Chapter Text
221B Bakers Street, London, England
John was putting some of the final things for dinner together when there was a knock on the door. Before he actually made it out of the kitchen, it was opened by Mrs. Hudson, “Sherlock? John? John, dear?”
John smiled, letting his tensed body relax, and came around the corner from the kitchen, “Mrs. Hudson! Please, come in.”
“Oh, good! He’s here, my girl.” Mrs. Hudson smiled, “Don’t be shy, dear.”
John’s eyes widened as he saw a blushing Ari step tentatively into his flat, “Ari!”
She smiled, “I tried knocking, but no one answered. I texted you, but when you didn’t reply I knocked again. Mrs. Hudson answered the door and said she thought you were home . . . that she’d check.”
Mrs. Hudson took up the conversation, feeling a bit sorry for the obviously shy young woman, “I thought I heard Sherlock leaving earlier and I was worried you’d gone out together. I didn’t want the poor girl to be standing on the stoop until you boys got back . . . whenever that would be.”
John’s cheeks were reddening, “I didn’t hear the door. I’m so sorry!” John went back into the kitchen and grabbed his mobile off the counter next to the stove. He was back in a second as he checked it and sure enough, there were two texts from Ari and one from Sherlock. I must have been in the bathroom when she texted, he thought ruefully, I left it on the counter when I went and didn’t check it when I came back out. Oh yeah, the timer to start the rice had gone off.
The texts from Ari said “I think I’m almost there. Yep, I see 221B. I’m at the door. That was quicker than I thought. ^_^” and two minutes later, “John? I tried ringing the bell and knocking. Is everything okay?”
Sherlock’s was more innocuous, “Is there any coffee left? - SH”
John looked up sheepishly, “I just got them.”
Ari smiled, “Well, at least I know you got them.”
Mrs. Hudson looked between the two and said, “Well, I’ve got my dinner in the oven. It was lovely meeting you Ms. Preston.”
Ari looked over at Mrs. Hudson, “Call me, Ari. Please?”
Mrs. Hudson smiled and patted the girls’ cheek, “You’re sweet. You’ll have to come by often, Ari.”
The girl beamed at Mrs. Hudson and shyly nodded, “I’ll try.”
Mrs. Hudson nodded, “You two have a wonderful evening,” and with that she went down the stairs, back to her own flat.
Ari held out a brown paper bag to John and said, “I know you’re supposed to bring wine when you’re going over to a person’s house, but I don’t drink and I don’t know anything about wines.” John smiled at her candor, “I didn’t want to get something nasty that no one would drink, so I got a sparkling cider.” With cheeks pink, she looked up hopefully, “Is that okay?”
John took the bag and smiled wider, “Yes, it’s wonderful.” John felt awkward and yet splendid, almost as if he were a teenager again, “Please, come in.” He stepped back and gestured with the hand that wasn’t holding the brown bag wrapped cider, “Dinner’s almost ready. Take a seat wherever and get comfortable.” Ari nodded again and stepped further into the room. John closed the door behind her and said, “I just have to check on a few things in the kitchen.”
John was glad he’d cleaned earlier in the week after Sherlock had exploded something in the kitchen, again. For once the apartment wasn’t in too much disarray. The bookshelves were almost always hopeless, but the table that acted as desk, situated between the windows was even comparatively tidy. It held only their laptops, several neatly stacked books, a few case files, a few neatly folded maps, three small stacks of papers, and other small odds and ends. Even Sherlock’s books, boxes, and papers were in some semblance of order. Sherlock’s equipment and scientific accoutrements had been relegated to the higher, built-in marble table, which left the wooden table in the middle of the kitchen free to eat from. Never thought I’d be glad he’d blown up the place. John tried not to laugh at the thought, but he couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face.
