Work Header

30 Drabbles

Chapter Text

Sherlock was sitting on his favorite chair when John finally came back from the shop, bags of food in hand. The detective didn’t offer to help, instead staring at the round silver piece he was twirling around his fingers.

“So you’re a sharpshooter?” Sherlock asked casually, ignoring whatever question it was John had just posed. John stopped for a moment to think.

“I thought you would have figured that out when I saved your life last week.”

“Pretty good one?”

“Square in the forehead, Sherlock, in case you forgot. Over your shoulder, through two windows. Yes, I’m pretty good - why, is there something you want me to hit?”

“But not the best.” Sherlock held up the silver medal for John to see. “Second place?”

John suddenly grew angry. “Where did you get that?”

Sherlock didn’t meet him flat mate’s eyes. “Still probably better than me,” he mumbled, glancing towards the fireplace as if there was suddenly something very interesting over there. John crossed the room to snatch the medal out of his hand.

“You’ve been snooping through my things.”

Sherlock almost said “no,” but remembered that lying wasn’t a good may to keep a flat mate, and said nothing.

“My things are my things, Sherlock. You can’t go digging through my room-“

“But it wasn’t in your room, John, you’d left the shoebox down here last week.” Sherlock gestured to the shoebox, half-tucked under the low couch on the opposite side of the room. A look of confusion passed over John’s face, but he couldn’t remember if that box had, in fact, been left there earlier, and decided to give his flat mate the benefit of the doubt.

“So, second place?” Sherlock asked again as John replaced the silver medal in the box with the rest of his memorabilia.

“Second place,” John confirmed. “I was almost the best, but there was this other chap, Lieutenant Moran, always the best of the squad.”

“Huh,” Sherlock said offhandedly. He was still staring at the fireplace, but we watched out of the corner of his eye as John left the room with the box. Always good to have a marksman on your side, he thought to himself.