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Title: Sherlock Holmes' Diary - March

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC), Bridget Jones' Diary

Pairing: Unrequited Sherlock/John

Rating: PG - Language or whatever I suppose.

Word Count: 10,000. Ish.

Summary: Sherlock Holmes keeps a diary. No one is supposed to know about it. He's pretty sure Mycroft does though, the fat nosy git.

Notes/Warnings: This is a fusion for Sherlock and Bridget Jones' Diary so there will be similarities. Many thanks to [livejournal.com profile] oxfordtweed for the hand-holding and going through this inch by agonising inch and not killing me and things. But! This is it! Since I'm following canon, I'm going to hang fire on April until the next series. Once again, thanks so much for the everything, I really appreciate it.

ETA Sorry for spamming/messing up flists. D=


January

February


March 1st. Nicotine patches 5 Cigarettes 7 (not so good, I suppose) Annoying brothers 1 (but beating all the others in terms of being a git)

1020 In Mycroft’s car.

1022 “Stop sulking. Honestly, did you actually bother to grow up after the age of thirteen?” What’s got his knickers in a twist?
“It’s Mummy’s birthday this month.” Oh. Of course.
“I don’t know what you’re so grumpy about. The Family love you.”
“Mummy wants to know if you’re bringing the good doctor.” Oh god.
“I can’t possibly bring John to a Family dinner. He’ll run a mile.”
“Mummy was quite adamant.”
“No.”
“Don’t make me order you.”
“Don’t you dare.” I bet the child-locks are on. Tubbs is such an old woman. Completely convinced that I’ll throw myself out rather than talk to him. Ridiculous idea.

1024 Anyway, last time I almost got hit by a bus and sprained my shoulder.

1025 At the the morgue. He just won’t quit. “So, are you going to bring Doctor Watson?”
“What? No!”
“Why not? Mummy’s aching to meet him, there hasn’t been anyone since-”
“He’s not coming.”
“Has he told you this?”
“No.”
“Well then, you should ask him.”
“No.”
“Sherlock...”
“It’s not happening, Mycroft!” I snapped. And why shouldn’t I? Really, he can be so... Mycroft.

1027 Didn’t feel like going to the morgue after Tubbs. He always manages to spoil my day.

1140 “John, do you want to go to my Mother’s birthday dinner?” Oh god, Fatty was right. How is he going to understand ‘dywagomuhmuthesbirthdydinnr?’
“What? Why?” Oh. Apparently John is fluent in thirteen-year-old boy.
“Oh, never mind. Just an idea. Don’t worry about it. Must dash. Got to go to the morgue.”
Oh god. What am I doing?

1215 Sitting under a tree in Regent’s Park. Surprisingly relaxing, actually. Grass is a bit wet though.

1216 Look, I don’t want to think about it.

1217 Fatty’s texting me. Go away, Fatty.

1220 I said I’d have lunch with Mike. Damn.

1300 Late for lunch with Mike.
“Who spat in your cereal?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know, you could just talk to him. Watson’s pretty good like that.”
“Shut up.”

1430 Went to see Molly re: brother ruining life.
“He’s your brother, of course he wants to ruin your life.”
“Really?”
“No. Don’t be daft. He wants to help, which often looks like much the same thing.” Hmm.

1615 Molly can be so unreasonable. She just kicked me out of the lab for telling her that the man she was going to see was likely to be quite into Japanese porn (excessive use of Japanese-style emoticons and sentence structure). She threw a wireless mouse at me.

1710 “Causing mischief?”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’ve got that guilty-cat look about you. I’m amazed Molly puts up with you sometimes.” John grinned at me over his paper.
“I didn’t do anything. Molly threw a mouse at me though.”
“You shouldn’t leave them on the rug then.”
Huh.

1750 Still no mention of the Family Dinner. Maybe he’s decided not to go, but doesn’t know how to tell me. Or he thinks that inviting your flatmate to a family dinner is kind of mental, and is right now looking at the wanted ads for a new place, any new place.

1752 Stole the wanted ads from the local papers. No tell-tale biro rings or pencil markings. Maybe he’s using Craigslist. No wait, I saw him on eBay the other day, it was actually painful. I had to take it off him.

