The Solstice Suite: Part Five A
Dec. 9th, 2010 07:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
errantcommentFandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Gen, UST if you tilt your head
Rating: PG (A bit of language)
Word Count: 2,500
Summary: Gonna try and do a fic a week based around the weeks leading up to Christmas for our two favourite boys. If you have any particular requests, go for it, I'll try to work it in.
Notes/Warnings: Woa, what happened? Suddenly I'm so very very late. Anyway. An extra long one today to make up, I'll try and put up the second half asap. Also. I have a degree now. (I know right) I thought you should all know that. Also officially advertising for a kind but firm beta, apply errantcomment.
Sherlock first became aware of Harry Watson as more than an engraving on a phone about three weeks after John moved in. It was two thirty in the morning. John’s phone buzzed where it sat on the coffee table, along with his keys. John was sleeping in his armchair (there had a number of late nights recently), so Sherlock put down his laptop with a sigh and picked up the phone. John shifted behind him, but didn’t wake (deep sleeper, only woke up suddenly to sharp noises, like a shout or an alarm, probably because of medical/military past). He looked at the caller ID. It said Darling Sister. So he answered. John never spoke about his family if he didn’t have to. It could provide valuable insight. (“You were being nosy, Sherlock,” “My nose had nothing to do with it, John,”)
“Hello?” he wandered through to his bedroom. (Despite John’s apparent heavy sleeping, he would still rather not wake him.)
“John? Izzat you? You got a cold?” she was slurring. Drunk?
“No, this is Sherlock Holmes- his flatmate,”
“Ohhhhhh. You! I hear all about you. You really gottim smitten,” Harry giggled. Drunk.
“Is there a reason for your call?” Sherlock asked coldly. “It’s late,”
“We? No, wait, don’t hang up, I did, I did have something to say. Ahem. Could you pass this onto John, please?”
“Well?”
“AND DID THESE FEEEET. IN ANCIENT TIIIMES. WALK UPON ENGLAND’S MOUNNTAAAIN GREEEEN...” Sherlock held the phone away from his ear at the sudden explosion of sound. What on earth was she doing? Clearly it wasn’t important anyway. In the lounge, his laptop pinged. The Work was calling.
“Goodnight Harry,” he hung up. This time when it rang, he didn’t answer, but put it on silent in the kitchen, and went back into the living room. John hadn’t even stirred.
Sherlock didn’t quite understand the relationship between John and his sister. It wasn’t the same as his... complicated relationship with Mycroft. John claimed that he and his sister didn’t get on, but the distance between them seemed to have smoothed over some of the bumps, as evidenced by her irregular but lengthy phone-calls and e-mails. So he did some basic research. (“Have you lost your phone again, Sherlock?” “Hmm? Oh, it’s in my jacket pocket,” “You’re wearing your jacket. Are you reading my texts?” “Don’t snatch, John. Where are your manners?”) By the time he had been living with John for five months, he had a book-full of annotated texts and emails on Harry Watson:
Text from Darling Sister : Hey squirt, we shld do cofee. r u still w that pretty flatmate? {Squirt = childhood nickname = older sister? Use of ‘txt speak’ shows a certain amount of immaturity <- John would find it annoying, but bear it for sake of peace.}
Text from JW: I can’t this week. Sherlock difficult and surgery booked. Next week? {What does he mean ‘difficult’?}
Text from JW: Pretty? {?}
Text from Darling Sister: U noticed 2 huh. bit bony 4 me. girls r so much squishier. mind u, u did always like em tall and thin lol. {I would have said wiry. Mild obsession with pairing John off = guilt about absence = shares some of John’s care-giving tendencies.}
Text from Darling Sister: Hey john. jerusalem. {From first piece of data collected can infer is hymn, not place. What is significance?}
Text from JW: You’re an idiot.
Text from Darling Sister: Love u too bro :p. coffee tomoz? {Coffee, never dinner or lunch. Presumably effort (on John’s part?) to keep the peace by limiting chances for argument.}
Text from JW: Yep. {Clear affection despite differences.}
Text from Darling Sister: ur lunatic bff sed hed hunt me down & make my life difficult if i called in middle of the night agn. those actual words. u need to get a leash for him, if u haven’t already. :p {Good memory despite inebriation = at least same intelligence as John? NB: What is bff?}
Text from JW: Maybe you should try not calling in the middle of the night.
Text from Darling Sister: If timing is a issue u could call me. jus sayin squirt. {Guilt as motivator = knows John hates to let people down.}
Text from JW: Coffee tomorrow then? {Duly motivated.}
Text from Darling Sister: Kewl.
Text from JW: Jerusalem. {Sixth known occurrence of Jerusalem. What does it mean??}
Text from Darling Sister: U BASTARD. i was w a client.
