Sadie:
Sherlock sat on the floor; a moody, sullen, folded-up ball of spite, glowering at nothing in particular (especially not at John, who was decidedly not worth his attention right now), and sucking furiously away at the dummy in his mouth.
“You can stop sulking at any time, you know.”
Sherlock’s only response was to curl into an even tighter ball.
John sighed to himself as he stirred his mug of tea. Sherlock had been this way all afternoon, ever since they’d gotten home after the…incident…at the park. He tapped the spoon against the rim of his mug, and carried it with him to his chair. “You cannot keep a bee in a jar, love,” he said as he sat down, taking a sip.
That did it. That was the incendiary comment needed. Sherlock whirled around on his backside and glared up at John; “Can too!” he spat.
John raised his eyebrow. “Watch your tone.”
Sherlock huffed and spun back around, facing away from John again. This wasn’t fair.
Oh, God. He was going to be like this all night, now. John rubbed his temple; “Sherlock, keeping a bee in a jar would be cruel.”
Sherlock stiffened and scowled deeper. John was wrong. He knew enough about bees to know how to take care of one.
John switched tactics. “They need to live in a hive, with all of their friends, and their
honey…that’s where they’re happiest. Wouldn’t you want all the little
bee’s to be happy?”
Well…Sherlock did want all the bees to be happy. Maybe John was onto something. Sherlock turned to face him again, and scooted towards his chair. “…Ca’ we get a hi’be, ‘addy?” he asked, propping his chin on top of John’s knee and peering up at him with big, hopeful eyes.
John laughed; he couldn’t help it. “Good Lord, no!” he chuckled, sitting his tea aside before he spilled it in his lap.
Now that was truly cruel. Sherlock sat back and continued to stare up at John, tears welling in his eyes.
John noticed, and the laughter died away. “Sherlock,” he said gently, and took the little detective’s chin in his hand. “The city’s just not a good place for that kind of thing, love. There’s not a great lot for them to eat around here, and too many people.”
Sherlock’s chin began to wobble.
‘Christ.’ “Besides, have you forgotten what bees do?” John whispered seriously, as if he had a great, big secret to tell.
Sherlock blinked up at him, waiting.
John leaned in closer; “They…sting!” he crowed, and poked Sherlock right in the ribs, taking him by surprise. Sherlock startled back and covered himself with his hands.
“Did you see the size of that one?!” John poked him again, on the other side. “Look, there’s another one! And one over there! And behind you!” and on and on he went, poking the little detective in the neck, the belly, the ear, under the arm, wherever he could, until the squirming little boy fell over backwards, squealing and giggling. “ ‘toppit, ‘addy!” he panted in between giggles as he lay flat on the floor, grinning up at John around his dummy, his eyes crinkling happily at the edges.
John laughed and scooted off of his chair to sit on the floor next to him, and within moments, had a bundle of bright-eyed little boy in his lap. “I know you love bees, sweetheart,” he said, kissing his forehead. “But we just can’t right now.”
Sherlock sighed and leaned against John. Maybe he was right, after all. “Th’omeday?” the little detective asked, peering up at John through his eyelashes.
John smiled. “Someday.”
Sadie & Mo's Boutique 