Archive of Our Own

After the arrest of the jewelry robbers, the shop owner reached out to them and offered each of them a free piece of jewelry as long as it was under a certain value. John chose a watch, a simple and practical one. Molly chose a pair of stud earrings. Sherlock chose a necklace.

The pendant was of a snake twisting itself around a rod, and a small piece of diamond was inset in the middle of the rod. John wondered if he chose it for the aesthetic or if there was a meaning behind it, but decided not to ask because it didn't matter much.

For about a week, life went peacefully. There were no cases so John did a deep clean of the flat and threw out things that were broken or too worn.

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, complaining to Lestrade about being bored, when John returned from his shopping trip to buy new towels. He looked up when John put a long, thin box on the coffee table, and he opened it to find a bow nestled inside.

"What's this?"

"You have eyes. What does it look like?"

"A bow, but why?"

"A gift, Sherlock," John sighed. "I noticed your old one is getting... well, it's lost quite a lot of hair."

Sherlock studied the bow. "Is this a gift for me or for yourself?"

John shrugged. "Why can't it be both?"

"Did you use Mycroft's card to buy this?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's a gift," John said. "From me," he patted his own chest, "to you."

"What does that matter?" Sherlock frowned. "That's stupid. You should have saved your money for your own retirement."

"Mm. It is my money, so I will use it however I see fit."

"Yes, but--"

"Sherlock," John interrupted him. "Just accept the gift."

Sherlock sighed, looking down at the bow again. "Fine," he said. "But seriously, just use Mycroft's card next time. I'll still accept the sentiment."

John went to put the new towels in the wash and then cook lunch. While the noodle soup was cooking in the pot, he got eggs and butter from the fridge, and Sherlock perked up.

“Are you baking something?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

“Hm. Something light and not too sweet.”

“Alright.”

He ended up making a roll cake. They ate lunch together, then they moved to the sofa. John sat down to read while Sherlock ate a couple slices of the roll cake, and somehow he ended up lying down on the sofa, reading a fantasy novel that Molly recommended to him while the oversized cat slept on top of him, possibly warm, full, and happy, therefore sleepy.

He had just finished reading the first chapter when Mycroft walked in and made himself comfortable in the armchair. To his credit, he didn't look fazed at all, although John suspected that he already knew of it.

"Is this a social call?" John asked.

"Not quite," Mycroft said. "A case. It shouldn't be too difficult."

John reached out and accepted the slip of paper with an address on it from Mycroft. "A personal case, then?"

After all, Sherlock very rarely accepted cases from Mycroft, especially those he deemed to be too simple.

"You could say that," Mycroft nodded. "Someone who used to be Sherlock's nanny."

"Ah."

He looked back down at his book, then back up at Mycroft. It was probably rude to ignore him, but he wasn't sure why Mycroft was still there. Waiting for the cat to wake up? Should he wake Sherlock up?

In the end, he bookmarked the page he was reading and put the book down on the coffee table, and decided to strike some small talk.

“And you’re alright with this?” John asked, motioning at Sherlock with his free hand.

Mycroft leaned back in the armchair. “Aren’t you the one who said Sherlock does what Sherlock wants?” he asked. “Do you really think I would have any influence over that?”

“Yeah, I guess not.”

"You know this means he trusts you," Mycroft said, staring at Sherlock who was still sleeping. "I hope you know what will happen if you break his trust or take advantage of it."

"I know," John said. "You two really have so little faith in me."

Mycroft nodded. “See to it that you don’t,” he said.

His phone beeped, and he took it out, reading the message before sighing and pocketing it again.

“Are you going now?” John asked.

“Do you need something from me?”

“No,” John said. “Sorry, I can’t make you tea.”

Mycroft snorted. “Understandable,” he said. “It is common for people not to move when their cats sleep on them.”

John chuckled. “Yes, but,” he said, “please have some of the roll cake. It’s for you.”

“For me? Did you know I was coming?”

“No, but I suppose Sherlock did. I used less sugar in it per his request.”

“Ah. Well then, it would be a pity to waste such rare thoughtfulness.”

He had just finished a slice of the cake and was complimenting John's baking skill when Sherlock woke up and looked smug, as if Mycroft had praised him instead.

"He is a man of many skills, after all," Sherlock said. "Including giving massages. Did you know that? I definitely don't have knots in my back anymore."

Mycroft raised a brow. “You said he’s a professional,” he said. “I don’t suppose professionals go around offering their employer a massage, so how would I know that?”

Sherlock huffed. “Good. It would be wasted on you.”

John rolled his eyes. “So you were just bragging when you told him about my magical hands?”

Sherlock scowled. “It’s rude to read people’s messages.”

