Work Text:
John Watson thought, all things considered, there were worse things he could do then sell mattresses. He'd rather be putting his medical skills to use, but he hadn't been able to find a location willing to take a chance on a damaged ex-soldier. At least this was a product that, chosen properly, benefited its users, and the store was old-fashioned enough to care more about satisfying the customers than padding the profit margin no matter what.
Then came the day when the strange man visited. Mid-week, mid-afternoon, only John and the assistant manager were working, as most of their business was done with couples on the weekend. A tall, dark-haired man in a long coat swept though the door and looked around, eyes sparkling.
"Oh, this is wonderful!" he chortled. "So many options!"
John approached slowly and cautiously. "May I help you, sir?"
Insightful eyes swept him up and down. "As an ex-army doctor, you're being wasted here, but you know that."
John gritted his teeth, took a breath, ignored what he said, and tried again. "What kind of mattress are you shopping for?"
The tall man looked around the shop. "That depends on my results. I need to start testing." He pulled a tablet out of his coat, stepped to the order desk, and folded out a keyboard from its case. John heard him muttering, "The variables require cross-checking. Firmness, construction, brand, bases, adjustments ... the combinations!"
"All right, well, if you need anything, my name is John." John peered around his possible-but-unlikely customer to see a rather complex-looking spreadsheet on the screen, which disappeared as soon as the man slapped the tablet closed. He scooped it up and headed to the far left forward corner of the store, where he arranged himself on the first mattress. With his pale skin, legs straight, and arms crossed on his chest, he rather resembled a corpse.
As time ticked by, John argued with himself over whether and when he should approach the man again. He nattered, mentally, until the man himself snapped his eyes open, sat straight up, and swung his legs off the first sample bed. He opened the tablet, tapped at the screen, closed it, and laid down on another bed.
John wandered over, using the time to observe the rather attractive man lying in front of him. Long legs, long fingers, upscale shoes and clothes, curly hair that cried out to be touched... John shook himself and went off to tidy across the shop.
When the man repeated his process, lying down on the third bed, John figured he should check in, particularly given that the assistant manager was beginning to eye both of them suspiciously. He approached the customer, but as he opened his mouth, the man on the bed said, "I don't require your assistance, and if you interrupt me, I'll have to restart this trial."
John shrugged and said, "Whatever you say, mate. I'm here if you need me." He turned around, caught the assistant manager's eye, shrugged more obviously, and spread his hands, as if to say, "What can you do?"
As no other customers wandered in on this particular Tuesday, John found himself noticing the man's pattern. He spent exactly 22 minutes on each mattress before popping up, making notes, and moving to the next bed, clockwise around the shop. He'd made it through 8 beds by closing time. He didn't have to be shoo'ed off, although he left in controlled haste without saying anything further.
John's next shift began the following morning. It was boring until the man came in again after lunch. John nodded at him, he nodded back, and he picked up right where he'd left off. He almost made it through the rest of the samples they had set up, but closing time cut him off.
John didn't work the next day. He was disappointed, since he figured he wouldn't see the strange man again, but when he went back to work the day after, the man appeared shortly after his starting time and picked up where he had left off. Hunh. John felt slightly flattered, that the man preferred the days when he was in the shop. Although it might be that the other salespeople wouldn't have let him get away with his odd behavior.
As the time came for him to complete his test of the last bed in the shop, John watched him closely to see what he'd do. He popped up, as usual, opened his tablet, entered the data, then raised his head and looked around the shop. John saw his eyes dart from the tablet to various beds, then he raised his hand to summon John over.
"Given your shoulder injury, John, are you able to move these mattresses?"
"I'm not going to ask how you knew that, because none of the possible answers are going to make me feel better, but yes, I can."
"I need that mattress," he pointed, "on that frame."
"Are you actually going to buy anything, or are we just your hamster ball?"
"It's essential to a case that I understand fully the different bed combinations that are possible."
"A case? Are you some kind of medical practitioner?"
"Not that kind of case, John," the man chuckled. "I'm a consulting detective. I work with the police. And other organizations."
"And how, exactly, does the softness of our mattresses help with that? For that matter, what's your name?"
"Sherlock Holmes," the man said, as he held out his hand. "And it's complicated."
"So I'm just supposed to, I guess, trust you?" John responded, as they shook hands.
"I know it's unlikely, given your issues, but ... yes." The man with the unlikely name smiled, winningly, at John, but he wasn't going to let himself be manipulated. John sat down on one of the beds and patted the space beside him.
