On Christmas Day, Sherlock Holmes found himself at a Christmas dinner.
“You know, I hadn’t imagined it quite like this,” John said to Mycroft, who snorted.
“I missed the joke,” Sherlock interjected.
“What? Oh, the day we met, your brother mentioned something about the Christmas dinners being horrifying, remember?”
“Not really.”
“Did you delete it?”
“…I might have.”
John grinned and shook his head, obviously taking this news as well as anything else that came with Sherlock. Mycroft rolled his eyes, and Mummy, she just smirked at John, amused by the entire ordeal.
Suddenly, Sherlock noticed it – a blip, then a jolt. A shockwave like he hadn’t felt in years. He stood up in his seat, staring out blankly.
“Somebody just tried to rewrite time,” he murmured. “Or something like that. But… Nothing seems to have changed too much. Maybe it already changed?” He sat down and rubbed his forehead. Temporal physics - it'd been a while. They made his head ache.
“Uh – Sherlock. Sherlock?” John tapped his shoulder. Sherlock shook his head and looked up, coming back to himself. “What was that?” John asked.
“Nothing,” Sherlock said, smiling. “Nothing. Just thinking of an old friend.”
Mycroft and Mummy traded a look, knowing better. But John let it pass as one of his quirks – or so it seemed. Sherlock knew it was only a matter of time before John noticed, and became observant enough to slip right past the perception filter.
Well, he could trust John. John was the best friend he’d had in centuries, after all. He didn’t count, hadn’t counted for years, and anyway John was better.
Sherlock dove back into the mashed potatoes, reabsorbing himself into the wonders of this life, and of the perplexing man sitting beside him: his truest companion.
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branchandroot
Crossover!Crack!Epilogue
Date: 2010-12-03 07:44 pm (UTC)“You know, I hadn’t imagined it quite like this,” John said to Mycroft, who snorted.
“I missed the joke,” Sherlock interjected.
“What? Oh, the day we met, your brother mentioned something about the Christmas dinners being horrifying, remember?”
“Not really.”
“Did you delete it?”
“…I might have.”
John grinned and shook his head, obviously taking this news as well as anything else that came with Sherlock. Mycroft rolled his eyes, and Mummy, she just smirked at John, amused by the entire ordeal.
Suddenly, Sherlock noticed it – a blip, then a jolt. A shockwave like he hadn’t felt in years. He stood up in his seat, staring out blankly.
“Somebody just tried to rewrite time,” he murmured. “Or something like that. But… Nothing seems to have changed too much. Maybe it already changed?” He sat down and rubbed his forehead. Temporal physics - it'd been a while. They made his head ache.
“Uh – Sherlock. Sherlock?” John tapped his shoulder. Sherlock shook his head and looked up, coming back to himself. “What was that?” John asked.
“Nothing,” Sherlock said, smiling. “Nothing. Just thinking of an old friend.”
Mycroft and Mummy traded a look, knowing better. But John let it pass as one of his quirks – or so it seemed. Sherlock knew it was only a matter of time before John noticed, and became observant enough to slip right past the perception filter.
Well, he could trust John. John was the best friend he’d had in centuries, after all. He didn’t count, hadn’t counted for years, and anyway John was better.
Sherlock dove back into the mashed potatoes, reabsorbing himself into the wonders of this life, and of the perplexing man sitting beside him: his truest companion.