fighting_northumerland

"What?" Sherlock stopped midway through unwrapping his present, eyes slightly narrowed in confusion. "Something wrong?"

John's father gave him a very sympathetic look, one that clearly said I am proud of you and whatever autistic boyfriend you choose to bring home, before reaching over and patting Sherlock on the hand.

"Erm, he just means," John cut in, quickly, "you seem to know everything, so we shouldn't be surprised at this point. Open your present, Susan might burst."

"Oh. Well--no, like I said, it's really just a matter of training yourself to look at things. And in any case--"

He'd finally managed to get the package open, and when he realized just what the sleek headphones inside were for, his face softened with a genuine smile.

"Now that," he said, "is brilliant."

Susan wriggled gleefully, only releasing Sherlock's leg to clap her hands. Finally, the her uncle's strange boyfriend had smiled!

John flushed pink. "I just thought, you know, when you're trying to work a case and Anderson won't shut up," he said, breathlessly. "Be best to just tune him out."

"That's fantastic. Exactly what I need--this'll be a huge help."

Without really thinking about it, he moved back to John and hugged him, right there in front of his family, God, and everyone.

Apparently the way to Sherlock's heart was through his disdain for other human beings.

"I'm gl--- oooohff," John groaned, taken by surprise. He happily wrapped his arms around Sherlock in return, making a rude gesture at Harry, who was sniggering. "John!" his mother admonished, and Susan shrieked with glee.

"See, not all bad," John whispered.

"Oh, shut up," Sherlock replied at the same volume, but the tension was more or less gone from his thin shoulders and his voice. The smile hadn't faded when he pulled back. "This, really--we work with this complete idiot sometimes, one of those people you just want to give a good hard smack whenever he starts talking. I think John's just solved that problem."

Harry made kissing noises, while Susan covered her face (either in disgust or excitement, it was difficult to tell).

"Well, you can use it to ignore Anderson all you like, but if you don't hear me call for breakfast I'll come find you and drag you down by the ear," John murmured.

"Well, hang on, let's give it a try--"

He slipped the headphones on, and almost immediately his face relaxed into an expression of pure bliss. With one source of outside stimuli muffled, his mind had far less clutter to sort through.

"Should we try calling him for breakfast, dear?" Mrs Watson asked, a touch impishly.

"There's no point, he's lost to us," John sighed. He would normally be put off by the trouble Sherlock's new toy was bound to cause, but not...when he looks so happy.

"Only one way to be sure, though," he leaned in close and shouted "Sherlock! PANCAKES!"

Sherlock, whose eyes had drifted shut in a moment of sheer self-indulgence--oh, it was truly glorious to have so much of the noise and light and information dampened so he could simply process--jumped.

"All right, all right!" he nearly shouted back, taking the headphones off again. "You've made your point."

Quite a few of the other Watsons were laughing and applauding. "Don't worry, dear, my Tom's the same way," one of the women put in, which touched off quite a few affectionate arguments among the married couples.

John smirked. It was good to know that he still had some leverage.

"You'll have your pancakes yet," John promised, ignoring the watchful eyes of the Watsons.

Susan tugged at his jumper, clearly at the end of her patience. "Uncle John, the gifts are open. Stories?"

"Oh yes, please do give us a story." His dry, sharp humor was back now in full force. "A nice fairy tale for the children, with lots of running about in it. You're good at describing the running about."

"There wouldn't be so much running around if you didn't grab my hand and drag me all over London," John said, fondly. His father quirked an eyebrow at this reference to blatant, midday hand holding, but he said nothing. John seemed happy.

"Well," John said slowly, leaning back against the couch. "Just how much have you heard about the Study in Pink?"

"A Study in--John, that one's old," Sherlock protested. Susan, however, seemed to be mulling over her options.

"Are there a prince and princess in it?" she asked.

John realizes he's walked directly into this one. Harry, unable to contain herself, nearly cries laughing behind her hand.

"Not quite. There's a mysterious string of deaths and a brilliant madman, though."

"Really John, murders? Isn't she a bit--"

"Oh, its just the same as what she sees on the telly."

"Does it start with 'once upon a time'?" Susan asked, a little dubiously.

And, much to everyone's astonishment, Sherlock decided to respond to that.

"Once upon a time there was an army doctor who needed a flatmate." He gave John an even look, as if to say, You can take it from here.

John rolled his eyes. "You're an awful storyteller, you know that? Clinical." He turned to Susan.

"Once there was an army doctor in need of a flatmate. I'd been away from London too long, and it seemed like everyone else had their affairs all squared away. Then, when I'd run out of money and things were looking grim, I met up with Mike Stamford, who brought me to meet a total stranger. Do you know what he asked me?" He turned, expectantly

Sherlock's smile was slow and understanding, one of those little my assistant is better than a dozen of your people put together smirks he usually only aimed at Lestrade over John's head.

Susan, meanwhile, shook her head, already wide-eyed with wonder. "What did he ask you?"

"'Afghanistan or Iraq?'" John quoted, the memory still fresh. "Not so much as a 'hello'. Total stranger knew where I'd been, then asked me how I felt about the violin- it was important, he said, that two flatmates know the worst about each other up front. Mike hadn't said a word about me."

"Then how did he know? Was he magic?"

Sherlock snorted quietly. Harry looked very much as if she wanted to make some sort of fairy-related comment, but a warning glance from their parents ensured she kept listening rather than interrupting.

"In a manner of speaking," John said, cryptically. "It certainly seemed like magic. I said 'Hold on here, I haven't said a thing about flatmates, we don't know the first thing about one another!' and as it turns out, I was wrong. The man knew everything about my military career, my current situation, even my family. All I knew in return was that I was to meet one Sherlock Holmes at 221B Baker Street. I had no idea that shortly after that we'd be off investigating a string of murders."

"Sherlock--" Susan's eyes were approaching saucer-like size as she turned her attention to her uncle's weird boyfriend. "You mean he's the magic stranger?"

Although he didn't look at her, Sherlock calmly took off his watch, set it in the palm of one hand, covered it with his other palm--and then pulled his hands apart to reveal that both were empty. Which drew appreciative laughter from the adult members of John's audience and gasps from the children.

Even John laughed at that. "Clearly," he chuckled, "now, when I arrived at Baker Street, and found it a total unlivable mess-" he gave Sherlock a pointed look before going on, "I settled in for what I thought was quiet evening. As it turns out, there was a man at the door for Sherlock- the Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard, asking for Sherlock's help on a bizarre case of serial suicides. Turns out that the forensics expert on the scene was one Sherlock had-- ah-- strained relations with, so my quiet night in turned into a jaunt to a crime scene on the other side of London."

"You loved it," Sherlock muttered. It didn't manage to escape Harry's notice, and she grinned hugely at John. Clearly she had begun to make deductions of her own about the nature of this relationship.

"Was there blood everywhere?" one of the little boys asked excitedly. His mother promptly scolded him for it.

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