The Gingerbread Series - Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

#2 "You might have to be my penguin."

As with the last one, part of a series of Benedict Cumberbatch/reader fics, based on random prompts, purely for fun and almost guaranteed to be unbeta’d, grammatically dubious, clichéd fluff.

Prompts -

Objects: An old photograph, a pair of socks, a brass door-handle.
An important event: Finding an expert.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I'm leaving these authors notes in, but this section is now complete. ;)

A/N #2: I passed my exams, yay! So now I have time to continue writing. I've updated this section, and plan to finish it tonight. If anyone has any ideas, prompts or feedback please please leave a comment! I'd love to know what people think :)

A/N #1: MORE TO COME OF THIS PART! Sorry to stop it so abruptly, I know I should wait until it's finished to publish it but I'm enjoying this WAY too much. Exams are next week and I have so much work to do for them. Getting carried away writing fluffy!batch will get me kicked out of med school. Oops.

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Oh, darling! I’m happy for you! It’s times like these that you ought to throw caution to the wind and just follow your heart.”

Your reply is to chuckle fondly.

“What? You think your old grandma doesn’t know what she’s on about?” the older woman’s voice is indignant but playful.

“Of course not, grandma! But it’s very early days yet, like I said, we’ve only been out twice. I just wanted to let you know because… well, it’s still just about the most exciting thing to happen since we last spoke… but I don’t want to get carried away!”

“Darling, that’s exactly what love is about, getting carried away.”

You sigh ruefully into the phone. You never stood a chance; you come from a family of such bloody old romantics… it's in your genes.

“Oh! Huff at me all you like, but I know the signs. You wouldn’t have called me to tell me about him if you didn’t like him.”

“I'm not denying I like him, and I didn’t call just for that…” you object sulkily.

You glance down at the faded and dog-eared photo in your hand. It depicts a weary looking soldier in very dated moss green army livery. “I was going to ask about granddad actually. It was going to be a surprise, but I’m basing a couple of characters on you two.”

There’s a brief pause and you panic, wondering if you’ve upset your grandmother. But you needn’t worry:

“Sweetheart!” she gushes, “That’s just wonderful. Oh, your grandfather would be so pleased. What is it that you want to know?”

You sketch out your characters, asking questions to fill in details of your grandparents’ earlier lives as they lived through the Second World War. Your grandmother is a gifted storyteller herself, peppering the history with anecdotes and fond memories. Though you’ve heard some of these tales before, you never miss an opportunity to hear them again. Your grandmother tells of the reluctant yet courageous soldier she fell in love with, and their years spent separated by war, relying on letters and fleeting visits to keep their love alive. She speaks tenderly of the man who eventually returned to her, scarred both physically and mentally by the atrocities of war, and the solace he found in raising their family in years of peace.

 Another hour passes with the pair of you engrossed in family history. The late afternoon light filtering through the bay window is growing weaker by the minute and you can barely see the scrawled a page of notes you’ve been jotting down.