Ari turned around from taking in the décor and said hastily, “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
John smiled at her reassurance, “I’ll be right back.” John put the sparkling cider into the freezer so that it would be chilled when dinner was ready and got down some of the better glasses. Well, basically the only ones which aren’t mugs or haven’t been used for Sherlock’s experiments. John had no wish to accidentally poison Ari by letting her drink out of something that might have chemicals in it. Goodness only knows what kind of residue might be left in those.
John thought about the other dishes they’d lost . . . or more precisely the ones that had been exploded, broken, shattered, melted, burned, singed, or had something so foul or caustic in them that John refused to even attempt to clean them, let alone keep them in the flat. The catalyst to throw away the cups and other dishes usually started with the conduction of an experiment and ended with an explosion, or other result, in the kitchen or other part of the apartment, depending on the experiment. John shook his head, trying to dislodge the image of one particularly messy and slimy explosion that had him attempting to get blue foamy goo and shattered glass off of almost every surface of the kitchen for several hours. John shuddered as he looked at the ceiling, remembering how it had dripped down on his head and felt somewhere between foamy soap and bird excrement. I’m so glad we repainted the ceiling. I doubt we could have gotten the blue splotches out, anyway.
John wondered to himself how Sherlock got into some of the messes he did. John shook his head again, trying to shake the niggling feeling that his flat mate was up to something. I should be glad for the fact that Sherlock isn’t actually here for dinner, but a part of him argued that it was better to know what Sherlock was up to, instead of being blindsided by it later. Which can be far, far worse.
A timer rang out, startling him from his thoughts. He quickly checked the oven and reset it for ten minutes. Putting the pot of rice on the backburner of the stove, he swiftly turned off the front burner, and moving the potholder back to the counter. With sure movements he took dishes from a shelf, silverware from a drawer, and napkins from the top of the cupboard to give it a more sophisticated touch, setting the table with three places. Well, just in case he does actually come back for dinner. I doubt he’ll eat, but if there’s a chance I want to be ready for it. John looked up once and caught Ari watching him out of the corner of his eye. He smiled to himself as he made a fresh pot of coffee, glad he’d gotten both coffee and milk at the store, earlier. He could feel his cheeks warming at her shy glances and attempt to watch him while still exploring the eccentricities of the flat. John wondered what she thought of the eclectic décor and the bullet holes in the wall. Well, she hasn’t run screaming, yet. That’s a good sign . . . but too early to tell. He paused for a moment as he watched her tilt her head slightly as she read a few titles on the right hand side, fireplace bookcase. With gentle fingers, she reached out and brushed a few leather bound books, a smile on her face. John smiled at her tenderness and reverence.
John wished he could see her face as she turned to examine the bookcase next to the window, which held several insect display cases and shadow boxes. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding when she didn’t seem to be freaked out by it. He was surprised to hear a light chuckle and see a small shake of her head. He watched silently as she moved past the window, only pausing for a second to look out at the view. John did see her slightly confused smile as she looked up at the black bull skull hanging on the wall, adorned with a set of white headphones. He almost laughed as she tilted her head in the other direction and then back again, as if trying to figure out why it was even up, let alone the electronic ornamentation. She called over her shoulder, head still tilted as she examined the skull, “Interesting artwork.”
John did laugh this time, “Thanks. Most of the stuff is Sherlock’s, ‘though a few things are mine.” John heard an interesting ring tone go off. It was one he'd never heard before. He saw Ari fumble in her coat pocket to bring out her mobile. John almost hit his forehead at not realizing he’d forgotten to take her coat. Not wanting to seem rude or intrusive, nor wanting her to see his blush at his oversight, John turned around and tried to focus on finishing dinner.
Ari looked at her cell briefly before she answered it, "Hey, what's up?" John couldn't hear the other end of conversation from where he was, but he could tell that it was a women's voice on the other end, "Yeah." Ari paused as the speaker said something, "What?" John turned at Ari’s tone of voice.
He watched Ari as she frowned and began to pace, just like Sherlock does.
Ari’s voice went far lower than John had thought her soft soprano voice was capable as she said flatly, "Tell me." Ari didn't speak for quite a while as the person spoke to her.
