Driving Lesson (1/1)
Title - Driving Lesson (1/1)
Author - earlgreytea68
Rating - General
Characters - Sherlock, John
Spoilers - "The Hounds of Baskerville"
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on.
Summary - When they picked up the car, John announced, "I'm going to drive."
Author's Notes - Just another little ficlet. Many, many thanks to arctacuda, who has been encouraging all of this.
When they picked up the car, John announced, "I'm going to drive."
"Fine," said Sherlock, waving his hand about, but he was already onto the next thing in his head, John knew, which was why John wanted to drive. He suspected brilliant deductive minds weren't necessarily good at paying attention to roadsigns.
But it began immediately, before he'd even turned the key in the ignition.
"You're not going to drive like that, are you?" Sherlock asked.
"What?" John looked up at him, then back to the steering wheel. "Yes. Yes, I am going to drive 'like this.'" He turned the key in the ignition.
Sherlock made a "hmph" noise. "If you want to drive like that, it's your choice. Just know that you will have to adjust the laws of physics, the anatomy of the human body, and your age in order to see the wing mirrors during our drive without leaving you with a terrible pain in your neck."
"It isn't the wing mirrors that are painful in this car, Sherlock," said John, and put the car into reverse.
"The wing mirrors aren't painful, John, don't be ridiculous. The angle at which you are sitting to look at the wing mirrors is painful. Or will be. Tonight. Later. And don't think I'm going to listen to you complaining."
"You never listen to me," John pointed out, wrestling the car onto the street and wishing he'd adjusted the steering wheel before he'd started. The wing mirrors were fine, but the steering wheel was too low.
"Also, your steering wheel's at the wrong height."
"The steering wheel is fine. This is how I prefer my steering wheel. You don't know everything, you know."
"Watch out for that lady in the blue sedan," said Sherlock, five seconds before the lady in the blue sedan cut them off, causing John to stamp on the brakes and swear in frustration. Sherlock hummed in satisfaction.
John looked at him in exasperation. "How could you possibly have known that?"
"She was on the train with us. Her mother's just died, very suddenly, at the house of the long-term lover she had that the rest of the family knew nothing about. And she's just learned that her boss is probably going to make her redundant. She's distracted right now. Really, John, don't you pay attention to anything?"
John sighed and followed the blue sedan at a respectable distance in case she made any sudden moves, but she took a left at the first intersection and he was free of her. "She was wearing black, I suppose? And weeping? And...clutching a pink slip?"
"What?" said Sherlock, and John realized he had no idea what he was talking about, he was probably deep in thought about hounds and Baskerville and, who knew, ballerinas or some such.
"The lady in the blue sedan." John's eyes flickered over to Sherlock. He was looking steadily out his window at the moor passing by.
"I eavesdropped on her conversation, John." He sounded bored. "There's a curve up ahead and you're going much too fast to make it and you should have started applying your brakes thirty feet ago. Thirty-five feet ago."
"Sherl..." John began to say in frustration, then realized that he actually did have to slam on his brakes to make the curve. He didn't even bother to ask how Sherlock had known that.
"Told you," said Sherlock. "Now watch out here, the road's going to take another sharp turn--"
John slammed on the brakes again.
"--And again you're going much too fast."
"Why is this bloody road so curvy?" John complained.
"The next road we're going to get on is even curvier."
"And how can you possibly know that?"
"It's a simple matter of looking at a map, John."
"You don't have a map."
"Not now. I looked at one before. Who looks at a map after they've already begun the journey?"
"Oh, and I suppose you memorized it?" drawled John.
"I didn't memorize it, John. I looked at it. I can't help it if that means I'll remember it. And I can't help it if you didn't even bother to look at one. Are you sure you don't want to adjust your seat and fix that wing mirror? Your neck's already bothering you, isn't it? A pheasant's going to fly out of that bush right there."
"My neck is fi--" John slammed on the brakes as a pheasant flew out of the bush directly in front of the car.
They sat for a second in silence, unmoving, in the middle of the deserted and unnecessarily curvy road. Sherlock sighed heavily.
"Fine." John took his seatbelt off and opened his car door. "You drive."
Sherlock pretended surprise. "Are you sure, John? You were starting to get the hang of the whole operation, I thought--"
"Shut up," said John.
