Vatican Cameos (A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

5. Everyone Hates It

LATER.
*********

The four of them have been, again, thrown out of the kebab shop and are standing outside. Sherlock, wearing his coat again, stands just outside the door with his head tilted back a little. Blood is running from his nose.

"I don't understand." He says.

He pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand and holds a paper napkin underneath with the other.

"I said I'm sorry. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

Mary and Elisabeth are either side of him, while John is a few yards up the road hailing an approaching taxi.

"Gosh. You don't know anything about human nature, do you?" Asks Mary.

Sherlock lowers his head and looks at her. And Elisabeth replies instead.

"Hmm, Nope." She says.

"I'll talk him round." Says Mary.

Sherlock takes the napkin from under his nose and looks at her curiously.

"You will?" Asks Sherlock.

"Oh yeah."

Sherlock looks at her closely and goes into deduction mode. Many, many words appear in his mind, some of them repeated several times. They include, in no particular order

only child - linguist - Clever - part time nurse - Shortsighted - Guardian - Bakes Own Bread - Disillusioned - Cat Lover - Romantic - Appendix Scar - Lib Dem - Secret Tattoo - Size 12 - Liar

She smiles at him, then looks round as John calls to her.

"Mary." He says.

She turns to give Sherlock a last smile, then walks over to John. They get into the taxi and it drives away. Sherlock watches them go.

In the taxi John indignantly turns to Mary.

"Can you believe his nerve?" He asks.

Smiling, Mary looks round at him.

"I like him." She says.

"What?"

"I like him." She says, shrugging and still smiling.

She turns her head away and looks out of the window. John narrows his eyes, looking completely bewildered.
Back at the kebab shop, Sherlock looks down thoughtfully, and then to Elisabeth. He takes her hand, and then they turn and walk away.

ST BARTHOLOMEW'S HOSPITAL.
***************************************

Molly Hooper walks into a locker room, takes out her keys and opens her locker. As the door swings open, the mirror on the inside reveals Sherlock standing a short distance away behind her, smiling slightly. She gasps and turns to look at him, starting to smile.

In an underground car park, Greg Lestrade walks across the area searching his pockets as he goes. Behind him, Sherlock's distinctive silhouette quickly walks past and disappears into the shadows of an unlit area of the car park. Unaware of this, Greg continues rummaging in various pockets. Something metallic clinks noisily in the darkness. Greg looks around but can see nothing and he resumes his search through his pockets until he finally finds what he was looking for. Tipping a cigarette out of the pack, he sticks it into his mouth, puts the rest of the pack back into his pocket and then flicks his lighter and raises it towards the end of the cigarette.

"Those things'll kill you." Says Sherlock from the darkness.

Greg freezes, the flame not quite reaching the end of his cigarette as he stares into the distance while his brain catches up with what – and who – he just heard. Finally he lowers his lighter and takes his cigarette out of his mouth.

"Ooh, you bastard!" Says Lestrade.

"It's time to come back. You've been letting things slide, Graham." Says Sherlock, walking out of the darkness.

"Greg!" Corrects Lestrade.

"Greg."

Greg stares at him for a long moment, his lips slowly lifting to reveal his teeth. Grimacing, he lunges towards Sherlock ... and wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him into a tight hug. Sherlock groans and his eyes widen– quite possibly because the hug, while adorable to look at, is doing no good to his recent injuries acquired in Serbia – but he tolerates Greg's affection.

221A BAKER STREET.
*************************

Mrs Hudson is in the kitchen washing up a pan. The radio is on.

"... with an anti-terrorism bill this important, the government feels duty-bound to push through the legislation with all due expe..."

Hearing the main front door being opened, she turns down the volume and goes to her front door and opens it, brandishing the pan in front of her. The front door closes, and a familiar silhouette appears behind the frosted window of the internal door. Mrs Hudson stares at it in disbelief – and then Sherlock pushes open the door and looks at her. She screams hysterically.

Back in John's house, Mary is sitting up in bed, holding an iPad and reading aloud from one of John's old blog entries.

"'His movements were so silent. So furtive, he reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent.'" She reads dramatically.

"You what?" Says John, from outside the room.

"'I couldn't help thinking what an amazing criminal he'd make if he turned his talents against the law.'"

John comes out of the small ensuite bathroom, his lower face and upper lip covered with shaving foam.

"Don't read that." He says.

"The famous blog, finally!" She says still staring at the screen.

"Come on – that's ..."

"... ancient history, yes, I know. But it's not, though, is it, because he's ..."

She raises her eyes from the iPad and stops when she sees John.

"What are you doing?!" She asks, smiling.

"Having a wash."

"You're shaving it off."

"Well, you hate it."

"Sherlock hates it."

"Apparently everyone hates it."

Mary giggles.

"Are you gonna see him again?" She asks.

"No – I'm going to work."

"Oh. And after work, are you gonna see him again?"

Rolling his eyes, John walks back into the bathroom.

"Cor, I dunno – six months of bristly kisses for me, and then His Nibs turns up ..." Mary says.

"I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes." Says John, looking into the mirror.

"Oh! You should put that on a T-shirt!"

"Shut up."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll marry you."

He turns to look at her. She grins. Rinsing off his hands, John picks up his razor, looks into the mirror, sighs, then lifts the razor towards his upper lip.