That’s worrisome. John’s timer went off as she still listened, looking unhappy the entire time. John worried about the conversation, but tried to focus on getting the meal to the table. I hope it’s not anything serious. He pulled the baking dish from the oven, smiling at the glazed chicken, which came out nicely. John surreptitiously watched Ari, almost burning himself on the pot of rice, which was still very hot, because he wasn’t paying enough attention. She seemed to be becoming more upset with each passing minute. He didn’t like to see people upset, particularly women. John frowned in consternation, not knowing if he should try to interfere and ask what was wrong, or if he should leave it alone.
Putting the chicken on an oven safe platter, John moved the baking dish to the sink and had it to soak in seconds. Easier clean up for later. He put the platter back in the oven and then pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven. He gently closed the oven door, so as not to disturb Ari’s conversation. John set the cookie sheet on the stove and carefully lifted a corner of the aluminum foil, to let some of the steam out without burning himself. He was relieved when the move worked and he didn’t get burned. Small favors that worked; it doesn’t half the time. He lifted off the now safe tin foil and tested the veggies with a fork. Tender. Good. John smiled to himself. Dinner’s actually working out nicely. What a relief. He pulled down another platter and used a spatula to put all the vegetables on it. He hoped Ari didn’t like her vegetables soggy, neither Sherlock nor he did and he’d prepared them to their taste. I guess we’ll find out one way or another.
Finally, the speaker seemed to be done and Ari responded, "Okay. Yeah, I think I understand." Ari shook her head, "No, I'll handle it." Ari frowned more, "Stop laughing, Nina. This is not funny!"
Well, at least I know it’s her sister, now. Maybe it’s not too bad. John started to set the food on the table, starting with the veggies, and continued to worry as Ari seemed to become even more agitated about whatever Zebina was saying.
"I said, no!" John wanted to know what had happened, but a part of him had an idea. An idea that he didn't want to pull into the front part of his mind or let form to completion was inching its way forward as she continued. Ari’s voice dropped in volume as she said defiantly, "I'm staying and I'm not playing any stupid head games. You know I don’t do that crap!”
John raised his eyebrow at that comment, but was somehow glad at hearing her vehemence behind her words. I hate mind games! Always have. Even the ones Sherlock does.
He had to strain his hearing to catch the rest of her words as she said even quieter, “I listened to you, now you listen to me. I don't care what you think or what you want. I like John and his roommate can feck off if he thinks I'm some kind of liar or psycho.”
John’s stomach tightened as his suspicions were confirmed, somehow Sherlock was involved. Damn! What did he do this time!?! A part of John wanted to reassure Ari that Sherlock meant no harm, but he honestly couldn’t say that with complete sincerity and he really didn’t want to lie to Ari.
John didn’t like the next words that came out of Ari’s mouth. Something in how she said them made him wonder exactly what Ryan had said. “You tell Ryan to keep his nose out of my love life and I'll be home when I bloody well feel like it." He had a hunch it would make him want to give the bloke a punch in the nose if he’d heard it. John was torn as he tried to both listen and ignore what had become a heated, one-sided conversation.
Just keep busy! Get dinner on the table. John busied himself with the mundanity of setting everything out. He pulled the chicken out of the oven with a hot pad and placed it on a trivet in the middle of the table. He moved the still hot pot of rice to another trivet and stuck a serving spoon in it. He smiled; proud that the dinner he had modified to fit Ari’s allergies had turned out so nicely. Dinner is ready and the table is almost set. John hoped Ari wouldn’t be on the phone much longer, For her sake and the sake of dinner not getting cold. He made sure everything was placed so that neither of them would get burned by the hot dishes.
