#i'm miffed about him being pretty somewhere I am not - not about me being home with baby | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunken-standard · 7 years

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For the 4\3rd rond drabble challenge: 16, 20 or 27 please? I'm immensely enjoying your ficlet feast! Have you considered of opening an account at Patreon or the likes? It's my guess that more than a couple want to thank you for your fluffy cracked up Sherlolly.

This one is just a disconnected littlevignette that could fit in a few different universes.

“Stop questioning my lifechoices.”/ “When’s the last time you smiled?”/“Sometimes I just don’t want to exist.”

“For the love of God, wouldyou just take a case already? Or, I mean, at least put clothes on.”

“I have clothes on.”

“A blanket doesn’t count asclothes, even if it’s fashioned into a toga. You look like theworld’s most fabulous caveman,” Molly said, flicking the cornerof the hot pink tiger-stripe blanket as she took the spot next to himon the sofa.

“I’m wearing pants,” Sherlockargued.

“Oh my, what’s the occasion?”

“I always wear pants in yourflat.”

“No you really don’t.”

“Well, not to sleep. Sleeping naked is better for health, you’re a doctor, you should knowthis.”

“I went to actual medical school,I didn’t get my degree from Cosmo, thank you.”

“It’s your skin, you do what youwant with it. If you want to miss out on the benefits of reducedcortisol levels and higher levels of human growth hormone andoxytocin, that’s completely your prerogative. Don’t come crying tome when you look like a pair of old riding boots by the time you’resixty,” he sniffed.

Says the man who looks like a pairof old riding boots now, she thought. She wouldn’tsay that, though; he might decide to send a woodsman after her to cutout her heart and she really didn’t want to end up with seven tinyflatmates. Just the one oversized one was enough.

“You really do need to dosomething. Get out of the flat, go for a walk, anything.” Trygoing back to your own flat…

“There’s nothing for me out there. Everything I need is right here, and for the rest I’ve got variousinternet-based delivery services. And you,” he added as anafterthought.

“How flattering,” she saidlightly. "You’re wearing a dent into my sofa cushions, youhaven’t shaved, you haven’t eaten a vegetable in over a week. When’sthe last time you smiled?“

"1993. I saw a seagull steal abiscuit from a toddler. Such a fond memory.”

At least he was still making jokes. The depression/ boredom/ existential crisis alert didn’t need to beraised to red just yet.

“Tangy cheese Doritos and meltedchocolate ice cream. That’s your breakfast?” she asked, lookingover his shoulder as she walked past the sofa. At least he was in aslightly different position than the day before.

“Stop questioning my life choices. I don’t make a fuss about your oat straw and poison-berry porridge.”

“They’re goji berries, and they’refull of antioxidants. So, while your skin may be fresh and dewy as acherub’s arse when you’re a pensioner, I’ll have the cell health of ateenager. Unlike you, whose entire gastrointestinal tract will bemade of MSG molecules stuck together with cholesterol.”

“I can still say with someauthority that they taste like poison.”

“Okay, yes, fine, they taste likepoison. But they aren’t actually poison.”

“Famous last words.”

“Whose last words?” she askedcynically. She was pretty sure she made one of Sherlock’s own facesback at him.

“Rasputin, Emperor Charles VI, oneof the popes, Johan Schobert, Alan Turning, the 900 or so people atJonestown…”

“And yet you don’t even know whothe PM is.”

“I didn’t vote for them so itdoesn’t matter.”

“Do you even vote?”

“Of course I do. I vote formyself as a write-in.”

“You know that’s not actually athing here.”

“I’m making it a thing.”

She held eye contact with him for onevery long moment, then went to get herself coffee. It’s way tooearly for this, she thought.

She came home to find Sherlock lyingflat on her kitchen floor, looking up at the ceiling. She stifledthe urge to fuss over him and ask if he was alright; he wasn’t lyingthere like he’d collapsed or anything, more like he was quietlywaiting for the planet to get bulldozed by aliens.

“Just couldn’t get the hang ofThursdays, huh?” she asked, stepping over him to get to thesink.

“Everything is tedious. SometimesI just don’t want to exist.”

She would be more worried, but at leasthe was dressed. And he’d shaved.

“Did you at least go outsidetoday? You’re going to get rickets at this rate.”

“You like bow-legged men anyway.” He twisted his head around to look at her.

“I like Jensen Ackles. It’s not just about the legs, he’s the total package.” How didhe even know that, anyway? She’d never said a word, and it wasn’tlike she had anything incriminating in her browser history.

“I am right here, youknow,” Sherlock said, sounding genuinely miffed. Like heactually cared if she found other men attractive. Which he probablydid, because heaven forbid he wasn’t first on every list.

“Yes, you are, and you’re in theway of the fridge,” she said, nudging his waist with the instepof her foot.

He rolled to the side and sprang up,then wavered on his feet for a second.

“How long have you been lyingthere?”

“Four… ish? hours? I watchedthe news, then some programme about holiday getaways, then I ate someof your not-poison berries in the hope that they were actuallypoison, then I was going to make tea but I really didn’t see thepoint, since we’re out of milk.”

“You could have gone to buy some.”

He looked at her blankly.

“Or ordered it online and had itdelivered.”

“My phone was in my pocket. Seemed like more trouble than it was worth to get it out.”

“At least you got dressed today. Why did you get dressed today?”

“Because you nagged me into ityesterday. I can get undressed again, if you prefer.”

She was certain that if there was aGod, he/she/it was testing her.

“Lestrade phoned this morning. Hesaid he might have a case but I haven’t heard back from him, so hemust have solved it. Or got lost in the Met office on his way backfrom the toilet.”

That was a good sign. A very goodsign.

“Does he know you’re here?”

“No,” he said, like itwas the stupidest question in his very extensive history of beingasked stupid questions. "Why would I tell him that? Nobody knows I’m here. Mrs. Hudson thinks I spend half my timebehind the clock face of Big Ben.“

"Do you think he went to BakerStreet?”

“He would have phoned when herealized I wasn’t there.”

“And your phone was in yourdressing gown pocket.”

“Yes.”

“Just putting this out there, buthave you checked it at all since you lost your will to live in themiddle of my kitchen?”

“No, why would I?” he asked,pulling out his phone. "Huh. How did I miss that?“

"You fell asleep, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” he admittedreluctantly.

“You never hear your phone whenyou’re asleep.”

“Yes I do.” He scowled ather before looking back down at his phone. "Oh,“ he saidsoftly, in that way that indicated something had piqued his interest.

"You sure don’t,” she said,but it was lost on him.

His fingers flew over the screen andthen his eyes got that gleam; thank God, she thought.

“Oh,” he repeated a littlemore excitedly. He shook off his dressing gown and let it drop tothe floor without looking up, the small smile playing around his lipsblooming into a full grin. "Oh, this could be good. Don’t waitup!“

He bent to give her a peck on the cheekand hit the corner of her mouth; time seemed to stop as his lipslingered partway on hers. Then he straightened and whirled away likehe always did without a word of apology or acknowledgement of howawkward everything just got.

At least he wasn’t still moping on hersofa.

[I’m pretty sure I lifted the ridingboots line and the seagull thing from somewhere, but I can’t rememberwhere. I do this all the time, drives me up a wall. Just consider them a nod to something I thought was clever.]

#bkst-tutu1b #drabble ask meme round 3 #sunken's secret stash #sherlolly

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