Work Text:
"The beach, John? Seriously?"
Sherlock looked up from his favourite position on the couch – his head tucked neatly on the British flag pillow and his hands steepled just below his chin. John, standing in the middle of the living room, looking quite pleased with his own decision, nodded.
"Yeah, thought it would be good for us to get out a bit. Enjoy the sun while we have it – lord knows we don’t get too much of that here in London."
Sherlock scoffed.
"Boring."
"Thought you’d say that." John produced a gift from his pocket, dangling it in front of Sherlock.
"I’ll let you open it at the beach. Oh, and I will need help putting on sun oil, especially on my back."
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he got up from the couch.
"Those cheesy tricks might have worked on your girlfriends, John, they won’t work on me." He wandered into the kitchen to make tea. John put the gift on the table.
"I’ll have a cuppa as well, thanks", he said, without commenting further on the beach trip.
***
Later that evening, John was watching TV and Sherlock was back on the couch, eyeing the gift.
"What’s in it, anyway?" Sherlock nodded to the package.
"I’ll let you know. At the beach." John said, without looking away from the telly.
"Childish."
John smiled, but didn’t reply.
***
"I’ll just open it after you’ve gone to bed. Or just let me hold it, I’ll deduce it."
"You can open it now, if we go to the beach tomorrow."
Sherlock sighed dramatically.
***
They were seated at the breakfast table. John digging into his cereal while Sherlock was enjoying his toast with liberal amounts of honey. He was chewing thoughtfully.
"Fine. We will go to the beach. I don’t know why this is so important to you."
"Just some sun and fresh air, Sherlock. It will do us both some good." John got up and went to the bedroom. He returned with the gift, and tossed it to Sherlock, who quickly caught it.
Sherlock turned the gift around, sniffed it and dangled it in front of his ear.
"No sound, no particular smell. No loose bits. Solid. Feels like a book."
"Thought you’d need something to keep you occupied. Come on, let’s pack."
***
A few hours later, John was enjoying the sand between his sandal-clad toes. The beach was busy, but not as bad as it could have been, considering the rare sunny day in England. Sherlock was silent, but seemed to be in a good mood himself. He had brought the gift, but hadn’t opened it yet. He had said he wanted something to do when he got bored of deducing the other people at the beach.
John stopped. There seemed to be a huge gathering of people and equipment at the other end of the beach. John could see cameras, mics and what looked like a couple in Victorian outfits surrounded by people in t-shirts and shorts.
"Look at that, Sherlock.», he said, pointing towards the set. "Looks like they are shooting a movie, or maybe a tv-series".
Sherlock glanced in the direction John was pointing.
"Too bad Mrs. Hudson isn’t here, she would probably know exctly what this is for, and which actor is married to which actress."
John laughed as he put his blanket down on an empty spot. He rummaged through his bag until he found the sun screen. He sat down and started rubbing the cream into his arms and front before handing it to Sherlock.
"Do my back, will you?"
Sherlock sat down behind John, squeezed some cream onto his hand and started massaging his shoulders. John closed his eyes and sighed contently. It really felt lovely. He could feel Sherlock’s breath by his ear.
"This is the true reason for us going to the beach, isn’t it? " Sherlock whispered, his voice deep and warm, while his hands caressed John’s shoulders.
John smiled widely.
"One of the perks, yeah."
They gave each other a brief kiss before Sherlock continued with his shoulder and upper back.
"Lie down so I can do your lower back."
John did as he was told. He relaxed into Sherlock’s comfortable and warm touch. It had been a long week at the clinic, he was tired. Nothing wrong with just closing his eyes and relaxing a bit…
"My dear Watson, if I may, we need to go!"
Watson opened his eyes. Where was he? Looking around he saw a dark London street, lit by gas lamps and an impatient, and perfectly clad, Sherlock Holmes standing a few feet away from him.
"Why are you just standing there? We have to be quick on our feet, Watson, or I fear the culprit will get away!"
Watson wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he ran after Holmes as he had done so many times before. They ran past whinnying horses pulling cabs and late night wanderers, around corners and into dark alleys. Holmes disappeared behind a corner, and as Watson heard a thumph and a yelp , he sped up even more and flew around the corner.
There he saw the culprit they had been chasing, sitting on the ground, holding his stomach in agony, and a quite proud looking Holmes looming over him.
