64 Prompts, 53
Title: Incalculable
Genre: Humor
Pairings/characters: US, UK, BBC version Sherlock Holmes and John Watson
Rating: PG
Warnings: Implications of sex, language
Summary: All the pieces fit together, and it's the most obvious answer, but tragically, even Sherlock Holmes can be wrong sometimes.
53. Incalculable
A knock sounded on the door, and three heads turned to watch Mrs. Hudson walk into the apartment. The stout woman gave a quick nod of silent greeting before turning to a blonde man with green eyes.
“Mr. Kirkland, there’s a man for you downstairs,” she informed him. “He seems a bit impatient.”
He rolled his eyes in response. “Always is, the silly lout.” Turning to his hosts, he stood and ducked his head in a half-bow. “Thank you for your time and consideration of this case, Mr. Holmes. I have full faith you’ll be more successful than your brother has been thus far.”
Sherlock Holmes grinned in a self-satisfied manner that made Dr. Watson’s eyes roll. “Anything for my country,” Holmes said happily.
His client, one Arthur Kirkland, smirked at that, offered his thanks once more, and exited the apartment after Mrs. Hudson. Watching the street, Sherlock observed Mr. Kirkland leaving the building with another blonde man, the two apparently bickering before Mr. Kirkland got in the driver’s side and the car sped off.
-
“Get your arse out of the toilet before I forcibly remove it!” England beat his bathroom door soundly, pretending it was America’s face. He was abruptly doorless and America’s face appeared, England catching himself just in time to keep his imagination from becoming reality.
“I can’t find my-” A pair of socks plowed into America’s chest, the younger nation hardly catching them. “Oh, thanks, Eng- Wait, these are yours.”
“Get over it,” England ordered, shoving his way into the bathroom beside America. “Your feet can’t possibly be so massive they won’t fit.”
Busy attempting to fix his tie, England missed the glare-pout hybrid America sent him. “You probably scent them with sprigs of mint or something girly,” he grumbled, shoving the socks and his shoes on anyway.
America had just managed to work his heel into his right shoe when England grabbed him by the lapel and dragged him out of the room and through the house. He ignored the calls of “Shit! England, slow down!” They were already late and it was America’s fault keeping them up all bloody night anyway. England’s charge to the front door was finally stopped by a loud cry and America being pulled from his grasp.
“Motherfu- Dammit, England!” He turned to see America on his knees, holding his hip in pain. Ah, perhaps England had taken that turn a bit fast. “You don’t have to slam me against the wall,” America snapped, wincing as he got to his feet. “I’m moving as fast as I can, alright?”
“Yes, I’m…it won’t happen again,” he got out, unable to truly apologize. “Really, though, we need to be going.”
“I know,” America said, shooing him on with one hand. “Just get moving again. I’m fine.”
England hesitated for another half-second, then began the rush to the car again, realizing there was no time for him to be mothering America just now.
-
Arthur Kirkland arrived twenty six minutes late, and with a guest. The taller male was introduced as Alfred Jones, Mr. Kirkland’s…associate. He offered only a quick “Hey” and a lopsided smile.
“You may tell your associate I have the utmost respect for his privacy,” Sherlock said after polite introductions. “No need for that famous American paranoia.”
Jones looked impressed. “How’d you know I was-?”
“American? You checked the wrong side of the street as you exited the car,” he explained easily. “Or do you mean your preoccupation with being spied upon?”
“Yeah,” the American said. “The…that.”
“You did a quick visual check of the corners of this room the minute you entered it,” the detective pointed out. “Not particularly effective, but more force of habit. Now, onto the matter at hand, if you please.”
“Dude,” Jones exclaimed softly. “This guy is awesome! You didn’t tell me you were working with a genius, Artie!” he punched the smaller male lightly on the arm, earning himself only a glare. “Do something else,” the American requested eagerly.
“We hardly have the time,” Kirkland said shortly. “Mr. Holmes, I believe we still need to discuss the particulars of my missing agent?”
“Yes, of course,” Sherlock assured him. But if he was right… “And any further observations may imply more about Mr. Kirkland’s habits than he would like revealed in any case.”
The smaller man’s eyes narrowed into green slits. “I assure you, I have nothing to hide. Have at it, detective; I have nowhere to be but here.”
“Sweet!” Jones grinned widely, excited.
“If you insist,” Sherlock said obligingly. “Besides, Watson and I don’t mind that you two are sleeping together, if not seriously involved.”