1800 Mmm. I think he’s making risotto for dinner. He makes excellent risotto.

1815 He was pouring red wine into the risotto and laughing.
“You really are like a cat. You always appear before mealtimes.”
“Am not.”
“Stop filching the peppers!”
“Am not!”
“Are you eating raw onion? That’s actually mad.”
“No it’s not. Try it.”
“No! That’s- No! Don’t follow me with it, you lunatic. Bugger off!”
Think I might be a bit hysterical.

1900 Risotto cunning ploy. Should have seen that coming.
“So, Mother’s birthday dinner.” John had been drinking the wine as well as cooking it. His cheeks were flushed. I wanted to pinch the- FOCUS.
“What about it?”
“Where is it? Who’s going?”
“It’s at the country pile, since Mummy refuses to live in the city any more, and the whole Family will be there. It’ll be ghastly.”
“The whole Family?”
“Yes. Cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews- not mine, obviously.” Couldn’t imagine Mycroft with children. They’d be emotionally stunted and have weird complexes about food.
“Hmm. Trapped in a room full of Holmeses for an evening. I don’t know. When is it?”
“Fourteenth of March.” He stared at his plate. I stared at John. The skull stared at the sofa. Why were we all staring? Well, perhaps not Mrs Hudson, unless she’s just taken one of her soothers. And the skull couldn’t help it. What was so interesting about the plate, anyway? Maybe there was a pattern. Or a hidden picture?
“Sherlock, what are you doing?”
“Trying to see what’s on your plate.”
And he just looked at me.
“Sherlock. Why are you asking me to this?”
“Um.” Because you’re the only person to have lived with me for a month and not call me weird once. Because sometimes I do say mad things and you just look at me, but not like other people. Because I think-
“Sherlock?”
“Because it’ll be completely ghastly, and I don’t see why I should suffer alone.”
“Ah.” He looked down at his plate again. “Oh wait, the fourteenth? I’ll just be travelling back from Scotland all day, and in no condition to deal with someone else’s irrationally mad family.”
“Oh?”
“Harry’s birthday.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Huh.


March 2nd. Nicotine patches 6 Cigarettes 6 Cases 1

1340 Told Molly about bizarre Family Dinner conversation.
“You have a family? I thought you were just grown. Like a lanky mushroom or something.” Molly gave me a custard cream. “So you’re giving up smoking for Mummy then?” She looked at me. I hid my cigarette behind my back.
“Yes. How do you know that?”
“Because only a mother could put the fear of god in your eyes like that.”
Huh.

1500 A case!


March 5th. Nicotine patches 7 Cigarettes 4 Tadpoles 10

1430 Mike called.
“Look mate, there’s been a complete cock-up with the day-care and the missus’s shifts and I’ve got a lab to oversee the young and the hopeless and we really need someone to go and pick Simon up and take care of him till I get out at six?”

1500 At park with Simon. Under strictest instructions not to get too muddy from Mike. Eating ice-cream with gloves on and watching people whilst Simon tells me about his day. Who calls a child MacKenzie? Especially a girl.

1520 Apparently putting a small child on your shoulders to go to the playground (he has very short legs) is a good way to get melted ice-lolly down your neck.

1537 A lady with a pram offered to help me clean the sticky stuff off the back of my neck. The wet wipes were useful, although I don’t know why she offered to wipe it off for me. She kept giggling too, and her friend was yelling “I’ll tell your Charlie!” Most surreal.

1540 Found tadpoles in the duck-pond. Emergency run to house to find what Simon appears to think are ‘wellygogs’ and jars.

1550 Mike has much bigger feet than I thought he would.

1600 NB: Pockets take three jam-jars admirably, although does break the line of the coat.

1605 Hmm. Think I’ll leave my coat on a bench. God knows what’s in that pond, and dry-cleaning is such a bore.

1608 And we’ll leave Simon’s coat there too. Mrs Mike’s voice is very shrill over the phone.

1609 “What are you writing?” Simon’s dragging the jam-jars out of my coat.
“Notes.”
“About the tadpoles?”
“Yes.”
“Can I keep notes about the tadpoles?”
“Yes, we can make it into an experiment.”

