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rabidsamfanSherlock Holmes, John suspected, was precisely the sort of person who always shook his Christmas presents to determine what was inside, and would, if foiled by ludicrous amounts of styrofoam and bubblewrap, resort to other measures. Therefore, it was incumbent on John to take the appropriate precautions.
Even if it did make the box too damn heavy to get up the stairs without borrowing the two-wheeler from the cafe downstairs.
Still, with a bit of grunting, and a lot of swearing, he managed it, with only the sacrifice of a barked knuckle to show for it, too. And the effort paid itself back when Sherlock tried to shift the meter-high box on the sly that Monday evening and threw his back out.
"Rocks?" he guessed, as John applied a basic knowledge of chiropracty and tiger balm to the injured area.
"Wait till Christmas," John said.
It was Wednesday night before John was levitated out of a sound sleep by a short sharp cry of pain. He dashed down to the sitting room, his revolver in his hand, to find Sherlock frantically trying to reassemble the wrapping paper on his box, despite the mousetrap clinging to one hand.
"Nevermind," John said, going over to unlatch the device.
"That was unfair, John," Sherlock said, sulkily, when John had brought him an icepack for the bruised fingers.
"Was it?" John laughed. He pulled off the wrapping paper and slit down the sides of the box, uncovering a second box, wrapped in even brighter colors. "Just wait until Christmas."
Thursday John came home from the clinic to find Sherlock still trying to scrub away the inkstains on his face. "Hmm," John said, finding the bottle of remover and beginning to apply it with balls of cotton. "How did it manage to splash so high?"
"It didn't," Sherlock grumbled. "I had my head too close, trying to see the connections for the alarm system so I could disable it."
John laughed. "Wait until Christmas," he said fondly.
Friday morning, Sherlock managed to drop the lead weights in the bottom of the third box on his bare foot. All of them.
"Why is he limping?" Lestrade asked in aside to John after Sherlock had proven beyond a doubt that it was "Santa's elves" smuggling out jewelry from the department store in the bags of candycanes.
"Can't wait until Christmas," John said mildly.
"Ah."
Saturday Sherlock came home grumbling because Molly wouldn't lend him any X-ray equipment. Sunday John caught him probing at the package with one of Mrs. Hudson's knitting needles, and had to mention the possibility of damaging the present before Sherlock would give over.
Sherlock was disappointed on Monday when the assault on the corner of the wrapping paper didn't reveal a brighter color underneath, but his eyes widened when he realized that the next layer was an actual safe. With a combination lock.
"Wait until Christmas," John told him, but made no further protests as Sherlock attacked the combination.
It was Wednesday before he thought to tilt the thing on its side, revealing the true door with the ordinary lock. No key, of course.
"I know, I know," he growled, when John came out with a cup of hot cocoa for him. "Wait until Christmas."
Thursday he picked the lock. Of course. And then threatened John with mayhem for having planted a spring-snake behind it right before collapsing into giggles alongside the helpless doctor. "I know, I know," he gasped when he could, drawing out the small red and green box from the safe. "Wait until Christmas."
And he did too, only to discover three more boxes, tucked one inside the other. (Banger from a Christmas cracker, packet of smelly powder, whoopie cushion) He looked up from the last of them to John, who was holding out a slim flat package wrapped in ordinary tissue paper. "Here," said John. "You might want this."
"John," he exclaimed, taking it without unwrapping it, his eyes aglow with delight. He weighed the gift in his hand. "New mobile phone," he deduced immediately. "The latest model." But then his smile faltered. "But if you were going to give me a phone," he said, "what was all this?" He gestured to the scattered wrapping paper.
"Something I thought you'd like better," John said, grinning. "A mystery."
Even if it did make the box too damn heavy to get up the stairs without borrowing the two-wheeler from the cafe downstairs.
Still, with a bit of grunting, and a lot of swearing, he managed it, with only the sacrifice of a barked knuckle to show for it, too. And the effort paid itself back when Sherlock tried to shift the meter-high box on the sly that Monday evening and threw his back out.
"Rocks?" he guessed, as John applied a basic knowledge of chiropracty and tiger balm to the injured area.
"Wait till Christmas," John said.
It was Wednesday night before John was levitated out of a sound sleep by a short sharp cry of pain. He dashed down to the sitting room, his revolver in his hand, to find Sherlock frantically trying to reassemble the wrapping paper on his box, despite the mousetrap clinging to one hand.
"Nevermind," John said, going over to unlatch the device.
"That was unfair, John," Sherlock said, sulkily, when John had brought him an icepack for the bruised fingers.
"Was it?" John laughed. He pulled off the wrapping paper and slit down the sides of the box, uncovering a second box, wrapped in even brighter colors. "Just wait until Christmas."
Thursday John came home from the clinic to find Sherlock still trying to scrub away the inkstains on his face. "Hmm," John said, finding the bottle of remover and beginning to apply it with balls of cotton. "How did it manage to splash so high?"