Text from JW: Worth it. {Similar sense of humour = similar temperament = clashes when children/adults = current rift. Possibly more similar before John went to A.?}
Text from Darling Sister: Happy bday squirt. miss u. have 1 on me. ps thnx for th scarf. how did you know? {Scarf shows caregiving tendencies. Present useful as well as affectionate.}
Text from JW: You always lose your scarves. Miss you too. Thanks for the book token. Was running out of things to read. {Similar practical tendencies, lightness/cheap nature of gifts shows divide.}
Text from Darling Sister: Jerusalem. {23rd direct reference, 36th reference overall (inc. phone-calls, voice-mail and e-mail)}
Text from JW: I can’t, I’m with a patient. {Told me phone had to be off in surgery hours. Surely my cases are far more interesting than some childish joke?}
Text from Darling Sister: Forfeit?
Text from JW: Fine. Name your price.
Text from Darling Sister: I want a duck. {Bill? Debt? A favour to be paid back later? Clearly another old joke.}
Text from JW: Fine.
In the end, there were only two questions that Sherlock could not definitely get the answer to. What Harry Watson actually looked like (apart from occasional references to hair-cuts and new clothes, and John had no photos of his family), and the meaning behind Jerusalem. Sherlock sighed and chucked the small book across the room, where it landed behind the books in the bookcase. His research could be completed by asking John, but by now, after months of sneaking into his e-mail and poking through his mobile phone, that would have felt like cheating. So he picked up the violin, and played the whole of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E minor (four times) while he waited for John to come home.
“Will you be inviting Harry here for Christmas?” It had been a long afternoon of ignoring Sherlock Being Bored, and his lanky flatmate was now lying on the couch in the pose John had mentally labelled as ‘The Vapours’ (hand above head, other on chest, dressing gown arranged to best effect).
“Harry? Oh, no, probably I’ll go to her,” John looked up from his book. “That’s what I did last year, anyway. Why do you ask?”
“just taking an interest,” Sherlock sat up and started fiddling with junk on the coffee table (piled high except for the bare patch in the middle where Sherlock liked to walk) until he found John’s phone.
“You’ve stopped getting texts from that girl,” he remarked.
“Oh, yes. Well, it wasn’t working,” John disappeared back into his book (“Don’t read my texts, I’ve told you before!” “That’s hardly fair John, you get to read all mine,” “Because you never answer your phone otherwise!” “Then surely I’m saving you the same hassle?”) Sherlock was trying to get some sort of response out of him. It was part of the game they played- maybe the potential row (they rarely argued) would result in half an hour of blue dressing-gown-less peace and quiet. However, before Sherlock could decide what to say next, the door-bell rang. Sherlock was still looking at th phone like it owed him something. John sighed.
“I’ll just get it, shall I? You seem busy,”
“Mm,” Sherlock was still doing something to the phone. He blinked as John reached the door.
“No, wait, I’ll go, you sit down, I know you get aches in cold weather, the stairs won’t help,” Sherlock rose like a puppet on a string and bounded past John.
Whoever it was wasn’t staying long, by the sounds of it. A woman, perhaps one of Mrs. Hudson’s friends popping by. John’s phone buzzed.
Text from Darling Sister: Flatmate still wierd. merry xmas squirt. luv ya. ps: tell him jerusalem.
Whatever that meant.
He heard the front door shut.
Text from Darling Sister: Pps: also tell flatmate nice dressing gown. makes him look like suffering poet. is he all dramatic in it?
Text from JW: No idea what you’re talking about. Sherlock always dramatic. Do you think Jerusalem would help that?
Sherlock had been caught by Mrs. Hudson. He could hear her exclaiming over something.
Text from Darling Sister: it’ll drive him mad, i wldnt tell him.
Sherlock finally made it up the stairs. He was clutching a cardboard box and grinning, flushed from the cold wind and... Something else? He was pretty pleased with himself, at any rate.
Text from Darling Sister: i can see y u like him bro. b good to urself. do luv ya.
Sherlock deposited the box on the couch and smiled beatifically at John, who was still holding his phone by the coffee table.
“Oh, what a glorious day! A cold case solved!”
“What the hell is going on?” John was starting to feel rather put upon.
“Don’t pout, John. It’s unbecoming,” Sherlock grinned at him and sat in his armchair. “Just then, I was brilliant,”
“What? At the door? Who was it?” John considered flinging his confusing phone at his equally confusing flatmate.
“That was Harry Watson,” Sherlock grinned and sat back, thoroughly satisfied.
“What? My sister? What is my sister doing here?”
