Bilbo Baggins could never get the hang of Thursdays.
His cousin John was much the same and so the two of them had decided that Thursdays must have some sort of vendetta against Watsons and Bagginses, though they were never sure exactly what it was that they did to offend the God of Thursday so. The git.
Because this was the only reasonable explanation as to why Bilbo came to his senses, only to find himself snuggled against a hard, very male chest, his face already instinctively turned in to breathe a familiar, much-missed scent - pine, soap-and-water, the sort of expensive aftershave that was the Perfect Excuse for any sane person to nuzzle into the neck of the fellow who happened to have the good taste to use it.
Face absolutely crimson at this point, Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut and muttered, “Please tell me I’m dreaming.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Sherlock’s voice from somewhere behind him quite gleefully. “We tried to convince His Majesty to let you go but he’s rather determined to keep you where you are at the moment.”
“I still think he ought to be taken to a hospital,” rumbled an achingly familiar baritone. Oh dear God.
“We could,” said the equally familiar voice of his cousin John quite agreeably. “If His Majesty would agree to letting me take a look at my patient first, so I could make an accurate diagnosis.”
Bilbo’s eyes flew open. Yes, he was currently and comfortably ensconced on the lap of Thorin Durin, King of Erebor, the Arrogant Bastard that Bilbo had been trying to get over for the better part of the last three years. And he was just finally getting to the stage where he had resigned himself to pining after the Idiot for the rest of his days, like a suitably tragic hapless heroine in the very worst sort of romance novel. Stupid, stupid and even more stupid, but there you have it, that was his life.
So Bilbo tried to gingerly swing his feet off from where it was draped across Thorin’s thigh and most of his couch and get off the man’s lap. Naturally, his traitorous brain started clamoring with the worst “is that his belt buckle poking my arse?” jokes that he could think of, which he internally shushed with a “SHUT UP. MOVING ON. NOTHING TO SEE HERE.”
It was a good plan - a sensible one, even. But naturally, Thorin had to growl and pull him back with a muttered, “Stay still, for God’s sake and stop squirming.“
“If you two could hold off on the inevitable fight and quite possibly intense make-up sex for just a few minutes while my John makes sure your Bilbo is not concussed?” Sherlock chimed in with a smirk.
“Oh God,” Fili whimpered. Of course, the boys were now here in his flat as well - probably the ones who’d led everybody else up here when Bilbo did his Humiliating Fainting Heroine Bit.
“Don’t sweat it too much, Fee,” Kili advised. “Just means we’re getting an Uncle Bilbo now! For realsies!” The brunette slanted a glance at Sherlock. “Does this mean you’re a Consulting Cupid as well as a Consulting Detective now?”
John groaned. “Oh God, now you’ve done it. We’re never going to hear the end of this.”
Sherlock chortled. “Lovely thing to add to my resume, I should think…”
“Doctor, your patient, if you please?” Thorin gritted out.
“Yes, my patient and also my cousin, whose heart you bloody broke, but I’ll hold off breaking that nose of yours in turn for a few more minutes - “
“OI!” This from Fili and Kili.
John, of course, simply glared the boys into submission and grumpily proceeded with his examination, which Bilbo was only too happy to suffer through, if only because it was giving him some time to recover his wits. Which wasn’t easy, mind you, since Thorin had apparently decided to abdicate his role as King of Erebor and serve as Bilbo’s chair for the rest of his life. And having those arms wrapped around his waist felt a little too good, not to mention the faint tickle of Thorin’s breath against his ear…
All right, so Bilbo was going to yell at the Arrogant Bastard later. When there weren’t any know-it-all Consulting Detective-Cupids, Cousins and Nephews for an audience.
Snogging the bastard stupid was also part of the Plan. God damn Sherlock anyway.
Finally, John pronounced Bilbo fit as he ever could be, with some warnings to watch out for any sign of headaches, nausea, vomiting which Thorin, Fili and Kili promised to watch out for, despite Bilbo’s weak protests.
“All right,” Bilbo said tiredly. “Please remember we’re not all blinding geniuses like yourself and I’m going to start asking stupid questions.”
“Honestly,” Sherlock sniffed. “You are a respected archeologist and historian - I rather like the way you applied deductive reasoning and drew out some very plausible conclusions on the causes of the Fall of Gondor. You and your cousin are both fairly intelligent men - “
“And at that point, Sherlock,” John interrupted. “You need to stop while I”m still inclined to snog you silly for being sweet. Go on, Cousin.”
“Fili and Kili are princes?” Bilbo knew his priorities. “Of Erebor?”
The boys had the grace to look suitably chagrined.
“We just went incognito because we didn’t want a lot of fuss - ” began Kili.
” - and we’re lucky we found you, you’re really nice and you’re pretty much family for us - “
” - except that we honestly didn’t know about you and Uncle Thorin so I guess you were family after all - “
” - and Uncle Thorin, if this is about the mess with the Arkenstone three years ago, then you’re, we’re sorry, a bleeding idiot - “
” - but we love you anyway!”
Good thing Bilbo was used to the boys doing their odd routine of finishing each other’s sentences.
“The Arkenstone,” Thorin said quietly, “could be lost in the River Thames for all I care at this point. I came here for a number of reasons, but finding you was the first priority. I didn’t know you were actually the boys’ ‘good ol’ Mister Boggins’.”
“The Arkenstone hasn’t been lost in the Thames, Your Majesty,” Sherlock informed them loftily. “We received a rather interesting present of a fat Christmas goose, left on the doorstep of 221B. Oddly enough, the card on its was addressed to one Bilbo Baggins.”
“Buggering hell,” John sighed. “We’re cousins, not bloody identical twins!”
Bilbo repressed a sigh as well. “Yes, well there are differences. Though I won’t be the one doing the commentary about who’s better looking…”
“I think we pretty much exhausted everything one could possibly say there, Cousin.”
“Indeed we have, Cousin.” Bilbo smiled weakly. “I get to be the adorable one; you get to be the cute one. We have a contract and everything!”
It was a running joke amongst the Watsons and Bagginses that John and Bilbo did look unnervingly similar, except Bilbo had curly, chestnut hair, while John was blonde. If it hadn’t been for the fact that John was actually born a few months before Bilbo, he honestly would’ve thought they were twins separated at birth. They were, of course, used to this by now.
Oddly enough, Sherlock and Thorin exchanged looks of long-suffering. Bilbo tried not to think too much about what would happen if those two actually managed to get along for five minutes. London was not prepared for that sort of disaster.
“Be that as it may, I will happily admit to liking a good stuffed goose…except I’m rather sure this wouldn’t be so edible as stuffing ingredients go…” With a rather clever bit of sleight of hand, Sherlock produced a large jewel, exquisitely cut and still deceptively, deadly beautiful.
The Arkenstone of Erebor.
- end -