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Louis's visits to Baker Street had become more frequent after the events with the parrot (which began to live in Louis's room, where the blonde hoped no one would hear it repeat... some words it had learnt). In the evenings, at least once a day, Louis went for a short while, sometimes accompanying Sherlock while someone consulted him, sometimes waiting for him in the room.
But after the rooster... Sherlock found himself constantly looking at a nearby clock, wondering why Louis hadn't arrived. For the first three days of his absence, Sherlock wasn't too worried; he thought he might be getting used to the idea of a second feathered child.
By the fourth day, Sherlock was determined to visit Louis and find out what was going on. But before Sherlock could leave his flat, Louis arrived, right on time for lunch, with a basket of food already prepared and his calmest expression, as if his mind were free of any possible remorse.
They stared at each other for a few seconds. And Louis spoke before Sherlock could ask.
"I made lunch." And he raised the basket a few inches to indicate his words. For a person of such powerful and pronounced energy, he was suspiciously calm in Sherlock's eyes.
And even though the mood was distant, Sherlock still sought his lips in a couple of small kisses that Louis gave in to.
The detective hadn't had breakfast that day and was always hungry for whatever his partner cooked, so they decided to have lunch. The eldest set the table for lunch, with plates and cutlery, while asking Louis about his day and how the rooster had been.
The general answers tried to summarise his daily activities as best they could and to catch up with each other. And Louis's words, directed specifically at the rooster's condition, were more cutting and suspenseful.
Then Sherlock decided to ask something direct: "And where is the rooster now? Do you have him inside or outside the mansion?"
Louis looked at him with an innocent smile as he replied, "It's not here anymore. He's in a better place now." And at that moment he served the meal he had brought, which consisted of a golden chicken bathed in red sauce and some rice.
Sherlock's jaw almost dropped from how wide his mouth opened at the impact. "You don't..."
Louis continued to pour food onto the plates, deliberately adding more to Sherlock's portion.
"Louis," Sherlock laughed nervously, telling himself it was a joke. His partner wasn't cold-blooded enough to... "okay, seriously, where's the rooster?"
Louis stopped moving the spoon, taking a few seconds to appreciate the disturbance in Sherlock's eyes. "Mmmm, yes, my answer was not a game," and Louis put on a serious expression with a look that denied the possibility of a lie.
"And by in a better place... do you mean you built him a little house...?"
"No, I mean he's no longer with us. My brother made the sacrifice, but it will be for the best." And Louis was silent for a few seconds, as if respecting a silent mourning, then he continued to serve the chicken onto the plates. "Would you like some more chicken?"
"Louis, dear, did you really cook our son?"
"Son? It's food."
"How dare you call our son 'food'? I'm filing for divorce and full custody of our other son!"
"Our 'other son' is currently repeating: Harder, Louis~. The parrot was lucky not to fall into the same pot."
And with the same calm he had shown before, he sat down in the nearest chair and prepared to eat lunch, enjoying his own seasoning.
Sherlock looked at him in horror, and although Louis tried to get him to eat, he wouldn't take a bite.
/
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"So..." Moran said, "why are we bringing Holmes' cock to Durham, William?"
The mathematician, holding the cage containing a certain rooster in his lap, looked at Moran with a smile. "It's a rooster. I'm asking you to respect my nephew, Colonel. And Louis and I think the rooster would be better off here in Durham, since we sometimes spend more time here."
"But why didn't the rooster's father come with us?"
"I can only assume that he had some unfinished business with the other father of this rooster."