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Happy Despicable Day!

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"Sherlock, I want to talk about Val..."


"Stop! I absolutely refuse to entertain any conversation on that subject. Don't even utter the words in my presence."


"Fine! About Thursday..."


"No! Do NOT besmirch the good name of Thursdays. If you MUST discuss this, please refer to 'it' by an appropriate title, Despicable Day."


"Despicable Day? I'm not calling Val... it, THAT. This isn't going to go away you know. You can definitely out think me, probably out run me with those gorgeous long legs of yours, and, if I'm having an off day, maybe even out fight me, but you CANNOT out wait me, Sherlock Holmes. Patience is the one area where I have you beat every time, and I'm going to win this particular skirmish. I don't expect you to give me a gift, and given the way you feel about going public with our relationship, I'm not hoping for a declaration of love. But in our home, if I want February 14th to mean something, it bloody well will!"




Thursday morning, John was unsurprised to find Sherlock's side of the bed empty and stone cold. He hadn't really had any confidence that his plan to cook a romantic breakfast for Sherlock would come to fruition, still, it was hard to swallow his disappointment. His suspicion that his stroppy lover was not in the flat proved true. So, with a muttered, "Damn stubborn sod.", he dressed, brewed tea and sat down to wait.


Sherlock had been sorely displeased to find that Molly Hooper had had the unmitigated gall to be out to a "Rose Petal Brunch" (whatever the hell that was) with Mike Stamford. Unacceptable! She should be here, at Bart's, in the morgue. It was a weekday, a workday for Gods sake. How annoying!


More vexing still, was his call to Lestrade going unanswered. The Inspector had taken the day off, he was told. Outrageous! In desperation, Sherlock even resorted to calling Mycroft. Seemingly amused, Anthea had informed the younger Holmes that his brother was out of the office for the remainder of the week. An unheard of development that left Sherlock tearing at his hair and literally snarling and stomping his way back to Baker Street. It truly WAS a Despicable Day.




When the thundercloud that was William Sherlock Scott Holmes crashed into their sitting room, Captain John Hamish Watson was ready for him- with a wink, smile and a passionate kiss. "There you are love. Been waiting best part of the morning for you. Have you eaten? 'Course you haven't, I know, not hungry. No worries, no time for that at any rate. Only a few minutes to spare to give you my gifts and then we're off to the luncheon at the Yard. You'll need to put on a bit of red to get in the spirit of things, although I suppose the red buttonhole on that sexy coat of yours will do. As you can see I'm all decked out in red just for you. Even got on your favorite pair of red pants, but that's for later. So, first your..."


"John!!!!" For a moment, whatever words were coming stuck in Sherlock's throat as he took a long appreciative look at the man in front of him who was wearing tight, quite tight, black jeans, a bright red (was that cashmere) jumper and good lord, were those red socks? Then the shock passed and the torrent let loose.


"Are you trying to put me out of my obvious misery by talking me to death? If so, you are very nearly there. This nonsense..."


"Not nonsense, sweetheart, romance. Therefore, you will shut the hell up, let me give you your damned gifts and take you to the 'you know what' luncheon at the Yard. No arguments. Even if you're embarrassed by me, I'm proud to be with you and you ARE going to let me show it!"


Stunned by the outburst, Sherlock only managed to squeak a feeble, "Yes John."


Taking him by the hand, John took him to the kitchen where a dozen roses in a vase and a small box of candy, perhaps only a half dozen pieces, was waiting on the table.


"Without thinking, Sherlock blurted out, "John, did you get these from our bins or a skip from up the road? These are atrocious!"


Instead of looking offended, John beamed. "Well spotted, darling! These were carefully selected with you alone in mind. Examine them closely and you'll see each rose is infected with a different type of fungus, and the candy each contains various strains of mould. Should give you enough experiments to last hours, perhaps even a whole day if you space them out. Smart as you are though, probably not."


Only the warmth of John's hand on his cheek shook him out of his brief stupor. "You with me, Lock?"


"This is wonderful, John. How did you ever think of it?"


"Can come up with a good idea on my own once in a great while, you git.", no heat in the remark.


"But I didn't get you anything."


"Told you, I didn't expect it. Just seeing you happy is all the gift I need. Now, I was serious about you coming to the Yard with me, so off you pop."


As they headed for the door, Sherlock noticed a large, heart shaped balloon tied to the back cushion of his chair as if sitting comfortably waiting for a cuppa. "What is that?"


"Oh that's for later. It's filled with a special gas for you to deduce under optimum conditions of course, meaning with care. No destroying the flat on Val... a Thursday."




The luncheon at the Yard was every bit as horrifying as Sherlock feared. The dining room was draped in a nauseating array of pink, red and white streamers with hearts and, how puerile, Cupid cutouts affixed to the walls. The punch was red, the cookies and cupcakes were pink and Sherlock was only thankful they hadn't attempted to fashion the finger sandwiches from red and pink bread.


He tried to avoid people but Molly and Mike cornered him and he had no avenue of escape. Molly's squeal, made his eyes water.


"Sherlock!" She bounced up and down like an excited toddler. "You came, I'm so glad. It must have made John ever so happy. He's such a good friend. Look what Mike gave me. Aren't they adorable?"


She glanced down and Sherlock saw she was wearing purple knee socks covered in pink kittens with red heart shaped ears.


"Don't need to be you to guess what she gave me," Mike chimed in. In the crook of his arm he cradled a fuzzy ginger teddy bear wearing a white doctor's coat and a pair of gold colored wire rim glasses. "Looks just like me don't you think?"