1613 Decided that the easiest thing to do would be to lie down and trail the jam-jars through the water.

1625 I swear this child attracts mess. He has apparently spent the last ten or so minutes lying in duck-mess.

1635 What kind of house doesn’t have spare notebooks? Good thing I went to WHSmith’s today.

1650 Frogs are much less interesting after they’ve grown. Simon agrees.

1820 Mike was very impressed with the tadpole box in the garden, and all the things that Simon had looked up and written (Well, drawn. He is only four) in his new journal about how to take care of them. Once they’re grown he’ll take them back to the pond. Mike made me clean up the muddy footprints though. I still think cream is a terrible colour for a carpet. He also told me he’d stick Simon’s shirt in the wash without telling Mrs Mike. He’s a good man.

1900 “Sherlock, what is the fish-bowl of tadpoles for?”
“Simon and I will exchange notes on their development.”
“Simon Stamford? Mike’s kid?” John tapped on the side of the bowl gently.
“Yes.”
“Huh.” Why was he grinning like that? “I suppose I should just be glad they won’t show up suspended in jelly or something.”
“Don’t tempt me.”

1902 I wonder if tadpoles could swim in jelly though? It’s basically thick water. You could get the green kind, so they’d think it was a strange sort of pond-weed. Then they’d never need feeding, they could just chew their way through more jelly.

1904 And of course, would be spill-proof, which would be very useful.

1905 “Sherlock, you’re not to try and encase the tadpoles in jelly.” John’s making pasta in the other room. Smells pretty good actually.
“I’m not.”
“You are. You couldn’t do it, you’d boil them alive.”
“Oh. True. What if I put them in after?”
“They’d suffocate before you got them into the jelly proper.”
“Oh.”
“Would you stop picking at the carrots!”


March 6th. Nicotine patches 7 Cigarettes 4 (I have never wanted a cigarette more in my life) Tadpoles 10 (still black wriggly things)

1340 John’s got his Hoovering face on again. Going to the morgue.

1345 Correction, taking out bins and then going to the morgue.

1355 Correction, taking out bins, putting them back where I found them, cleaning up what I put in the sink the other day (it boiled over) and then going to the morgue.

1415 Finally escaped. John gets irrationally grumpy when he cleans, last time I just left him to it he threw out several experiments, claiming he thought they were rubbish.

1417 I don’t see how one could mistake a tray of plaster with boot-prints in it as rubbish.

1417 Especially since the boot was still attached.


March 7th. Nicotine patches 6 Cigarettes 4 Tadpoles 10 (still black wriggly things) Cases 0 0 0 0 0 0

1039 Bored.

1042 Made tadpoles a whirlpool with the aid of a swizzle stick.
“Stop tormenting the poor creatures, you’ll kill them.”
“I won’t. It must be very dull being a tadpole.”
“They like dull. They were born in a duck-pond for goodness’ sake.” John picked the tadpoles up and put them on the dining-room table. Would go after him to prove him wrong but dying of boredom.

1045 Think I’ll play some violin.

1100 “Sherlock, either play in tune or stop.”
“I told you I played the violin.”
“What you are doing could not be classified as playing. At all. And stop waving that bow around, you’ll knock something over.” He put a cup of tea beside me. “Maybe you could do your paperwork from the last few cases? Get your expenses back?” Oh lord, I cannot imagine anything less interesting.

1103 John took my bow away.

1130 Have made a paper hat for the skull out of an invoice. I think it suits him. I wonder if he ever gets a cold head. Or if he gets bored. I mean, it’s not as though he can get about like he used to. And I have been neglecting him recently. He’s got a bit dusty. I hope he hasn’t got a spider in his skull again. The last one laid eggs. Most disturbing to see them escape through his eye-sockets. And he’s stuck in the sun for the most of the day, just sort of cooking. Poor thing, I have neglected him. Do skulls feel neglected? I mean, they’re laid pretty bare. Can’t even hide behind their eyes like most people do. Wonder if I should polish him up. Maybe get him a friend. A woman’s skull. But what if he’s gay? They can just be friends. Custard creams and so on. Would be better if he was gay, I’m not prepared for the responsibility of the rattle of tiny skulls.

