Cauldron-Born [SHERLOCK FANFIC]

Opening

The strains of two male voices reverberated from behind a closed door. A thud and then a clap echoed, followed shortly by rapid breathing.

“Come on, John, one more time,” came the deep, smooth voice of Sherlock Holmes. “You know you like it.”

A lighter, but more authoritative voice, retorted with a sharp, “No. We’ve done enough of this. How did from watching tellie end up to this?”

Sherlock let out a long sigh and then chirped, “Boredom.”

The door to the room opened and Alana, John’s wife, danced in with a sack of groceries in her arms. Placing them on the counter and kicking the door shut with her heel, she sang, “Beating John in arm-wresting again, aren’t we, Sherlock?”

“Yes! And he won’t have another round because ‘his arm’s too tired.’” Sherlock barked like a disappointed child. “You’d think that a man in the army could play thirty arm-wrestling matches in a row without getting tired. I know I’m not!”

Rolling his eyes, John pushed himself from the sofa and cuddled behind his wife. “That’s only because you drank three cans of that carbonated coffee. I knew I shouldn’t’ have introduced him to it. He’s off his box.” The two Watsons turned to Sherlock, who had turned himself upside down in his chair and attempted to play his violin that way.

Smacking his bow to the ground, much to cringing of his friends, Sherlock announced loudly, “I feel like running around the block several times, but all I really like doing is watching you two talk with your faces upside down. Good Lord, Alana, did you really step in three inches of mud while avoiding that mini-cooper while trying to avoid hitting that lamppost to your right, and, aww, shortly after I see a little fluffy terrier ripped a hole in your stockings. That’s all right, never liked that colour on you anyway. And where’s the scarf John gave to you? Never mind, you took it to the cleaner’s, the receipt is hanging out of your pocket—,” curling himself into the sitting position, he looked out the window and remarked—

“Is it really raining outside? Never mind, you just passed by a sprinkler—probably Mrs. Faulkner, she doesn’t know how to set the timer on those things. New lipstick, I see. And John’s favourite colour—I’m guessing he’s going to be a lucky man tonight. He’s favourite wine is behind the vegetables, and it must be quite a special night because that’s an expensive brand. Don’t show John, he may cancel the whole thing. It’s your anniversary, right? First year?”

Blinking, John said simply, “Will you ever shut up?”

Flopping back to his nocturnal position, Sherlock kicked his feet over his head and rolled softly to the standing position. Ruffling his curls, he narrowed his eyes at John and growled, “No.” He then sulked to his room and slammed the door behind him.

John shook his head and rubbed his forehead. “Sugar low now.” Turning to Alana, he let a smile slip onto his face and he placed his hands on her hips. Swaying back and forth, he asked in a playful voice. “Wine. Lipstick. Anniversary. This all sounds really good.” The two crinkled their noses and mashed them against each other before rushing in for a kiss.

Before the two had two minutes together, Sherlock flew open his door and came stomping out. He saddled up beside them and searched the cupboards for something to munch on.

“Do you need something?” John asked, blinking in annoyance. “Sherlock?”

“No, I don’t need anything, John. Where are the bloody crisps?”

With one jerky movement, John reached underneath the cupboards and snatched a bag. He threw it into Sherlock’s arms and motioned him with a throw a thumb to leave.

Looking into the bag, Sherlock commented, “Don’t be touchy. Oh, God, there’s nothing!”

“I know. But you’ve got your crisps, now please, leave!”    

Sherlock made to return to is room before his phone and John’s rang. Looking at each other, and at the same time, they pulled their phones out and opened their messages.

“Good God, Jesus!” John gasped, stumbling into the counter.

In a calm and strong voice, Sherlock advised as he responded to the message, “Wouldn’t really show that to Alana. It’s not too pretty. Lestrade must’ve lost description for it.”

Clutching his chest and clicking his phone off, John stared at Sherlock. “What are you saying?”

“Well, seeing that the photo is that a woman with her face eaten from the inside out, I say that we shall go and investigate!” Sherlock hit the ‘send’ button and flipped his phone in the air. “Let me get my coat and scarf and we’ll be off.”

“As long as you come back from dinner,” Alana pleaded, gripping John by the shirt collar. She gave him pleading eyes, ones that he couldn’t ignore.

Breaking into a shy grin, John replied softly, “Of course, I won’t. If Sherlock pulls me into even a minute more, I’ll drop him completely and come here in plenty of time. I promise!”

“Good, I had some other news for you, but I want to keep it as a surprise!”

“Come along, John! Don’t forget to bring your laptop, I’ll need it.”