Sherlock was spared having to answer by Mycroft appearing and Greg's large hand clapping him on the shoulder. "Hello. Myc tried to tell me John could get you here, but I wasn't convinced."


"Brother mine, be so kind as to remind the good Inspector that a Holmes is NEVER mistaken."


Ignoring the request, he bristled. "I tried contacting both of you this morning only to be informed that you were unavailable. That is patently absurd. Neither of you are ever... that."


Greg grinned like a fool as Mycroft bumped his shoulder in an obvious sign of affection and said, "We are when it comes to being there for one another, together."


"Yep, was actually Myc's idea. Nothing he needs in the way of a gift, nor me, so we're giving each other the gift of our time and undivided attention until next Monday. Best gift ever."


Molly chirped up again, "So don't keep us in suspense, what did John give you? What do friends give friends on Valentines Day?"


"He, ah, he... some fascinating experiments to explore. Thoughtful and clever."


"And you," she persisted, "what did you get him? Oh Sherlock, you DID get him something didn't you?"


His mind was suddenly filled with a loud buzzing as what John had said earlier flashed past his eyes. Embarrassed. John thought he was embarrassed by their being together. He wasn't, he WASN'T. John could never embarrass him. John was his everything. Without John he would be completely lost. "Fuck, Sherlock, you're an idiot!", he chided himself.


Suddenly, he was desperate to find John and have him close. His brain came back on line and reminded him that John was up on the makeshift stage being an impromptu DJ for the music playing to add to the party "atmosphere". He fairly ran to the stage and jumped in front of the microphone that had been placed there for announcements.


Clearing his throat roughly, he began. "Ladies and Gentlemen, oh and Donovan and Anderson, if I could have your attention briefly. John, here with me if you please."


Those closest to John saw him respond immediately with a soldier's alertness that indicated he expected Sherlock to suddenly shout "Vatican Cameos" and an assassin dressed as Cupid to leap out of the loo, gun at the ready.


"Relax, John. There is no danger, well not that kind of danger at least. I have been 'enjoying' sharing with everyone their romantic adventures of the day and it occurred to me that I should do the same. This is both good and bad. The bad, is how remiss I have been in not sharing my own experiences earlier. The good is whoever has today in the office pool, and I am sure it is you Greg as you are sentimental to a fault, wins the prize as I am here to announce that not only am I in a devoted exclusive relationship with John Watson, but I am in love with him. And if HE isn't embarrassed by ME, I should very much like to kiss him right now."


Sherlock needn't have worried, as John settled the matter with teeth, tongue and two handfuls of Sherlock arse cheeks as the crowd hooted, hollered and applauded. For his part, Greg already had plans for his winnings.




The day for lovers notwithstanding, they only made it halfway back to Baker Street before they were ordered from the cab, the cabbie so eager to get away from the two horny nutters in his backseat that he roared off without waiting for his fare.


They held hands, giggling as they walked the rest of the way home, occasionally stopping to snog unashamedly on the pavement, with John encouraging pedestrians to " Go the hell around us, if you don't like it!" Arms entwined like strands of ivy they almost fell across the entryway.


Love songs on the radio drifted from Mrs. Hudson's flat and Sherlock startled, "John we should have gotten Hudders..."


"We did, love. Two dozen "long stemmed" chocolate roses covered in red foil. I'm reliably informed that they will be the perfect accompaniment to her evening herbal soothers. She was delighted to get the sweet card from BOTH of us."


"My hero, you are up to every task."


Waggling his eyebrows, John snorted, "We'll see about that in a bit, yeah. Right now I'm for a cuppa."


In short order, coats were hung and the tea was ready but Sherlock beckoned John into the sitting room. Opening his arms wide and giving a cheeky wink, he purred. "Come here John!"


The doctor didn't need to be told twice as he went to envelop this man he adored in his arms. What he didn't anticipate was Sherlock's enthusiastic intent to flop into his chair pulling John onto his lap.


Before John could caution more than "Sherlock, don't.", momentum carried them down, their combined weight landing squarely on the balloon resting there which exploded with a loud POP.


Instantly, the air around them filled with the most noxious smell imaginable. As John gasped for breath, Sherlock wheezed, "59% nitrogen, 20% hydrogen, 9% carbon dioxide, 7% methane, 4% oxygen and 1% hydrogen sulfide gas and mercaptans. Oh John you've given me a fart balloon! Brilliant!!!!"


"Oo-hoo! Boys I've brought you some heart shaped scones and tarts. I'll just leave them on the table shall I? What in the world is that odour?! Sherlock, shame on you! Cutting loose like that with poor John trapped on your lap, and today of all days! Not at all lovey-dovey if you don't mind me saying."


"Hudders! Why blame me without any evidence?"


"Because I know you dear, and John is a doctor. He has better control of himself and undeniably better manners. I'll be heading downstairs and PLEASE open a window and light a candle. It's more romantic."




Experiments deferred, windows opened and candles alight, The Boys were pleasantly sated after a roll in the sheets that did not involve flowers but did include chocolate sauce not coated in mould.


"Have to say, not quite how I imagined you discovering the contents of the balloon but I'm proud of your scientific prowess, and your prowess in THIS area as well." He indicated the mess in their bed. "I will never be able to tell you how much what you said at the Yard today in front of our friends means to me. It will be a memory I'll treasure for the rest of my... our, lives. All in all, a very very happy Despicable Day."


"No, John. Not Despicable at all. Never that ever again. I love you John. Happy Valentines Day."