“What was she doing here, you mean,” Sherlock steepled his fingers together. “She is well. Blooming, in fact. She’s cut down on the alcohol, and decided to go to Italy with Clara. Probably for the foreseeable future, though she told me for two weeks,”
“My sister came to the door, and you didn’t tell me,” John could almost hear the satisfying ‘thunk’ of the phone hitting incredibly thick skull.
“You didn’t want to see her. You like meeting for coffee, its neutral ground and you can leave if you have to, but you’d never invite her here, it’s your territory. If you had answered the door instead of me you would have felt obliged to invite her in, she would have felt obliged to accept, it would have been ridiculously awkward and we’re out of milk. But that’s not important right now. John, I solved it!”
“Wait, Clara, milk, what?” John hated this, when Sherlock would talk to him like (like a normal person) he was some kind of idiot. “Explain properly,”
“Well, you see, I did some research and there were only two things I couldn’t draw proper conclusions on. You don’t have any photos, and you never know what she looks like, so you only talk about changes, so I knew how long her hair was and that she had a manicure, but that’s just detail. I put it on the cold case pile because I couldn’t find out anything else without asking, and even then eyewitness details are so inaccurate. So I had to wait, you see, until the opportunity presented itself. Then the text came that she would come by to claim on her duck, and oh, John, you couldn’t have planned it better!” Sherlock grinned at him broadly. John didn’t say anything. He knew that would irritate Sherlock a lot more than anything he could say. Sherlock suddenly hugged John (who momentarily forgot he was supposed to be angry) and then practically danced round the table into the kitchen.
“Oh, and it looked like such a grey day. Tea?”
“Sherlock,” John said. That one word made Sherlock stop in his haphazard tea preparation. “What. I. Have you been spying on me?”
“Well, not that wouldn’t be spectacularly easy, but no, I have better things to do, most of the time,” Sherlock put teabags into cups.
“But you know about my sister. You know about Clara, you know about Italy. I hadn’t told you about Italy, I only found out yesterday, and why are they not going for two weeks?”
“They had far too much luggage,” Sherlock replied mildly.
“So my sister came to the flat, and I didn’t even see her, so that, what, you can solve a puzzle you set yourself?”
“Well-,” Sherlock looked uncomfortable, and concentrated on the kettle. John put his hands on his hips.
“I’m not your damned Sudoku puzzle, Sherlock, I should be allowed some secrets! You stalking my sister is not acceptable!” Sherlock stared at him. The kettle clicked off.
“I- I didn’t think-,” he said.
John looked at him for a long disapproving moment, then dropped his head and laughed.
“No, you didn’t, did you. You actually don’t see what’s wrong with what you did,”
“Not good?” Sherlock abandoned the tea, and came back into the living room .
“Yeah, actually. More than a bit,” John looked at the floor, collecting himself. Sherlock reached behind the books in the middle shelf of the book-case and drew out a small black notebook. “What is that?”
“It’s my case-notes,” he flipped through the dusty pages.
“What, on me and Harry?”
“Yes, I collated it over a series of months. When I couldn’t get any more new data, I stopped,”
“You-,” Sherlock must have seen the warning signs, as he went tossed the little book into the fireplace, where the coals flamed up around it.
“The case is closed, John, see? I solved most of it, that’ll be good enough,” John sighed. He was still angry, but it was receding. Sherlock was standing close, watching him carefully.
“It’s not about the notebook, well, it is, you just. Harry. It’s.” John could feel himself flailing in the English language, something that happened whenever he had to explain Harry and himself.
“Exactly. That’s why I couldn’t just ask. I’ve lived with you for almost a year, John, yet all I know about your sister is what I took the trouble to find out,” Sherlock ran his hands through his hair. John had to understand. He must have done, because he relaxed, though his face was still serious, and sat down, looking at his phone.
Text from JW: You are a berk, sister mine. Give Clara my best.
Text from Darling Sister: Luv u too bro. dnt be hard on the prettyboy, i cldnt come up anyway. clara says happy xmas.
Sherlock handed John his tea.
“John?”
“Hmm?”
“Twins. You love to prove me wrong, don’t you?” Sherlock grinned down at him and for a moment John felt like the most incredible thing in the world.
“Only you would think a freak of genetics is amazing. She is older than me, though, by a whole four minutes,”
“Sherlock?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s in the box?”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 11:41 am (UTC)Now I'm going to be all impatient for part five b. :P
Love the idea that they're twins. LOVE.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 01:36 pm (UTC)Part five B will be up interphrastically.
Thanks so much for reading. ^^
no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 07:45 pm (UTC)And I'm dense...did that somehow explain Jerusalem? Because...well, I don't understand.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 10:32 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 11:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 11:25 pm (UTC)^^
Now I just have to make the second part worth reading.
And about half the length x.x
no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 11:29 pm (UTC)I don't know why.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 11:31 pm (UTC)