JohnLock Oneshots

The Convention

"Sherlock we have to go. I already announced on social media that we would be there." John was sitting in his chair watching Sherlock pacing back and forth.

"Conventions are so boring, John." Sherlock never made eye contact. "Everyone asks the questions with the most obvious answers."

"Such as..." John wondered. Sherlock gave him a confused look. How could he possibly not know the obvious questions?

"How did they do it? How did you find out? Why did they do it?" Sherlock pauses. "They always ask who, what, where, why, and when."

"Aren't those good questions?" John was perplexed.

"They're so obvious and boring. No one asks the fun questions."

"And what are those?" John was interested. What other questions could people ask?

"I don't know. No one has asked them." Sherlock stopped pacing. John rolled his eyes and got up from his chair.

"Well, we are going. I already packed your things." He pointed to the two suitcases in the kitchen. "Mycroft got us a table and is there now." John showed Sherlock a picture of their booth. They had poster boards with some of their cases on them. They were printed to look like old-fashioned crime-solving: typewriter font with stained paper. Sherlock sighed, there was no way of getting out of this one.

Of course, unless he faked his own death.

No, that was so last month.

"Fine," Sherlock said briskly. He walked out the door and down to the street. There was a cab waiting for them.

"Yep, alright. I'm fine I'll take the suitcases. No big deal." John struggles his way down the stairs carrying the two heavy suitcases. He put them in the trunk and they drove to the airport.

"Where is the convention?" Sherlock asked.

"The United States." John hesitated. He knew how much Sherlock hated The States.

"Bloody hell. I can't live off of fast food for the weekend. All the big portions of chemicals that they call food. And what is up with those weird accents? Ours is so much classier." Sherlock went off on a rant.

"Please, it's not like you eat anyways." John scuffed. Sherlock annoyed the comment and ranted on for the whole cab ride. When the finally got to the airport, John got the bags from the trunk and forced Sherlock to carry his own.

"Why didn't you get the ones with the wheels?" Sherlock complained.

"Those have wheels." John rolled his eyes. It was one of the suitcases that looks like a duffel but can roll. He didn't bother telling Sherlock as payback for making him carry them down the stairs of their flat. Sherlock looked down and saw the two wheels and the hidden handle next to his hand. He proceeded to carry it instead of rolling.

"My eyes are going to get sore from rolling them all the time," John whined after they passed through security. They had to get special tags to allow for the weapons that they brought "For decoration." It was a detective convention, guns were a necessity.

When they found their gate John set their bags down on the seats and Sherlock laid down, taking 5 seats. The airport was crowded and people were getting angry that he was taking up so many seats.

"Sherlock, get up," John ordered.

"No." He had his eyes closed, probably in his mind palace.

"Sherlock." John barked. He opened his eyes and smirked.

"Yes, Captin." He sat up and John flinched at the name. He hadn't been called that in a long time. It kinda turned him on...

John snapped out of it when their plane was called to board. This time, Sherlock grabbed both of the suitcases and John's carry on.