Cauldron-Born [SHERLOCK FANFIC]

The Inside-Out Face

Sherlock and John jumped into the black cab and headed towards the crime scene. Sherlock sat in his seat, wriggling like an excited child. His cheeks were crinkled in a smirk and his hands were busily wrapping his scarf around his hands. His curls bounced up and down every time the car hit a bump. Even though he was more than his mid-twenties, the detective somehow managed to look a little boy.

Smiling to himself, John shook his head at his friend. “Sherlock, remember that you’re going to be at a crime scene and people will be sad. I don’t need you on your sugar-high being a complete arse.”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed. “Aren’t I normally like that?”

“I’m meaning, don’t be more than usual. I’m just kicking myself for every introducing you to that beverage. What was I thinking?”

“Perhaps you thought it would be a nice gesture since I was complaining about not having a case. And though the drink itself tasted like water with five drops of chocolate syrup, the sugar acted like a comforting factor in my rotten mood, therefore, I drank it. And then, being too lazy to get up for another glass of water, I begged you for another, which you willingly gave me since it seemed that it was keeping me quiet. However, what you should have remembered, and what everyone does, more sugar only wants more sugar.”

Balling up his fists, John turned sideways in his seat. He pointed a finger at Sherlock. “Don’t blame me because you asked and accepted.”

“Bah! Whatever.” Sherlock crossed his arms and stuck his bottom lip out. He slumped further in his seat and pouted. It wasn’t more than two seconds before he started talking again, “Why did you go to Barlett’s last night? It’s a lousy pub and no one offers good services. I suppose you were catching up with one of your war buddies, perhaps a very close comrade that had seen you through some thick and thin. But, John Watson doesn’t have lots of friends, only close ones. Therefore, this pal of yours was also a medic, who else would you work hip to hip with. Probably an older gentleman that you looked up to as a mentor, telling by the tie scrub marks about your neck – you do that when you’re nervous or meeting someone new.

“And I also saw your shoes out to shine, probably went dancing in them after having several drinks. Well, maybe seven drinks. You know how I don’t care for you to hang around people who drink a lot, John, they’re a bad influence.”

Fidgeting in his chair, John shifted his mouth to one side. “Can we not talk about it? I know I drank too much, all right, I need to let me hair down once in awhile.”

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock replied with a snarky comment, “What’s left of it. Anyway—don’t get all sour, John, I’m almost done! Anyway, you went out to drink and dance and hang out with this friend of yours because you can’t handle the news.”

“What news?” John asked, actually quite interested.

Throwing his head into a hand, Sherlock moaned so loudly even the driver looked back in wonderment. “Must you be so dense, John? Didn’t you see what was in her handbag last night?”

“Well, how could I? I’m dense, according to you,” John growled, turning his gaze to the window.

“Obviously she came in tip-toeing, her hands clutched to one another, her back stiff, her cheeks flushed; and you could see the hairline damp from sweat. And, ugh, if you didn’t catch this then I don’t know where you were! But she kept looking at you and smiling with this very fond expression.”

Studying his friend, John said brusquely, “Are you saying Alana’s pregnant?”

Spreading his fingers to make jazz hands, Sherlock said sarcastically, “Ta da! Of course, she is.” His last words were flat and annoyed.