All the characters in this bookstore are fictitious so please leave your everyday self outside the door when you enter the place Henry Miller calls a wonderland of books.
- One of the Shakespeare and Co. Bookshop’s mottos
A/N- Okay, so I’ve edited this chapter a bit and extended it because I didn’t want it to drag out… Enjoy!
John
“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” I muttered, tapping my pen on the paper and creating little dots of ink. Sherlock was staring at a half full page of writing.
“Neither did I,” he murmured, placing his hands in his usual steeple under their chin. “It’s nearly been an hour and I’ve only done this.”
“That’s better than me- I’ve only got two fucking sentences,” I cursed. We were supposed to be writing the one-page autobiographies in preparation for our stay at Shakespeare and Co, and so far it was not going extremely well. Though Sherlock had obviously written more than me, he was still displaying serious symptoms of an unusual mind block.
“It’s that bloody lunch…” he muttered. “It’s slowing me down.”
“Food doesn’t stop you being clever, Sherlock,” I rolled my eyes as he scrunched up the paper into a ball and started a new draft. “Just write the first thing that pops into your head, okay?”
“Fine,” he mumbled and started to scrawl. I managed to get in a few more sentences before my mind decided to screw itself up again.
A few minutes later, Sherlock handed me a full page of writing- astonished, I started to read it- and nearly fell on the floor laughing.
“Sherlock, I don’t think you can hand this in…”
“Why ever not?” he looked genuinely puzzled.
“You’ve somehow managed to fit the word ‘fabulous’ into it fifteen times, you’ve written about a very graphic crime scene and the things you keep in the fridge,” I chuckled. “And you’ve included multiple sketches of corpses and us snogging at different angles in the margin.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Not everyone wants to see that.”
“I’m sorry, is your new motto; “Do it in public but never on paper’?”
I sniggered. “No, I just don’t think we’re supposed to draw on it- we’re just supposed to include a picture of ourselves.”
“So no corpses either?”
“No, Sherlock. No corpses.”
He cursed under his breath and started to take the paper from me. I held it away from him. “Actually… Can I keep this?”
He smirked and nodded. I started to put my pen back to the paper, coming up with another sentence for the languorous process before stopping.
“Hold on,” I tapped his shoulder. “I have a better idea…”
“So you wrote biographies for eachother?” Robin asked as she read over them. We nodded. “Well that’s… Different. I don’t think anybody’s ever done that before.” (A/N- I don’t know if you’re actually allowed to do this, but I thought it might be sweet.”
She raised her eyebrows at the page; “Sherlock…”
“Yes?”
“… Is this supposed to say ‘as gay as the day is long’?”
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