John stared at him pointedly. “You gave your phone to me and told me to read his message to you because you were too lazy to read.”

“Did I? Must have slipped my mind.”

John shrugged. “I can if you want me to,” he said to Mycroft. “Not for pleasure, but if you pulled a muscle or something… not that you would.”

Mycroft chuckled. “While I appreciate the offer,” he said, “You'll find that my brother has trouble with sharing anything he thinks is his.”

John laughed. “Speaking from experience?”

“I’m right here,” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Well, it's been pleasant," Mycroft said, standing up from the armchair, "but I'm afraid I have to be going."

"Of course," John said. "We'll head over as soon as we can," he added, waving the slip of paper.

Mycroft nodded. He walked over to the front door, but then paused and turned back towards John. "I agree with him."

"About?"

"Next time just use my card to buy his gifts."

Sherlock had a pleased smirk on his face and John simply sighed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

They arrived at the address given by Mycroft. It was a small terrace house but it was obviously well-maintained. Sherlock walked up to the front door and knocked on it.

"Who's there?" a voice came from behind the door, followed by footsteps.

"It's Sherlock!"

There was a pause, then the footsteps hurried a bit, quickly followed by the sound of the door knob turning, before it finally swung open, and an older woman, probably around the same age as Mrs Hudson, stood in front of them.

So this must be Jane.

"Oh, my, it really is you, Sherlock," Jane said as her smile widened. "You've grown up well, my boy. And who's this with you?"

"This is John."

"Uh huh," Jane nodded, staring at John. "And how do you know John?"

"I took over your role, madam," John said with a friendly smile, and Jane laughed while Sherlock scowled.

"Oh, you," Jane said, patting John's arm. "Well, I'm glad there's someone looking after you, my boy. Please come in."

She let them in and they followed her to the sitting room. She sat in the armchair with a sigh while the other two sat on the sofa.

"Why did you reach out to Mycroft but not me?" Sherlock asked, straight to the point as usual, although John wondered if that was really the point or if he was just being petty.

Jane sighed. "Well," she started, "I wasn't sure you would be interested. I mean, I don't even know why I reached out to Mycroft, since none of you..."

"None of us what?"

"Believe in ghosts."

"That's because ghosts are not real," Sherlock frowned. "But tell me, what made you believe there's a ghost?"

Jane smiled at him and patted his head. As a man of science, of course Sherlock didn't believe in the occult. However, he didn't dismiss her and believed there was a valid reason for her to think there was a ghost.

"I see you are still a good boy," she said, ruffling his hair gently. "I heard about the... well, I'm glad you're doing well now."

"He is quite a sweetheart, isn't he?" John asked with a wide smile.

Jane nodded in agreement and Sherlock scowled again.

"If you two are quite done talking about me as if I'm not here," he sulked, "tell me what made you think there's a ghost."

"Well, maybe not a ghost, more like a devil," Jane said. "I hear the cries sometimes at night. It sounds like... well, I don't know what it sounds like, but it doesn't sound natural. It sounds like something that is not of this world."

"Hm," Sherlock hummed. "So when did it start?"

"A couple weeks ago," Jane said. "Mostly at night time, but sometimes I can hear it during the day too."

"And where?"

"It's loudest here in the sitting room, I'm not sure why."

"Hmm... and was there anything suspicious around then?"

"Suspicious?"

"Was there a break in?"

"No."

"Strangers coming in?"

Jane frowned. "No," she said. "I wouldn't let any strangers come in, and there were no signs of break ins."

"Alright, think a little further back then," Sherlock said. "Not necessarily strangers, but not people you know personally. Were there any?"

Jane frowned in thought. "Well... yes. I just had the sitting room repainted last month. You don't think one of them could be involved with the occult and cursed this place?"

Sherlock snorted. "No," he said. "The truth is usually simpler than that."

They were interrupted by a noise. It started a little soft, gradually gaining volume until it nearly filled the whole sitting room with the cries. Jane paled and John frowned, but Sherlock stood up and began walking around the room.

"It's the devil!" Jane screamed in terror. "It has come for us!"

"Well, yes, and no," Sherlock said.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"Yes, that is the sound of the devil, but no it has not come for you," Sherlock said, continuing to walk around and trying to locate the source of noise. "In fact, if it is the real thing, then we would also deal with--ah, here it is!"

He pulled out a small portable speaker hidden behind some books on the bookcase.

"Were the noises more frequent recently?"

"Y-yes..."

"Whoever put this there must be getting impatient," Sherlock said. "It's quite small but the battery should last a while. They must have waited a while after they put it there before they started using it so you don't immediately suspect them."

"So that was just a recording?" Jane asked. "Ah... I remember now. Maria's son recently lost his job and came back to live with her, so I paid him to move the shelves away from the walls so they could be repainted. Do you think it's him?"