Sherlock dropped the expression and warily sat down next to John. "Are you going to help?"
"Only with more explanation," John responded.
"Well. I have a contact in ... let's just say the government. And he required some specialized information."
"About bedding?" John questioned.
"He's very particular and uniquely able to make my life difficult if I didn't provide the information he required."
"But what does this have to do with a case?"
"You are disturbingly persistent, John." Sherlock sighed. "Fine, if you must know... my contact has enough pull to prevent Scotland Yard from working with me unless I keep him happy."
"And how does three days of mattress testing do that?"
Sherlock ducked his head. "I destroyed his bed as part of an experiment, and he demanded I replace it with the best possible."
"Just how close are you to this contact, Sherlock?"
"He's my brother," Sherlock almost spit out the last word.
John fell back on the bad and rolled about laughing for a minute. After he wiped his eyes, he propped himself up on his elbows. "So, made your decision, then?"
Sherlock actually pouted. "You wouldn't let me check all the combinations."
"Three days of lying around here and you don't think you have enough data? Even the bickering couples don't take that long."
"He'd know if I took a shortcut. He's disturbingly detailed." Sherlock kept frowning.
John didn't like that expression on his face. "You sure you're going to buy one here?"
Sherlock nodded.
"All right, then. Meet me here tonight at 8. I'll open the store for you, and you can finish your tests, so long as you help me put everything back after."
Sherlock's eyes lit up. John hadn't realized how much they'd transform his face when he was happy.
That evening, John began to regret his impulsive attempt to help. He hadn't realized that Sherlock, given full reign of the store, would turn so demented. They'd reworked all the stock on the floor, which took hours, and it was now three in the morning. Mattresses were leaning wherever they could be placed, and the center of the shop floor had a teetering pile.
For someone so interested in testing mattresses, Sherlock didn't seem to need any sleep, while John was trying hard to keep his eyes open. Someone had to be the adult, and he didn't fancy getting sacked if anyone else saw the state of the store.
"Sherlock, it's time to finish up and put all this back to rights."
Sherlock didn't open his eyes. "Five more minutes, John."
John dragged himself over the side of the bed where Sherlock was lying. He half-heartedly pushed at Sherlock's shoulder. "Come on, you madman. It'll take hours as it is to straighten this out."
"It'll be fine, John. Trust me." Those sparkling eyes looked up at him, and suddenly, all John could think of was one thing: rest.
"Budge over, then." John flopped onto the bed, next to Sherlock. He thought he heard a chuckle and the sound of a text being sent before he drifted off.
Later that morning, he shocked himself into wakefulness with a sudden reminder of why he was about to lose his job. The arm round his waist and the warm presence at his back were the only things keeping him from jumping off the bed. When he opened his eyes, though, the store looked pristine.
He rubbed his eyes, then scrubbed over his face before sitting up. Sherlock was looking up at him, already awake and smiling. "What'd you do?" John asked the dark-haired man beside him.
"Called in a favor. My brother can occasionally be helpful, and he has a staff that take orders well."
"Much obliged, then. Wasn't looking forward to losing my job."
"Are you open to a better offer?" That phrase, said by a posh bloke lying next to him in a bed, send his mind reeling.
"What kind of offer?" John asked, hesitantly.
"You're wasted here. I need an assistant." At the sight of John's frown, Sherlock corrected himself. "Colleague. And your skills would benefit my work."
As John didn't immediately answer, Sherlock continued, "And I can offer room and board. I have a nice little flat on Baker Street. Since my work goes all hours, it only makes sense for us to live together."
John suddenly knew what he wanted. He put on that grin, the one that pulled for him more often than not. "And how many bedrooms in this flat?"
He could see Sherlock swallow as his eyes widened. "Er... there are two bedrooms. One for each of us."
"Convenient," John noted. "For when we're too lazy to change the sheets in one." He leaned down, moving slowly so Sherlock could signal his refusal or disinterest if needed. But that sign never came. Instead, Sherlock licked his lips and couldn't take his eyes off John's mouth. Just as they touched, kissing for the first time, the bell on the shop door went off.
John pulled away, disgruntled. "Tonight, then. What's the address?"
Sherlock leapt off the bed, smiling widely. He ran his hands through his hair, shaking it into place, and flipped a credit card into John's hands. "Put this set on that card, and I'll meet you tonight at 221B Baker Street." He winked as he ran out the door.
John sighed and grinned. At least his last sale would be a good one. He looked down at the card in his hands. "What's a Mycroft?"