Just Another Parentlock: Sherlock

I'm deathly in love with the show Sherlock. So most of the fanfics I've seen on this site are about 1D. If you don't know much about the show well... yeah, go watch it. xD anyways, sorry for the people who do know the show, i spelled it like Ms. Hudson and not Mrs. Hudson. but im too lazy to change it. ANYWAYS! This is a fanfic including some fluffy Johnlock and Parentlock later on. Plus I haven't proof read and its still a rough draft... So yeah, go wild.

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2. A Frayed Nerve

John paced the flat while awaiting the arrival of his late companion. It was the fifth night in a row that Sherlock had returned home either utterly drunk or at an hour that wouldn’t even be considered night time. Sherlock hopped two steps at a time up the staircase and entered the room, throwing his things to the rack and turning to leave the flat. John’s frustrated expression, the folding of his arms, and the tapping of his shoes made it obvious to Sherlock that John wasn’t very happy. He was standing out of the door with one hand showing into the living room.

                “Sherlock Holmes, get back in this room right now.” John sounded like a mother scolding her son for actions that were seen as wrong or unjust. Sherlock slunk back into the room and closed the door.

                “Do you not see what time it is?” John gave a stern point to the clock on the fireplace and Sherlock sighed, shrugging as if this were a waste of his time. The doctor found it much offending and threw his hands up. Sherlock looked up from the floor in surprise at such an odd gesture.

                “I am so finished at this moment Sherlock. I’m tired of babysitting you. Grow up already. What’s going to happen when you can’t look into any more cases? When they just don’t get good enough for you? You’ve turned down every case that’s been presented to us. You’re being such a… a hypocritical… prat!” John hissed and his cheeks began to glow red from the anger. Sherlock pushed past John, heading for his computer.

                “I have no time to mess around with these petty insults. I will see you in the morning, oh and don’t forget the dishes John,” Sherlock winked and began to walk off with his computer balancing in one hand and being typed on with the other.

                “Am I just your maid? A pet you call for when you want to hear someone say how great you are?!” John called out from the living room and Sherlock stopped mid-step. He brought himself back to face John, setting his laptop down in a seat before straitening up in front of the shorter man. Everything was quiet until John sighed and began rubbing the bridge of his nose.

                “You do that a lot,” Sherlock spoke as if nothing had been said. But the words John had uttered to him really tugged at his stretched heart strings. John looked up from behind his fingers and retorted with a childish, “what’s that supposed to mean?” as if Sherlock had been taunting him.

                “You touch the bridge of your nose whenever you’re frustrated or sad. I notice these things; you should know that by now.” The man was smiling but John turned away.

                “That’s one of your obvious deductions. Why don’t you just leave me alone and go deduce another human being into your selfish grasp. I’m bloody tired of this,” John began to walk from the door and Sherlock stopped him just as John had made him halt.

                “Why do you always walk out on my very limited kindness?” His fingers were tugging at Johns sleeve and the man recoiled into the room.

                “You call that kindness? Pointing out the obvious and acting as if nothing I said had actually been said? You are so…” John’s fists clenched as the anger began to pulse through his veins like some kind of weird hot blood.

                “Calm down John,” Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder but the aggravated man pulled away.

                “You want me to calm down? I’m not the one who needs nicotine patches! Who needs the death and hardship of others to keep his useless time occupied! I’m not the one who carries around a man as if he were his loyal dog! You are a sick bastard and I hope you burn in hell!” John had never spoken out like that to Sherlock. The younger one stepped away, staring at the man as if he were a terrifying beast. Sherlock flattened out his shirt and spoke a quiet good night. John wouldn’t let him leave though, sending more of his own personal deductions about Sherlock’s personality towards the man. Sherlock smiled as John stopped to catch his breath, he looked away, and Sherlock stood with his back facing him. The room was silent and John gave a sarcastic laugh. He fell down onto the couch and shook his head. Sherlock turned around with an eyebrow raised, his eyes still amused from the last insults that had been thrown towards him.

                “Everything is a bloody game with you isn’t it?” John spat and Sherlock set his hands behind his back with each palm clasping the other.

                “I don’t want to hear it John.” His voice was deep and tired but John shook his head and kept going.