Sherlock smiled at him.
Author - earlgreytea68
Rating - General
Characters - Sherlock, John
Spoilers - "The Hounds of Baskerville"
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on.
Summary - When they picked up the car, John announced, "I'm going to drive."
Author's Notes - Just another little ficlet. Many, many thanks to arctacuda, who has been encouraging all of this.
When they picked up the car, John announced, "I'm going to drive."
"Fine," said Sherlock, waving his hand about, but he was already onto the next thing in his head, John knew, which was why John wanted to drive. He suspected brilliant deductive minds weren't necessarily good at paying attention to roadsigns.
But it began immediately, before he'd even turned the key in the ignition.
"You're not going to drive like that, are you?" Sherlock asked.
"What?" John looked up at him, then back to the steering wheel. "Yes. Yes, I am going to drive 'like this.'" He turned the key in the ignition.
Sherlock made a "hmph" noise. "If you want to drive like that, it's your choice. Just know that you will have to adjust the laws of physics, the anatomy of the human body, and your age in order to see the wing mirrors during our drive without leaving you with a terrible pain in your neck."
"It isn't the wing mirrors that are painful in this car, Sherlock," said John, and put the car into reverse.
"The wing mirrors aren't painful, John, don't be ridiculous. The angle at which you are sitting to look at the wing mirrors is painful. Or will be. Tonight. Later. And don't think I'm going to listen to you complaining."
"You never listen to me," John pointed out, wrestling the car onto the street and wishing he'd adjusted the steering wheel before he'd started. The wing mirrors were fine, but the steering wheel was too low.
"Also, your steering wheel's at the wrong height."
"The steering wheel is fine. This is how I prefer my steering wheel. You don't know everything, you know."
"Watch out for that lady in the blue sedan," said Sherlock, five seconds before the lady in the blue sedan cut them off, causing John to stamp on the brakes and swear in frustration. Sherlock hummed in satisfaction.
John looked at him in exasperation. "How could you possibly have known that?"
"She was on the train with us. Her mother's just died, very suddenly, at the house of the long-term lover she had that the rest of the family knew nothing about. And she's just learned that her boss is probably going to make her redundant. She's distracted right now. Really, John, don't you pay attention to anything?"
John sighed and followed the blue sedan at a respectable distance in case she made any sudden moves, but she took a left at the first intersection and he was free of her. "She was wearing black, I suppose? And weeping? And...clutching a pink slip?"
"What?" said Sherlock, and John realized he had no idea what he was talking about, he was probably deep in thought about hounds and Baskerville and, who knew, ballerinas or some such.
"The lady in the blue sedan." John's eyes flickered over to Sherlock. He was looking steadily out his window at the moor passing by.
"I eavesdropped on her conversation, John." He sounded bored. "There's a curve up ahead and you're going much too fast to make it and you should have started applying your brakes thirty feet ago. Thirty-five feet ago."
"Sherl..." John began to say in frustration, then realized that he actually did have to slam on his brakes to make the curve. He didn't even bother to ask how Sherlock had known that.
"Told you," said Sherlock. "Now watch out here, the road's going to take another sharp turn--"
John slammed on the brakes again.
"--And again you're going much too fast."
"Why is this bloody road so curvy?" John complained.
"The next road we're going to get on is even curvier."
"And how can you possibly know that?"
"It's a simple matter of looking at a map, John."
"You don't have a map."
"Not now. I looked at one before. Who looks at a map after they've already begun the journey?"
"Oh, and I suppose you memorized it?" drawled John.
"I didn't memorize it, John. I looked at it. I can't help it if that means I'll remember it. And I can't help it if you didn't even bother to look at one. Are you sure you don't want to adjust your seat and fix that wing mirror? Your neck's already bothering you, isn't it? A pheasant's going to fly out of that bush right there."
"My neck is fi--" John slammed on the brakes as a pheasant flew out of the bush directly in front of the car.
They sat for a second in silence, unmoving, in the middle of the deserted and unnecessarily curvy road. Sherlock sighed heavily.
"Fine." John took his seatbelt off and opened his car door. "You drive."
Sherlock pretended surprise. "Are you sure, John? You were starting to get the hang of the whole operation, I thought--"
"Shut up," said John.
Sherlock smiled at him.