Second part of this ficlet. Includes an allusion to an ACD story.
When John opened the front door to his garden-level flat he was unsurprised to see Sherlock on the other side. They’d just wrapped up a case the day before, a tolerably – according to Sherlock – interesting case involving a Member of Parliament, a floating duck island and a trained ballet dancer currently performing in a production of Swan Lake. Privately, John suspected his best friend would have been more inclined to label it ‘quite interesting’ if it hadn’t been for the simple fact that the case referral came from Mycroft.
“Sherlock,” he greeted, stepping back to let the taller man in. “What brings you to my humble abode?”
“A case, John,” Sherlock replied, irritation clear in his tone. “I need an interesting case!”
“Have you tried Lestrade?”
“Obviously,” Sherlock spat back before lowering his voice when they entered the living room. “Sergeant Donovan picked up his phone and, well, best not repeat what she said in front of innocent ears.”
John rolled his eyes. “She’s only just off six months, Sherlock. I doubt my daughter will be picking up any of your bad habits just yet.”
Sherlock threw him a fleeting smile as he wandered over to peer into the small cot at his daughter, who was merrily amusing herself as babies tended to do. “I wasn’t talking about this little lady,” he retorted. “Although, on that note, research does indicate that at six months old a baby’s communications skills are developing at a rapid rate.
“Admittedly most of it is mostly babbling, squealing and the sort but I’m let to believe that she might be soon capable of repeating single syllable words,” Sherlock continued. “Apparently the done thing is to pretend everything she will say is of the utmost interest, even if it is unintelligible, to encourage them to continue chattering away. One then hopes that in short order, the nonsense will become coherence, although not in all cases I grant you.”
John barely held back a snort of amusement at Sherlock’s tone of voice. “You don’t sound convinced, Sherlock.”
“Well the only empirical evidence I’m aware of, and as you know, John, I prefer to undertake my own experiments and observations, is of Mycroft, albeit many years after the event itself, and we all know how well that turned out. He’s practically England,” Sherlock replied, with a roll of eyes sky bound. “Mummy did indulge him so and there’s video evidence of it.”
This time John couldn’t hold back his amused snort and he grinned. “Come on then, spill! How old was Mycroft when he started to talk? Proper words, I mean.”
“Apparently he was able to string enough words together to order our parents about at the grand old age of thirteen months.”
John’s jaw dropped. “Really?”
“He was always an over-achieving show-off.”
John couldn’t force down the giggle at the sight of a pouting Sherlock. “Sorry!” he apologised.
“Mycroft took great delight in the fact that I was sixteen months before I could do the same,” Sherlock complained and having grown bored to baby-watching it seemed, had flounced over to the sofa and was making a minor production of settling himself upon it. “Said he used to spend a couple of hours each day trying to get me to repeat words with him and how I was pathologically incapable of achieving such a simple task. Although I imagine he was trying to get me to repeat words like cake, sweets and other foods. Why any infant would want to do that, I do not know!”
“Sherlock,” John chastised. “I know Mycroft is a little … overbearing but surely you’re being a trite unfair? Perhaps he was just proud?”
Sherlock merely huffed in reply.
“Plus being a show-off obviously runs in the family,” John teased as he took a seat near his daughter, who was thankfully still happily gurgling away in her cot.
“Well there’s only so much you could do when you grow up where we did,” Sherlock acceded. “We had to amuse ourselves somehow. We used to pretend to act out stories, plays and pretend swordfights and battles until it got boring of course.”
FILL PART 2A: For Will, I Dedicate To You (Sherlock, John POV)
When John opened the front door to his garden-level flat he was unsurprised to see Sherlock on the other side. They’d just wrapped up a case the day before, a tolerably – according to Sherlock – interesting case involving a Member of Parliament, a floating duck island and a trained ballet dancer currently performing in a production of Swan Lake. Privately, John suspected his best friend would have been more inclined to label it ‘quite interesting’ if it hadn’t been for the simple fact that the case referral came from Mycroft.
“Sherlock,” he greeted, stepping back to let the taller man in. “What brings you to my humble abode?”
“A case, John,” Sherlock replied, irritation clear in his tone. “I need an interesting case!”
“Have you tried Lestrade?”
“Obviously,” Sherlock spat back before lowering his voice when they entered the living room. “Sergeant Donovan picked up his phone and, well, best not repeat what she said in front of innocent ears.”
John rolled his eyes. “She’s only just off six months, Sherlock. I doubt my daughter will be picking up any of your bad habits just yet.”
Sherlock threw him a fleeting smile as he wandered over to peer into the small cot at his daughter, who was merrily amusing herself as babies tended to do. “I wasn’t talking about this little lady,” he retorted. “Although, on that note, research does indicate that at six months old a baby’s communications skills are developing at a rapid rate.
“Admittedly most of it is mostly babbling, squealing and the sort but I’m let to believe that she might be soon capable of repeating single syllable words,” Sherlock continued. “Apparently the done thing is to pretend everything she will say is of the utmost interest, even if it is unintelligible, to encourage them to continue chattering away. One then hopes that in short order, the nonsense will become coherence, although not in all cases I grant you.”
John barely held back a snort of amusement at Sherlock’s tone of voice. “You don’t sound convinced, Sherlock.”
“Well the only empirical evidence I’m aware of, and as you know, John, I prefer to undertake my own experiments and observations, is of Mycroft, albeit many years after the event itself, and we all know how well that turned out. He’s practically England,” Sherlock replied, with a roll of eyes sky bound. “Mummy did indulge him so and there’s video evidence of it.”
This time John couldn’t hold back his amused snort and he grinned. “Come on then, spill! How old was Mycroft when he started to talk? Proper words, I mean.”
“Apparently he was able to string enough words together to order our parents about at the grand old age of thirteen months.”
John’s jaw dropped. “Really?”
“He was always an over-achieving show-off.”
John couldn’t force down the giggle at the sight of a pouting Sherlock. “Sorry!” he apologised.
“Mycroft took great delight in the fact that I was sixteen months before I could do the same,” Sherlock complained and having grown bored to baby-watching it seemed, had flounced over to the sofa and was making a minor production of settling himself upon it. “Said he used to spend a couple of hours each day trying to get me to repeat words with him and how I was pathologically incapable of achieving such a simple task. Although I imagine he was trying to get me to repeat words like cake, sweets and other foods. Why any infant would want to do that, I do not know!”
“Sherlock,” John chastised. “I know Mycroft is a little … overbearing but surely you’re being a trite unfair? Perhaps he was just proud?”
Sherlock merely huffed in reply.
“Plus being a show-off obviously runs in the family,” John teased as he took a seat near his daughter, who was thankfully still happily gurgling away in her cot.
“Well there’s only so much you could do when you grow up where we did,” Sherlock acceded. “We had to amuse ourselves somehow. We used to pretend to act out stories, plays and pretend swordfights and battles until it got boring of course.”