Summary: 221B Baker Street was always filled with noises and it drove John up the wall.
Word Count: 592
Author's Note: Written for the "Comfortable Silence" square of my Cotton Candy Bingo card.
A Lack of Silence
221B Baker Street was always filled with noises and it drove John up the wall.
BANG! One of Sherlock’s experiments blew up in his face. He rushed into the living room, blue covering the top half of his body. “It wasn’t the mother-in-law!” he shouted in triumph. “I told Lestrade it wasn’t, but of course the idiot didn’t listen. It was the sister!” He rushed back out of the room, leaving John to roll his eyes at his back.
SCREECH! “No, no, no!” Sherlock shouted as he drew his bow haphazardly against the strings of his violin. “I haven’t had a case in ages, John!” He collapsed onto the couch with a flourish. “I can’t concentrate. I need a distraction.”
John just sipped his tea.
“How can you be so calm? This is torturous!”
John “hmm’d” quietly and settled back against the couch cushions.
SLAM! The door to John’s room burst open, admitting a frazzled Sherlock. “Lestrade’s just phoned. We have a case.”
John groaned and pulled his blankets over his head. It was barely 5 in the morning. Much too early to be running around after Sherlock and Scotland Yard.
“John!” Sherlock huffed in annoyance. He pulled the covers out of John’s grip. “Now is not the time for sleeping. A woman has just been murdered!”
John gave up all hope that he would be able to have a lie-in once in his life. “Alright, I’m up,” he mumbled as he pulled his clothes on over the pants he had been sleeping in.
WOOOH! The sirens outside blared the Yard’s impatience. “Come on, Sherlock,” Lestrade begged. “Just come down to the station with us. You’ll be in and out, I promise. I know you didn’t do it.”
“As soon as I walk in there, it’ll be four years ago all over again,” Sherlock explained. “The minute the press hears that the fraudulent detective has been taken in for questioning, they’ll be back to accusing me of every murder I’ve ever solved. I don’t care about my public image, but John cares a great deal. I won’t put him through that again.” Sherlock’s gaze shifted to John, who looked like he was on the brink of a panic attack. “I made a promise to never leave again.
ACHOO! Sherlock’s sneeze rattled throughout John’s muddled brain. They had both managed to catch a client’s cold. Sherlock was currently curled up on the couch hugging his thin blue dressing robe closed against his freezing body. John wasn’t faring much better. He was slumped in his armchair, sipping warm tea, and wrapped up snugly in Sherlock’s favorite blanket. When Sherlock had slipped it over him, John had protested. “You’re sick too. You should keep it.”
“Nonsense John,” Sherlock scoffed. “You look more miserable than I do. Just take it.” He covered John up, tucked him into the chair, and retreated to the couch.
John smiled warmly at him in thanks, which Sherlock returned brightly.
SMACK! Sherlock landed a glancing kiss on John’s forehead as he passed in the morning. He maneuvered around the kitchen table to pick up the mug of coffee John had set out for him on the counter. “Morning,” he said in a bored drawl.
“Good morning,” John replied before going back to reading the newspaper. Ever since they had pretended to be lovers for a case, and found out things were less pretend then they thought, there were a lot more quiet moments between the two of them.
Sometimes, 221B Baker Street was devoid of noises and John was never bored.