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It had been one of those long days. All he wanted to do was get home and unwind. Instead, John had finished a nine hour shift at the clinic, popped over to Tesco’s to pick up the shopping and now this. He sat awkwardly on the rickety chair in Mrs Hudson’s kitchen, arms behind his head, eyes closed, just... waiting. He probably wouldn’t have minded as much, if it wasn’t that his much needed laptop was in his room.
He sighed then snatched his phone off the kitchen table and read the text again.
John,
Busy, using living room. Don’t disturb. Speak to Mrs Hudson. Let you know when free.- SH
It hadn’t been a great week by any means so far, so it was a surprise getting this message out of the blue. When Sherlock was at his lowest, most bored and disagreeable ebb, life always seemed to suddenly chuck a ton of cases his way. In fact, as Mrs Hudson had explained earlier, it had been the busiest she had even seen the detective, with spills of clients coming to and from all day. She had left an hour ago to play bingo with friends. She had invited him along but he politely declined, preferring to wait and plot his petty revenge.
John considered whether it would be appropriate to remind Sherlock that he did pay half the rent and thus this meant that he could come and go from their flat any time he chose. Against his better judgement, he flung his phone on the table and crossed his arms, feeling tired and alone. He hadn’t seen or heard from Sherlock all day and was faintly annoyed that he could still be so demanding, even if he wasn’t physically there. He leaned backwards, the chair creaking, and wondered what Sherlock was actually doing up there and more specifically, why it didn’t include him.
The front door bell rang, almost causing John to fall off his chair. He went grumbling to the door and opened it with a jerk. There on the step stood an oddly familiar person. Well, not quite a person; somebody very small with curly brown hair and large, bare feet. He stood apprehensively with a scrap of paper scrunched in his little hand. He looked up towards the surprised John and then at the paper.
“Good evening. Mr Sherlock Holmes I presume?”
“No, no. He’s upstairs at the moment. I’m John Watson. He is busy tonight, but if you would care to see him tomorrow, I'll make sure he gets your message.”
“Oh... I... Er... Yes but... really it is rather important and I have travelled quite far to be here...”
He seemed quite distraught and John couldn’t help but feel bad, even if that would mean he would have to wait to see Sherlock for yet another hour. He repressed a sigh.
“Okay, alright. Do you want to come in? I’ll make sure he sees you tonight.”
The little man’s face lit up.
“Thank you John.” The man answered happily as he took a jaunty step over the threshold and found his way into Mr’s Hudson’s flat. “My name is Bilbo Baggins. Can you apologise to Mr Holmes for my rudeness at turning up uninvited and at short notice, but I came here, not knowing what to do.”
“Don’t worry about it. Here, take a seat.” John pointed towards the rickety chair, which the man clambered onto. “Although I really don’t know how much longer he's going to be. Would you like a cup of tea? I think we’ve got some cake somewhere as well.” He said, as he rifled through the midsts of the full Tesco bags. “Ah here we go. Would you like some seed cake?”
“Yes please. That is awfully kind of you John,” Bilbo answered enthusiastically, beaming away as if he couldn’t believe a thing so marvellous was happening.
John gave a smile as he sliced a segment out of the cake and placed them both upon the table, wishing that sometimes he could get that kind of politeness and gratitude from Sherlock instead of grunts or dismissive hand gestures.
The kettle wailed while he found Mrs Hudson’s crockery. He flipped off the switch, poured the water, took out the teabags and carried the two mugs to the table.
“Oh,” John uttered, managing to stop himself from mentioning that the bit of the cake he had cut out was for Bilbo and not the rest of it. It was too late now anyway, so John just sat down and smiled weakly at the happy client.
Even though he had eaten most of the cake, John could not help but quite like Bilbo. Especially more so, as while John sipped his tea, the strange fellow commented favourably on the superior quality of his jumpers, leading to an engaging and thoughtful discussion as to where Bilbo could get a similar one. It was nice to meet someone who enjoyed the finer things in life as much as John did. Only once did he make a faux-pas, when Bilbo was mentioning about his long journey through the mountains and John started to advise him on suitable footwear for hiking.
But all in all, John hardly noticed the time fly by. He was just opening the third packet of jammy dodgers when he was interrupted by a shrill, buzzing tone. He pulled out his phone.
John-
Come up now. Finishing last case. That’s it.- SH
He looked at the expectant Bilbo. “He’s ready now. We should go up.”
As they exited flat 221A, they heard sounds of a ruckus above, which increased as Bilbo followed John up the stairs. It seemed odd but there was a stench of putrid smoke lingering along the landing and it was uncomfortably warm compared to the lower floor. Actually, It was extremely odd and John didn’t like it one bit. He put his ear to the door, and then knocked tentatively, voice full of concern. “Sherlock. Are you alright in there? You haven’t started smoking again, have you?”
There was no answer so John opened the door ajar and peered around it.
“Sherlock? What are you doing?” he asked, puzzled.
He could only see part of Sherlock; His upper body was thrust halfway out of the window, hands clutching tightly onto the window pane. John heard Sherlock shouting something as he levered himself back into the room.
“—For God’s sake. It stands to reason! You come here to try and find the thief who stole your cup when you’ve already got a mountain full of treasure and you think this is worth my time? I’ve already spoken today to a wizard wanting me to help decipher some map, some creature complaining about a stolen ring. And Thorin- son of Thrain, son of who-cares-what, about finding some ancient missing gem called the Arkenstone. I’m busy. Understand? Ask Scotland Yard, the answer’s obvious enough. Now go! You’re blocking off half the street!”
Sherlock turned around, face like thunder, which dissipated when he saw John. He strode towards him like a tall, thin, black storm cloud. “ John! Excell—”
Boom! The house shuddered, the curtains burst into flame, and the windows shattered with a crash across the floor.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He muttered under his breath, something about wagons. “John!” he exclaimed again. “Good, perfect timing. Can you make sure there are no more visitors; I am not taking on any more people. It is getting ridiculous! However, there is a link between them. Now, do you know where—“
“Pardon me, Mr Holmes.” A small voice interrupted. Sherlock replaced his incisive stare from John to the smaller face that peered lower down the doorframe. His eyes narrowed as he clasped his hands together.
“Yes?”
“Your secretary said it would be fine to see you as it is a matter of the greatest urgency,” Bilbo continued anxiously.
John frowned. “Secretary? I’m not his secretar—”
“Please come on in, Mr Baggins,” Sherlock replied, shaking his hand and cutting John off. “I’ve heard a lot about you and we've a lot to discuss.” He led Bilbo into the room before turning to John. “Now remember, John, no more clients. Don’t let anyone else in. And bring the shopping up.”
The door shut. John just stood there. Secretary? He muttered, confused. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. It was definitely one of those days.