"Possibly," Sherlock said.

“But why scare her with the devil?” John asked.

“He’s either trying to scam money from her by offering exorcism services, or trying to scare her away from her house and rob an empty house.”

Jane sighed, settling back in the armchair, mentally exhausted and disappointed. "Boys these days," she said. "Couldn't be happy with an honest work's wage."

"Aren't we also 'boys these days'?" Sherlock asked, motioning at himself and John.

Jane laughed. "Oh, you know what I mean," she said, suddenly perking up and standing back up. "Come on then, have a seat. I'll make you a cuppa. I've just made some of those lemon crisp biscuits you like."

When John looked to the side, Sherlock was already sitting quietly on the sofa, looking expectant, and he wondered if Sherlock had somehow mastered the ability to teleport short distances.

"Do you want any help?" John offered.

"No, no, you're a guest," Jane said. "Have a seat. I won't be too long."

As promised, Jane returned not long after, bring the tea and biscuits. Sherlock was inspecting the speaker while waiting, but threw it aside when the biscuits came.

"These are really good," John praised. "If I ask, will you share the recipe? Or is it a family secret?"

"Of course I'll share," Jane said. "Do you bake too? He's getting spoiled again, isn't he?"

"Excuse you, that's none of your business," Sherlock protested after he finished chewing a mouthful of the biscuit.

"He never stopped getting spoiled," John said, shaking his head.

"I suppose that's true," Jane conceded.

Sherlock huffed and continued eating.

"I have the recipe somewhere in my notebooks, I'm sure," Jane said. "If you guys don't mind waiting, I'll look for it now."

"It's fine," Sherlock said. "We'll be around for a while."

"Oh? Are we going to confront the one who put the speaker here?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Sooner or later he'll discover that his trick has failed and that we've found the speaker. It might be better to pre-empt te confrontation and make sure we're at an advantage."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Jane asked.

"No, stay here and look for the recipe," Sherlock said. "If he usually listens in, I'm sure he'll have noticed that the recording stopped without him stopping it. He might be loitering nearby to find an opportunity to come check on the speaker."

Jane smiled. "And this is not because you want me to prioritise the recipe, is it?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Alright," Jane agreed. "Be careful."

The two said goodbye to her, promising to return after they confronted Maria's son, and then went to walk around the street.

"What were you going to say back then?" John asked. "Deal with what?"

"Hm? Oh. Smuggling," Sherlock said. "After all, the Tasmanian devils are a protected species."

"Tasmanian devils?"

"Ssh."

They stopped just before turning to the backstreet behind Jane's house. Peeking from behind the corner, they could see a man pacing around agitatedly. He was quite tall and stocky, which was probably why Jane hired him to move the shelves.

“Hm, definitely not exorcism.”

“What?”

“Look at him. Who would look for him for an exorcism?”

John snorted. "You're surprisingly quite judgmental."

Sherlock raised a brow at him. "Would you hire him for exorcism?"

"Probably not."

"Thought so," Sherlock huffed. "Anyway, go around the other way. We're going to surround him."

"Alright," John agreed. "But don't do anything before I get there."

John left to walk around the block and Sherlock kept watch as the man kept pacing, growing increasingly agitated. He was probably waiting for Jane to leave the house so he could break in, and Sherlock wondered if he had done that before or if this would be the first time and because he was desperate.

Suddenly, the man huffed angrily and started walking towards him.

Sherlock looked over at the other end of the street. John wasn't there yet, but he couldn't let the man go.

He stepped around the corner, blocking the way for the man. The man stopped and stared at him suspiciously, and Sherlock pulled out the portable speaker he had put in his coat pocket.

"Looking for this?"

The man frowned at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do," Sherlock said. "See, not a lot of people are familiar with the devil's cries. You were hoping to spook her so she left her house and you could steal from her. You likely saw something valuable when you were in her house to move the shelves away from the wall, and then you planted the speaker when she asked you to move the shelves back."

The man growled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Unfortunately for you," Sherlock continued, "instead of running in fear, she reached out to me instead."

Well, she reached out to Mycroft, but he didn't need to know that.

Sherlock saw John turn the corner at the other end of the street and walk towards them. The man saw him too and decided that Sherlock was the lesser of the two evils.

The man pulled out a knife from within his coat and rushed at Sherlock, but John quickly pulled him back and restrained him. The knife swung down in an arc as he pulled the man's arm back, and the tip grazed Sherlock's leg. He pushed the man down and growled.

"John," Sherlock said. "We need him alive."

John bent the man's arm behind his back, pushing his elbow up and ignoring the man's screams of pain as he kept pushing until his shoulder popped out of its socket. The man passed out from the pain and John stood up, walking towards Sherlock.