1145 Do skulls start out as skulls? Or do they start out as wristbones and ankle bones and toe bones and things. And then sort of build themselves up. Could ask John. He would know. Probably even know whether ankle bones turn into femurs and arm bones into humeruses. Which would mean once my skull was a neckbone. Or a backbone. In theory.

1150Found the Pledge. And the dust-cloth. Soon get the old chap spruced up. He’s a fine figure of a skull, really.

1155 I wonder if they go to a special bone school where they learn to become skulls and things, and then when they graduate they find out if they will get to be a skull or are going to be stuck being a backbone or a toe.

1200 “Sherlock, why is the skull wearing sun-glasses and a paper hat?”
“So we can’t see into his head.”
“And he’s on the window-sill because?”
“I thought he might be bored. And I don’t want to take care of a lot of neck bones.”
He looked at the skull, and looked at me.
“Have you been into Mrs Hudson’s soothers?” He leaned forward and sniffed around my neckline. Mmm... “Are you high?”
“Maybe.” How did he smell it? I went up to the roof! He’s like some sort of bloodhound. Could put a leash on him and oh dear. He looks annoyed.

1215 John’s in his room. He was so cross. I don’t understand what his problem was. It’s not particularly illegal. He said a lot of things about recovering addicts. Obviously mostly because of sister, presumably soaking or drying out, possibly both. Like a crusty beach towel- I need to get out.

2013 Took John ages to come down. Finally knocked and tell him had made him a cup of tea.
“What’s this?”
“My Emergency Box.” I pushed it towards him. “Usually I keep it under my bed. It’s for you know, emergencies.”
He opened it, and he didn’t say anything for ages. Just touched the velvet once.
“What’s the date on- on the...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“That’s when I sealed the bag.”
“Oh.” And he went quiet again. The fridge was buzzing. Had it always been so loud?
“You- you can do what you like with it.” I finally said.
“This date is for over a year ago.”
“Yes. Mrs Lestrade’s funeral, before you ask.” When he didn’t say anything I added. “She was very sick, for a very long time.”
He blew out a breath. “I understand. Well, I don’t. But I comprehend.”
He shut the lid of the Emergency Box. Does that mean it’s over? He pushed it towards me, and got up again. I could hear him starting the dinner in the other room.
I got the tin out of my room and put it in the spare compartment of the Emergency Box.


March 8th. Nicotine patches 6 Cigarettes 5 Tadpoles 10 (still black wriggly things)

1230 Lestrade phoned with a case. Solved it over the phone. John was looking at me as I hung up. He does that. I don’t mind though.
“How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Make it look so simple, even when it’s not.” And he smiled.
“Things are usually quite simple when you lay them out.”
“Extraordinary.”
John Watson thinks I’m extraordinary. Maybe things aren’t so bad.

March 9th. Nicotine patches 6 Cigarettes 5 Tadpoles 10 (still black wriggly things)

1219 Client came by with a new case. Could be interesting.


March 11th. Nicotine patches 7 Cigarettes 5 Tadpoles 10 (I’m sure something should have happened by now. They just keep getting bigger and bigger but nothing else)

1020 Think I might go catch up with Molly.

1230 “I don’t understand why you don’t just ask him out.”
“Because.”
“That’s not an answer.” Molly folded her arms. I hate when she does that.
“Because he thinks I’m extraordinary. And he smiles at me.”
“So what you’re saying is you can’t ask him out because he likes you.” Molly gave me a look. “You do realise that’s actually mad.”
“No, that’s not it at all. I don’t want to ask him out, as you say.” I hate that phrase, it’s so juvenile. “Because you know. I. Don’t.”
She looked at me and started laughing. Why do people keep doing that?

1240 Anyway. I couldn’t ask him out because John Watson (who thinks I’m extraordinary) needs someone who will be properly worth his time. Someone who isn’t an emotional wasteland and doesn’t have the social grace of a particularly backwards stork. Someone without an Emergency Box for him to look at with such awful disappointment.

1432 Mycroft wants me to take a case. No.


March 12th. Nicotine patches 7 Cigarettes 3 (oh god) Time spent in Harrods looking for a birthday present 10000 years (feels like)

0900 Saw John off to Scotland. He’s going to see Harry for her birthday. I am going to Harrod’s to find a present for Mummy.