                “You don’t want to hear it? And why the hell not? Is it because you can’t handle the truth?” Sherlock’s fingernails dug into the pale skin on his hands. He was ready to lash out but kept his composure as best he could. The room was silent again. This was the third night in a row that the two of them had fought, but this time it was different. This time Sherlock could feel every word John said as if he really meant it.

                “I can handle the truth.” His voice was monotone and John laughed once again, spitting out words on how Sherlock was thick and reckless and how he didn’t know why he put up with Sherlock’s worthless drama.

                “Fine then John! Why don’t you stop asking yourself all of these questions and just move out already?! It seems like the only logical thing you could do! It would be better for the both of us- we have jobs. We need to focus on them. Just…” Ms. Hudson popped her head in at the moment when Sherlock whipped around with his face curled up with disgust, “GET OUT!” John flinched back as Sherlock threw a book aimed at him. John dodged it and Ms. Hudson scurried off like a frightened mouse.

                “I’ll call for my things in the morning.” John hissed and slammed the living room door behind him. He rested his back on the wall outside of the room and sighed. Ms. Hudson slowly brought herself back upstairs and stared at John with questioning brown eyes. He rubbed his face in his hands.

                “I think this is it Ms. Hudson…” He whispered and the elderly woman’s heels clicked on the wood floor as she went to comfort him. Her motherly arms pulled him into a gentle hug and John’s hands took a tight hold of the back of her nightgown. Tears seeped into the woman’s shoulder as he buried his face into her clothed skin. She rubbed his back and whispered kind words into his ear.

                “It’s not it John, Sherlock’s just got to cool off a bit. Why don’t I go talk to him?” she set a hand on his head and began to brush his hair. He muttered a raspy no and tightened his grip on her gown.

                “I don’t think any words could change his mind about this Ms. Hudson… I… I will be leaving Baker Street. Call me,” he pulled away and wiped his eyes, “a cab if you wouldn’t mind.” His feet heavily went up the stairs to his bedroom. Ms. Hudson opened the door to the living room and closed it behind her. Sherlock was lying on the couch with his face turned towards to the back of the sofa.

                “Sherlock…” she murmured and picked up the book he had flung across the room at John. She went around, tidying things up while the twenty-seven year old man pouted as if he were five.

                “Go away Ms. H… I want to be alone.” He spoke into the fabric of his throw pillow.

                “And that’s exactly what you got! You’re such a brat. John is the only person besides me who can truly put up with you and look what you’ve gone and done. I should call up your mother to come get you. Possibly that rude brother of yours. I need someone to balance out your… insanity.” She muttered under her breath as she placed torn books onto their shelves and in stacks on the main desk.

                “Mycroft is out of town and Violet hasn’t spoken to me since I graduated university. No luck in you getting me out of here anytime soon.” He corrected and her face turned red and then she let out an exasperated breath.

                “I’ll get Lestrade or someone from the force to get you- but that isn’t the point Sherlock dear.” She carried away in the kitchen as she prepared some late night tea.

                “What is the point then?” his voice was flat and she peeked from behind the wall.

                “You need John and John needs you. You two boys are too hardheaded to see either sides of the coin.” She poured the hot water in the china and brought out a single cup for Sherlock. He sat up and took the cup with a wink of thanks.

                “I don’t need him. He does need me though.” Ms. Hudson gave him a stern look and he sipped the drink with a smirk.

                “I’m not letting him back in this flat though.” He grumbled and the woman sighed, grabbing her own cup.

                “I’m the landlady, not you. I chose who enters and who doesn’t. Now I would like you to go apologize to him.” He set the cup down and stood with a catlike stretch.

                “My, look at the time Ms. H. Time for my shower and then it’s off to bed. I have to meet Lestrade for coffee tomorrow morning. Goodnight,” Sherlock kissed the woman’s blonde-white hair and thanked her for the tea. He was gone in a matter of seconds and Ms. Hudson looked over at the clock that sat above the mantle. John hurried down the stairs as he heard the bathroom door closing, knowing it was Sherlock due to the time on his watch. He pulled his coat up over his arms and sat outside. Ms. Hudson hadn’t called him a cab so he had to flag one down with a waving hand. The driver stopped by the curb and John uttered the address out loud before he was even in the car. The man in the front seat tipped his hat and began to drive off.

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