She paused, listening, and sighed, "Yes, I'll call . . . and text.” John retrieved another serving spoon for the veggies and a serving fork for the chicken. Then he got knives for each place setting and put them out as Ari looked over her shoulder, “No, John was just finishing up dinner when I got here.” He could almost hear Ari’s tension easing as she seemed to fall into easy conversation with her sister, “It was easier than I thought it'd be to get here." She paused, "Yes, I have enough for a cab." Ari sighed and John couldn’t help but smile at the long suffering sound it was, "I'll have Brett let me in, if you're still at the hospital. Okay?" Ari nodded to what Zebina was saying, "I will. I hope he gets better. They'll probably release him tonight, though.” John went to the freezer to retrieve the sparkling cider when the concern he heard in her voice made him pause, “Right?” Even though she was mad at Ryan, she was still worried about his wellbeing, which touched John. “It wasn't that severe." Ari listened for a few seconds, "Okay. I love you, too. I'll see you when I get back to the house." John opened the freezer and pulled out the cider, shutting the freezer without a sound. He watched Ari nod again, "Okay, text me when you guys leave the hospital." John could almost make out what Zebina said as he slowly walked the few steps back to the table. Ari’s smile lifted some of the frown from his face, "I won't. Love ya, sis. Talk to you later.” Ari's smile fell a fraction, "Kay, bye."
John’s frowned was in concern, but he didn't say anything as he started to unwrap the bottle. John looked up as he was opening the twist cap of the cider to see Ari enter the kitchen area. He noted that her face was flushed and she seemed much more on edge than before the phone call. He hoped Sherlock hadn’t made too much of a mess. He wanted to know. . . But do I really?
Ari smiled awkwardly and said, “Sorry about that.”
John shrugged, “Nothing to apologize for.” He indicated the table, “Dinner’s ready. We don’t have to wait for Sherlock.” He made a face, “He probably won’t eat even when he gets back, anyway.” Although it is one of his favorites, so he might. He’ll also want a cover for studying Ari . . . if he’s interested that is. John tried not to let his mind wander or run away with him, “I hope you like it, I had to substitute a bit because of your allergies. I’m not sure how it’s going to taste.” John noticed Ari had taken off her jacket before entering the kitchen area and that she wore something different from the clothes she’d had on that afternoon at the café.
This outfit was a white peasant shirt that ruffled at breast and elbow with bright blue accent embroidery just around the very fringe of the sleeves and collar. A light colored camisole could be seen peeking thru at various moments, which distracted the doctor tantalizingly. Her tan layered peasant skirt moved with her body, nicely. John vaguely wondered how it would look if she were to pirouette or twirl around, quickly. Would it plume out, parallel to her body? The mental image had him smiling as she approached.
John was brought back to the here and now as he noticed Ari’s smile was a bit strained, but genuine as she pulled a chair back and sat down, “It smells delicious.”
John mentally berated himself for not pulling her chair out for her, but mentally moved on quickly as she was already seated. He smiled, impishly, as he sat down, “I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”
“I’m sorry about you having to change things around.” John watched her face color prettily, “It’s something I’m used to, but most people don’t have to deal with on a daily basis.”
John shrugged, still smiling, “It’s a new experience. I’ve never really had to cook around someone’s allergies and I like new experiences.”
John poured them both a glass of sparkling cider, for once glad he hadn’t bothered to pick up any alcohol on the way home. He didn’t want Ari to feel uncomfortable and considering how Sherlock could get, he wanted to make the best impression possible upfront. He really liked how Ari had worn her hair. Some parts on the side were twisted back and held with a few small hair clips, while the rest was left hanging, surrounding her face in soft waves. John hadn’t noticed how wavy her hair was earlier when it’d been pulled back, but with it falling down her back, it was something to be admired.
John passed her both of the platters that held the glazed chicken and the mixed vegetables, smiling as the steam wafted off the food. He was really pleased at how the meal had turned out. Ari and he served themselves. John was glad when he saw she didn’t take a tiny portion which most women would normally have gone for. He was actually surprised when she took more vegetables than anything and made a mental note to ask more thoroughly about her food preferences.