"It didn't," Sherlock grumbled. "I had my head too close, trying to see the connections for the alarm system so I could disable it."
John laughed. "Wait until Christmas," he said fondly.
Friday morning, Sherlock managed to drop the lead weights in the bottom of the third box on his bare foot. All of them.
"Why is he limping?" Lestrade asked in aside to John after Sherlock had proven beyond a doubt that it was "Santa's elves" smuggling out jewelry from the department store in the bags of candycanes.
"Can't wait until Christmas," John said mildly.
"Ah."
Saturday Sherlock came home grumbling because Molly wouldn't lend him any X-ray equipment. Sunday John caught him probing at the package with one of Mrs. Hudson's knitting needles, and had to mention the possibility of damaging the present before Sherlock would give over.
Sherlock was disappointed on Monday when the assault on the corner of the wrapping paper didn't reveal a brighter color underneath, but his eyes widened when he realized that the next layer was an actual safe. With a combination lock.
"Wait until Christmas," John told him, but made no further protests as Sherlock attacked the combination.
It was Wednesday before he thought to tilt the thing on its side, revealing the true door with the ordinary lock. No key, of course.
"I know, I know," he growled, when John came out with a cup of hot cocoa for him. "Wait until Christmas."
Thursday he picked the lock. Of course. And then threatened John with mayhem for having planted a spring-snake behind it right before collapsing into giggles alongside the helpless doctor. "I know, I know," he gasped when he could, drawing out the small red and green box from the safe. "Wait until Christmas."
And he did too, only to discover three more boxes, tucked one inside the other. (Banger from a Christmas cracker, packet of smelly powder, whoopie cushion) He looked up from the last of them to John, who was holding out a slim flat package wrapped in ordinary tissue paper. "Here," said John. "You might want this."
"John," he exclaimed, taking it without unwrapping it, his eyes aglow with delight. He weighed the gift in his hand. "New mobile phone," he deduced immediately. "The latest model." But then his smile faltered. "But if you were going to give me a phone," he said, "what was all this?" He gestured to the scattered wrapping paper.
"Something I thought you'd like better," John said, grinning. "A mystery."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 04:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 04:56 am (UTC)This was too funny! Go John! Serves Sherlock right for trying to open his present early.
I'm assuming that John fiddled with the mouse trap- those things can break fingers with their snap.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 05:31 am (UTC)> and would, if foiled by ludicrous amounts of styrofoam and bubblewrap, resort to other measures
I was off! (And so's Sherlock, the nut!) Bravo, John Watson, on giving Sherlock the gift he really needed-- mousetraps, ink and all. Cheers! :D :D :D
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 05:54 am (UTC)And then at the end, the present wasn't actually IN the box... I TOTALLY did not see that coming, but it was JUST RIGHT! Woo-hoo! *jumps up and down with excitement*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 06:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 06:39 am (UTC)*continues dancing*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 06:44 am (UTC)Somethin g that I love about your writing in general, but in this specifically, is how there are no superfluous words, no dragging descriptions - the reader gets a crystal clear picture from very few words, and each word adds to the story. And not only that but this idea is just wonderful. Every little detail is so funny and on target and perfectly placed.
You probably weren't looking for an in depth comment on a little fluff piece, it now occurs to me, but I was genuinely incredibly impressed by this, as well as immensely amused. And anyway I've already successfully navigated the keyboard to type it all while feverish and on all sorts of medication. I hope some of it makes sense.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 06:57 am (UTC)Exactly. And this, my dear, is adorable beyond words.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 07:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 10:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 11:45 am (UTC)Love it!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 11:52 am (UTC)Because I was hoping to read a story just like this one :).
Great fun! Thanks so much for sharing it!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 02:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 03:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 03:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 05:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-01 07:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-02 01:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-02 01:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-02 02:13 am (UTC)To be honest, this is the sort of story that I both love and despise -- love it because it's so wonderful and despise it because I didn't write it! :)
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-03 08:31 pm (UTC)This was really one of those rare fics that is so enjoyable all the way through, then have an ending that is just the icing on an already perfect cake. Wonderful <3
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-13 07:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-21 01:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-21 07:50 pm (UTC)"Can't wait until Christmas," John said mildly.
"Ah."
Hah! I love how matter of fact this is. Of course Lestrade understands perfectly that John has to guard something as simple as that with an security system a paranoid recluse would be proud of. Its just a given, Watson knows it, Holmes knows it and life goes on despite the bruised fingers and broken foot.
Fantastic.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-12 04:52 pm (UTC)Thanks for writing!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-12 06:37 pm (UTC)It would be fun to try to come up with Victorian booby tracks for the same basic plot, though. Maybe next Christmas!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-15 03:20 am (UTC)A mystery
Date: 2011-06-05 10:10 am (UTC)