"So tell me, Mr Brown, you were the very figure we saw skulking outside Lady Cromwell’s estate last week, were you not?"
Mr Brown nodded, eyes closed in pain.
"Yes, yes, it was me. In Lord’s name, was that kick really necessary?"
"Well, my dear sir, you were running, and I had to catch you, didn’t I? Oh, there you are, Watson. I dare say, you have put on a few pounds after moving in with Mrs Watson, haven’t you? You seem to be a tad slower than you used to be?"
Watson furrowed his brows in protest.
"I beg your pardon, Holmes! I am as in a fine shape as ever! Just… my leg, you see!"
Holmes gave him a sidewards glance.
"Yes… your leg. Of course."
Watson huffed.
"I am quite disappointed with the crimincal classes these days, Watson,» Holmes complained. «Simple murders, easy solutions. And when they are under suspect, they flee. The state of it!"
Watson tried his best to surpress a smile behind his moustache.
"Yes, I will make sure that those of the criminal inclination receive the telegram annoucing Holmes’ requirement of the London thugs."
Holmes drew in a breath in protest, but before he could reply there were the sounds of shouting and the running of boot-clad feet approaching.
"Holmes! Watson! What in God’s name do you think you are doing?"
"Ah, Lestrade! There you are. You and your Scotland Yard finest, arriving a little late as usual. Yes, I caught your man, as always. If only you had paid attention to the details, Lestrade…"
Watson could hear a Holmes deduction rant coming on and was slightly zoning out. Someone was prodding him, it felt like, but when he looked over his shoulder, there was no one there.
"John?"
Who was that? Holmes never called him John in public, very few men did – and this was definitly a man’s voice. Not since he was a young boy and his father had…
"John! Wake up!"
John woke to Sherlock shaking his shoulder. He felt hot and his mouth was dry. Where were they? Lestrade? This was too warm for the London back alley.
It took him a few seconds to wake up properly. Oh, the beach! Sherlock looked mildly annoyed by having been left alone on the boring beach. His gift, a book called Bees and Beekeeping in the Urban Household, was laying next to his own blanket.
"You fell asleep and I’ve finished the book you gave me – interesting, by the way, thank you for that. But now it got boring."
"I dreamt we were chasing a stalker through the streets of London in Victorian times."
"Really, John? You and Mrs Hudson watch far too much telly. There is nothing more melodramatic and cliched than the Victorian times."
"I even had a wife! Can you imagine?» John laughed in disbelief – what an odd dream!
Sherlock snorted while packing up his book and blanket.
"Sounds both unrealistic and melodramatic, then. Let’s go home. No use in the beach if you’re only going to fall asleep. You can do that at home, while I check up on my latest study in decomposing rat organs."
John sat up, still lost in thought. It had felt real, though. He looked over to the movie shooting. Whatever they were doing, it featured a woman crying and some children, all clad in Victorian clothes. Nothing like what he had dreamt. Part of him just wanted to close his eyes and continue the dream. He was wondering how that version of Holmes and Watson were doing. Did they live together? Like flatmates? Surely a relationship wouldn’t be possible in the Victorian era? But no one knew what happened between closed curtains, did they?
"John!" Sherlock was standing with his bag packed, looking impatient.
"Are you coming?"
"Alright, I’m coming" John got to his feet and tucked his blanket into his bag. He wanted to continue the story from his dream. Maybe get inspiriation from one of the crimes they’d solved together, put that into the story. He and Sherlock solving their crimes in the Victorian era? Would be something to do when they didn’t have much going on and he didn’t have new tales to blog about. Better than watching Sherlock’s rat experiment anyway. Who knew, perhaps it would be a hit? He had no idea what was popular in the crime novel department nowadays.
"Can we stop by the library, Sherlock? I want to borrow some books about London in Victorian times."
Sherlock raised a curious eyebrow.
John cleared his throat.
"For research. You never know what could come in handy at a crime scene".
"All right. But when we get home, you owe me a massage." Sherlock winked. John grinned back.
"You mean the rat organs can wait?"
Sherlock’s face cracked in a wide grin.
"Oh, definitly. "
The looked at each, both smiling. Perhaps the library could wait until tomorrow, John thought happily, as they walked towards the cab line.