"Take off your trousers."

"Pervert," Sherlock said, then huffed when John simply raised a brow at him. "You're no fun sometimes."

He sat down on the unconscious man's back (John simply sighed, having given up on making Sherlock not sit on their targets) and pulled his trousers down to his knees and handed the first aid kit in his bag to John.

"Hm, it's just a graze," John mused. He took a cotton ball and cleaned the scratch before putting bandage on it. "It shouldn't leave a scar."

"Oh, we wouldn't want that," Sherlock drawled. "Even if it does, there are scar creams, you know. I'll even let you put it on me."

John snorted. "You're a menace," he said. "Stop making me sound like a degenerate dog."

Sherlock put his trousers back on and went to fetch Jane while John stayed with the unconscious man.

"Yes, this is Maria's son, Jacob," Jane confirmed when she saw the man, then sighed. "What happened to him?"

"He'll be fine. John--wait a second, I just remembered you dislocated his shoulder," Sherlock said. "Yeah, that happened, but he'll be fine, just knocked out."

Jane frowned. "Did he do something to you?" she asked Sherlock.

"He tried to stab me, but he didn't get to, of course."

"Sherlock!" Jane exclaimed, aghast. "How could you be so nonchalant about it! Are you alright?"

"Uh, because he didn't get to," he repeated, frowning at both John and Jane. "You two worry too much."

"You clearly don't worry enough!" Jane protested. "Stay here! I'm going to get Maria!"

The two watched as she stomped off, surprisingly fast for someone her age. They looked at each other, and Sherlock shrugged before sitting on Jacob's back again.

Jane returned not too long after with another woman, most likely Maria. She apologised profusely for the trouble her son caused and said she would understand if Sherlock pressed charges for the attempted stabbing.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I don't really want to deal with paperwork and court."

John shrugged. "We can tell Greg and Mycroft and let them deal with it."

Sherlock hummed in thought. "Now I feel kind of bad for this guy."

In the end, Sherlock decided not to, if only because he wasn't hurt. Maria thanked him and Jane and promised to set Jacob straight, so they all went their own ways.

"Come visit me again," Jane said before Sherlock and John left. "Preferably without a haunting. Oh, and here you go, I found a written copy of the recipe in one of my notebooks."

John took the lemon crisp biscuit recipe and thanked her for it. They walked her home and then caught a cab back home.

When they got home, John took off the bandage to reapply iodine over the scratch. It had scabbed over so Sherlock saw no need for bandage and they just let it be. He noticed John stealing glances at his legs, but he looked somewhat regretful.

"It's just a scratch, John," Sherlock said. "You can't possibly protect me from everything."

"I know," John sighed. "Doesn't mean I can't try."

“What, are you going to be like this if I get a papercut too?”

"Of course not," John said. "A papercut is your own fault."

Sherlock sighed.

"Seriously, I'll be fine. Now let me be maudlin in peace," John chuckled.

"But I don't want you to."

John looked at him curiously. "Be maudlin in peace?"

Sherlock scowled. "Be maudlin at all."

John laughed. He patted Sherlock's head and stroked his hair gently. "I don't know how people can say you're cold-hearted," he mused. "You can be such a sweetheart sometimes."

"Ugh," Sherlock scowled in distaste, as if the very word offended him. "I'm not a sweetheart."

"Oh? And I suppose you agreed to help Jane out because it was such an interesting case?"

Sherlock sulked. "I'm not talking to you. Go be maudlin in peace."

John snorted. "Too late. I think I'm done being maudlin," he said. "If I make wonton soup for dinner, are you going to eat?"

Sherlock looked at him curiously. "Like the one from that place around the corner?"

"Yes, like that one."

"Alright."

They ate dinner together and John tried making the lemon crisp biscuits for after dinner, following Jane's recipe. It gained Sherlock's seal of approval, so he decided it would join the regular roster of baked goods he made.

After dinner, they showered and brushed their teeth, and John reapplied the iodine again.

"Are you coming to bed?" John asked as he got into Sherlock's bed.

"Mm."

He watched as Sherlock turned off the light before joining him in bed.

"Hey, Sherlock."

"Hm?"

"How did you know it was the sound of the Tasmanian devil?"

"Oh, that. When I was in school, one of the boys played the recording near the girls' changing room. He wanted to spook the girls and make them run out of the room halfway through changing, the pervert. I'm pretty sure he got suspended for it."

"Hm. Serves him right," John hummed. "Although, are you putting me and him in the same category?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Of course not," he said. "Unlike those girls, I'm letting you perv on me."

John snorted and pulled Sherlock closer towards him.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Mm. Consent is sexy.”

“Good.”