0930 When I die and go to hell this is where I’ll wake up. Got some nice dressing-gowns though, and my old one is getting a bit ratty.

0945 Who would need this many scarves anyway? What did I get her for Christmas last year?

0947 Texted Mycroft: Apparently I got her a scarf.
‘What did I get her for her birthday?’
‘A scarf. A different one.’
‘What about Christmas before that?’
‘You called me on Christmas Eve and begged me to put your name on my gift.’
Oh.
‘No I won’t. Find something yourself.’
Huh.

1054 Texted Molly: ‘What do you get your mother for her birthday?’
‘Usually I get her the latest Stephen King novel.’
‘No good.’
‘A scarf?’
Surrounded by unhelpful people.

1057 Still in haberdashery hell. Text from John. ‘Stuck in Watford. Any joy?’
‘What do you get your mother for her birthday?’
‘Usually I just go visit her grave.’
Oh dear lord. This is the living thing all over again. At least I didn’t tell him to use his imagination.
‘Maybe a scarf?’
‘Use your imagination.’
For Christ’s sake.

1100 Had to leave haberdashery hell. It will never work. Am clearly terrible son.

1110 Where am I? Aisles stretch for miles in both directions. Texted John.
‘Swallowed by Harrod’s. No chance of escape. Don’t sell my skull.’
‘The skull will be the first thing to go.’
‘But he would be your momento mori of me.’
‘No, the momento mori will be the dishes in the sink.’
Huh.

1120 Freedom! I never thought I’d see the sun again.

1121 Why is it so hot?

1122 Ducked into little shop to get out of ridiculous sun.

1126 Hah. Knew I could do it.

1128 Texted John.
‘Success!’
‘See? Knew you could do it.’
‘Was there ever any doubt?’
‘Asking the salesperson is cheating though.’
Damn.

1134 On my way home. Quite looking forward to a quiet night in.

1345 Bored.

2235 Text from Molly: ‘Stop bugging me or I will do something we both regret.’ She will as well. One time she hit me with what she thought was an empty kidney dish. Ruined a perfectly good shirt.
‘I thought you liked it when I texted.’
‘Not for six hours straight. I was on a date.’
‘With the Japanese pervert?’
‘Oh sod off.’ She’s so rude.


March 13th. Nicotine patches 8 Cigarettes 1 (last ditch attempt) Tadpoles 10 (still small, black and wriggly)

1340 Texted Lestrade. ‘Any new cases?’
‘Nothing you’d be interested in.’
‘Try me.’
‘Wait, isn’t it the 13th today? Nice try. Tell your mother many happy returns.’

1345 Went to the morgue. Molly gave me a custard cream and told me she wouldn’t hide me in the cupboard this year.
“You made me look like a twit last year.”
“I did not.”
“You told me your brother was a mob boss.”
“He might’ve been.”
She narrowed her eyes and I stepped back. She’s a mean shot with a hole-punch, and very unreasonable.
“What if I told you the IRA were after me- ow!”

1400 Really, she’s so unreasonable. And violent.

1420 So much for loyalty. Mike just laughed and shut the door. I didn’t even get to explain about the Yakuza.

1730 Can hear Mycroft at door. Damn. Only one place I can hide.

1740 For such a little old lady, Mrs Hudson has a surprisingly tough grip. I think my ear might actually be at a different angle than it used to be.
“You’re not even bleeding. Don’t be such a baby.” Hate Mycroft.
“Shut up.”
“You know, if you hadn’t burst in pretending that you were about to be killed by armed thugs she might have been more gentle.”
“Shut up.” Hate him.

1830 I don’t understand why Mycroft doesn’t get a proper guest bed. Hate this futon-y thing. Too short for anyone, except possibly Santa’s little helper.

1832 Maybe Mycroft is Father Christmas. Could just see him with white beard and red coat.

1834 Mind you, not nearly cheerful enough. Maybe he could be Santa’s little accountant.

1835 Well, I say little.

2100 Watching news with Mycroft. Seeing if I can flick a peanut into his wine-glass without him noticing.

2110 Mycroft took the peanuts off me. How rude.
“You don’t need any more peanuts, that waistcoat’s in danger of becoming a cummerbund as it is.”
He’s pretending not to hear me. How childish.


March II
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