from his magnifying glass, Sherlock casually replied, "John broke the kitchen table while fucking me on it, and I sustained an injury to my leg."
A beat passed.
Every person at the scene slowly turned to look at John, mouths agape and faces in shock.
Johns face flushed crimson and he began to resemble that of a flustered tomato.
"Ah, um, excuse me" John managed to mumble, before spinning on his heel and almost running away from the scene.
A beat passed.
Every person at the scene now turned back slowly in Sherlock's direction to find him now standing up, dusting off his clothing.
"You're looking for a private caterer, mid-forties," Sherlock announced, tucking his magnifying glass deep into his coat pocket. "Now, if you'll excuse me, John and I need to take a trip to Ikea."
With that, Sherlock popped his collar, tightened his scarf, and limped back under the yellow crime scene tape and out of sight.
"Freak," Sally finally broke the silence among the Yarders.
"Disgusting," added Anderson
"But I-"began the new member of the squad, "I didn't even know they were a-an item" his voice cracking mid-sentence.
Lestrade let out a sigh, and wrapped a reassuring arm around the new guys' shoulders.
"I was going t-to ask him ou-"he fumbled over his words before Lestrade interrupted him.
"Jake, was it?" Lestrade asked.
"Mhm," he croaked, looking up to meet Lestrade's gaze.
"You didn't stand a chance"
Lestrade patted Jake on the back, and set off to start the paperwork.