Johnlock oneshots

Summer wine

(sat out here in the rare English good weather, hiding my writings of gay fan fiction from my mum, bee-ig harassed by bees (ayyyy), drinking Tropicana, i got the urge to write about these two idiots yet again. p.s ive been cornered into sitting near the bin by mother nature. i started this at five, it is now nine. 3399 words in for hours.)

sat surrounded by relatives he no longer cared about (all of whom no longer cared about him), in blazing heat, forced to listen to mindless conversation was not how Sherlock planned to spend his last day of freedom before school and yet there he was.

to his right, his grandmother Sylvia was complaining loudly about their father ('i told you, i told you violet. a waste of time. hasn't even got a good job! what is he, a painter! a painter! you should have married dean like i said. a fine man he is! and intelligent too! did you know he works as a CEO at the-' Sherlock quite wished to knock that wine glass right out of her hand) and to his left, his uncle was dozing off. he felt quite the same. his mother had organized the whole thing as a celebration, she was having another baby. as if that was something to celebrate. another small, loud thing running about the house, disturbing the peace, keeping mother at home when she could be at work, where she was meant to be. what is the use Sherlock thought of a mind as strong and fast as mothers being put to waste by looking after another child. his mother believed he was naive to his mothers intelligence but she was wrong, they (they being him and his putrid older brother Mycroft) had to have got theirs from somewhere and however much he loved his father, Sherlock knew it was not from him. although it pained him to say it, his grandmother was right. his father, though loving and kind and creative and funny, was not mathematically or scientifically minded. in his trade, he was a brilliant decorator but give him a word problem or a thorium and he would flounder. but his mother loved him (she had rebelled against her mothers choice in favour of living with the man she loved, subsequently giving up the vast Holmes family inheritance. it had all worked out okay however, violet struck gold when she made a ma thematic breakthrough with her company. they were rich. although you could never tell from their house. they hadn't left the beloved family cottage in the London countryside that his parents had bought after they first married, it was the house him and his brother grew up in and violet was adamant that the third child would do the same) and that was enough for Sherlock.

Sherlock was enjoying the feel of the cool April breeze running past his face when he noticed him. he was sat in the corner, looking exceedingly out of place in worn skinny jeans, a striped grey t-shirt and a hoodie, awkwardly smiling and nodding as Sherlock great grandfather recounted tales of his time in the war. Sherlock almost pitied him. John Watson Sherlock thought with a sneer why did mother have to invite him. Mrs Watson was a friend of his mother's, she was a kind lady who always smelt of hazelnut cookies and she had an air of easy kindness about her. they were the Holmes's next door neighbours and john and Sherlock used to play together when they were little. he'd escaped from Sherlock grandfather and was sat on one of the plastic chairs, blond hair shining in the sunlight and Sherlock hated him for it. when they were three, john had stuck gum in his hair (an accident of course, Sherlock knew he was being irrational). he had to cut off most of his hair, leaving him with a buzz cut and Sherlock couldn't see past it. he hated him. he'd been staring at him for about five minutes in distaste when, much to his horror, john turned and made eye contact with him. slowly he got up and started waking towards Sherlock. crap he thought, panicked crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap. after what seemed like forever, john was stood in front of Sherlock, clutching a coke can in his hands. nervously he spoke

'er..hello'

he had a pleasant voice, warm and soft, and his accent was clear and pronunciated (his family had come from the south of London originally, to Sherlock he just sounded posh compared to everyone else here. it almost didn't fit his appearance)