Watson, avoiding notice until this point, emerged from the kitchen. “Keep me out of this,” he said shortly. “I don’t want to be involved in personal lives.”
“Nonsense, John,” Holmes replied lightly. “I’ve already told them we don’t mind what’s not our business.”
“Wait, wait.” The American seemed to have recovered first, whereas Kirkland had turned pink in the face and apparently lost the ability to speak. “What?! That’s a pretty big jump, even for someone like you.”
“Not particularly. The evidence is all over you.” Jones checked himself quickly, then Kirkland, before looking back up, confused. “It’s not as blatant as you might imagine, but for anyone with decent observational skills, it isn’t particularly challenging.”
“Yes it is!” the American shouted before appearing to think over what he’d said. “I mean, you can’t… Explain.”
“Quite easily,” Sherlock said. “First, and least importantly, you arrived together probably from the same place, seeing as you were in an equal hurry and similar states of dishevelment. The bags under your eyes say that you were engaged in some activity last night which kept you both up. Probably why you overslept.”
“Yes,” Kirkland conceded. “But that doesn’t mean that he...that we…” He trailed off, flustered, and Sherlock took up again.
“True, it only proves that you shared the same lodgings. However, it is rare that two unrelated males would be in the practice of sharing clothing and deodorant as well as sleeping quarters. And you are clearly not relatives. Facial structure, eye color, and the blatant difference of your nationalities proves it.”
“We’re not wearing each other’s clothes,” Jones pointed out, sounding relieved to have discovered this fault in the deductions.
“No, you’re wearing your own clothes,” the detective replied. “The same as yesterday’s, in fact. You are, however, wearing Mr. Kirkland’s socks. They are the same brand and you keep trying to subtly adjust the unfamiliar fit.”
Mr. Jones didn’t bother to question how he’d pegged the shared deodorant as well, but stopped fiddling with his left sock using his right foot.
“This apparent closeness combined with Mr. Jones’ scuffed knees and the limp he walked in with, lead me to conclude that your relationship is somewhat more than simply ‘associates’.” With hardly a pause, Sherlock turned to Mr. Jones with a mildly questioning look. “Though from your postures and mannerisms, I would have assumed the positions were switched. Never the less, it is not my place to judge one’s habits in the bedroom, only to point out their failure to hide such information.”
“Ridiculous!” Kirkland shouted, overriding Jones’ ch’yeah right. “Your assumptions aren’t unfounded, and some of that was true, but we are not in…involved! I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes, but you go too far!” Mr. Kirkland’s face had gone red, unhelped by Jones grumbling under his breath about himself being ‘on top if it ever happened anyway’. The American earned himself a slap upside the head for his insecurities.
“I simply took what information I could perceive and created the most logical explanation for its existence,” Sherlock explained a bit primly.
“Yes,” Mr. Kirkland agreed, exasperated. “But you’re wrong.”
“It’s always that one little something, isn’t it, Sherlock?” a voice sounded from the kitchen.
“Thank you, John,” Sherlock called back. “You are an invaluable help, but are much more appreciated for the task you are supposed to be doing.”
“Okay,” Jones interrupted loudly. “The point is, we aren’t screwing. Can we talk about the stupid MI6 guy so I can go hide in shame?”
“Certainly,” Sherlock answered. “Though I have one more question on the previous matter. Why aren’t you?” Judging from the looks on his guests’ faces, they’d never considered that question. “No matter,” he went on in a rare show of consideration for someone’s shame. “A rhetorical question I suppose. In any case, I’ve located your missing agent, Mr. Kirkland. Shall we arrange a pick-up and some form of payment?”
-
“Dude, he is too awesome to measure. That guy’s, like, off the coolness scale!”
Clearly, Mr. Jones was unaware he could be heard as they exited the apartment complex.
“He implied we were sleeping together. Brilliant, yes. Awesome, no. He has absolutely no propriety!”
“Yeah, but he noticed all that stuff even though we, y’know, aren’t.” A low mumbling came from Mr. Kirkland.
“Hey, Iggy?” A pause, and the voice was almost too distant by this point. “Why aren’t we?”
Sherlock Holmes grinned to himself, then walked into the kitchen to find Watson still attempting to battle his latest experiment. “John, you’re a betting man,” he said easily. “How long do you wager until my assumption comes true?”
--
A/N: Before anyone questions, this is present-day Holmes, from the new BBC series (which is a tease! A tease, I tell you!). Also, there will be two more probably within the next twenty four hours, but this one is long and was written about a month ago, so I see no reason to make it wait any longer.