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Sherlock in Metal

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There were many things about Sherlock Holmes that John will never understand. Like Sherlock’s complete ineptitude in the area of human emotion. Or his tendency to willingly go without sleep for days on end. Or his choice to play his violin at a screech when he is capable of playing any symphony he wants. There is a list, a quite extensive list, of the bizarre activities and habits of Sherlock Holmes. This list is what makes Sherlock, Sherlock, so John typically doesn’t question it.
The key word here being “typically.” He typically doesn’t question it, except for precise moments like these when John just can’t help himself from wondering what on earth is going on in his home.
John is sipping a cup of tea in the kitchen, enjoying the first peace and quiet he’s had all morning, until he is disturbed by what sounds like the flat’s entire collection of pots and pans having a fantastic row. He rises from his seat to check on the disturbance when Sherlock rounds the corner.
“John, could you help me with my bracer? I can’t quite reach the buckle at this angle.” Sherlock says it as if he’s having trouble buttoning a shirt-cuff, and John looks at him in disbelief.
“You’re wearing a suit of armor,” John says dully.
“Not an entire suit, yet. Could you hurry about it? I’m running late.” Sherlock holds out an arm impatiently.
John simply furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head back and forth. “I-“ He cuts off, pursing his lips and trying to figure out what we wants to ask first, “Where on earth were you keeping a bloody suit of armor?” Not what John planned on going with, but a fair enough question nonetheless.
Sherlock rolls his eyes quickly and gives a huff, trying to buckle the bracer himself as he speaks, “I just acquired it. I’m on a case for the British Museum, and they lent it to me for observational purposes. Someone has been stealing small artifacts from their Dark Ages exhibit, and as usual, none of them are capable of observing anything, so-“
“So, you’re going to stand in a suit of armor all day to observe everyone who’s in the exhibit.” John finishes, nodding. A small smile of disbelief creeps over his face, even though he knows this is far from the strangest thing Sherlock will ever do.
“Obviously.”
John chuckles as he fastens the bracer, ending Sherlock’s struggle. “Well, good luck with that. I’ll see you around for dinner, then? We could try that new Moroccan place downtown.”
“Excellent,” Sherlock says, pleased. He places the helmet on his head and closes the visor, “I’ll be looking forward to it.” He bounds down the stairs, as quickly as you can bound in a full suit of armor. John sits back down at the table again and takes a sip of tea before he begins to laugh at the thought of Sherlock trying to catch a cab.
He laughs again twenty minutes later when he checks the weather report and finds himself hoping that his flat mate won’t get roasted by lightning.