Ok, this is the second instillation of my Sherlock story, which used to be part of 'I won't send roses', but I broke it down and made it easier for everyone to read. It follows the second season of Sherlock.
As always, I own nothing except for Tammy.
Chapter One: No trousers
The weeks that followed were entertaining. John immediately blogged that Sherlock and I were dating. Sherlock hit the roof and shouted at John, which I had to break up. After that, my audience club seemed to grow as the days went on. Sherlock's popularity grew as well, sometimes favorable on his side and other times…not so well. His bluntness was a little too much for some people and it's a wonder he didn't get slapped at times!
I had to console two girls who'd come running out of the room crying because their parents had burned their grandfather! I then explained, as best I could that there were several different ways of preparing a body for death and cremating was one of them. Sherlock reprimanded me for added to their childhood delusions about the world but I'd felt that it was good for children to have some fantasies.
My childhood fantasy was that Neverland existed and I was glad my parents never told me there wasn't a Neverland. Now, a small part of me still wishes that there was Neverland and what a beautiful thought it could be if we all had the ability to fly away from earth and it's troubles to live in a land where one never grew up or old.
Rumpleteazer was a wonderful kitten. Mrs. Hudson kept an eye on her for me when I was at work and it was amusing to see the two of together. Sherlock, well he got her for me so he didn't have to like it. She didn't like him much either; she seemed to feed off of Sherlock's emotions. If Sherlock was in a bad mood, she'd hiss at him, he'd hiss at her and she'd lunge at him with her claws bared and bloody murder in her eyes. But if he was relaxed, she'd climb up on his shoulder and roost there. Sherlock and I tried breaking her of that habit, but she insisted on roosting on Sherlock's shoulder. Mrs. Hudson was the only one who seemed to have any control over her.
Then one day, things took a complete turn for Sherlock and me. I was getting ready to leave for an afternoon show I'd put on. I'd spent good money on duplicating Vera Ellen's yellow dress from the 'Abraham' number in 'White Christmas'. The only difference was that my dress was pale pink instead of yellow. I was trotting down the stairs, wearing a full length white coat when I noticed two men, in black suits, walking Sherlock through the front door.
"Sherlock?" I called. "What's going on?"
One of the men nodded in my direction and then approached me. "You come with us."
"What?" I stepped back and he reached out and grabbed my wrist in a tight grip. "Hey! Let me go!" I hit the man over the head with my bag. "Sherlock!"
"Let her go!" Sherlock snapped darkly at the man. "Or you'll rue the day you laid a finger on her!" The man released me and I wiped his touch off me. "Do keep up Tammy; we're being hauled off on business!"
I glared at Sherlock and then stumbled after him and the mysterious men. "You could have said that to me first and I wouldn't have hit him."
Sherlock chuckles. "I wouldn't bet on it."
It was then that I noticed one of the men was holding a pile of Sherlock's clothes. I stared at the pile, then at Sherlock's swathed figure before shouting. "Sherlock!"
"What?" He asked. "Is something wrong?"
"No! I mean yes! Are you wearing any clothes at all?"
He doesn't even blink. "No."
"Oh for God's sake! Why?"
One of the men answered the question for Sherlock. "He refused to put them on. We tried miss, but he insisted."
"That I believe, but for Pete's sake WHY!?"
"They refused to answer my questions."
"Oh," I groaned. "for once will you stop acting like a child!?"
"We are not deaf Tammy," he stated calmly. "you're simply overreacting to being seated next to a naked man." My face flushed beet red. "Not to mention, since you and I are seeing each other, my physical presence is causing your hormones to spin a little out of whack. I suggest you look out the window."
"I hate you." I groaned as I turned to watch all the building's flying by. Sherlock laughed at me and I tuned him out. I began wondering where we were going and what Sherlock had done that I'd gotten dragged along with him. And whoever this was, I hope they didn't mind meeting Sherlock in a bed sheet!
Inside Buckingham Palace,
"Will you please," I begged through my teeth. "put your clothes on?"
I groaned and buried my face in the palm of my hands. "Why...of all the men, in the whole of London, did I have to run into you?" Hearing Sherlock's sheet rustle I hissed. "And don't you even dare think of touching me!"
He laughed. "Fine."
The sound of feet approaching caused me to look up. To my surprise, it was John. "Hello John."
"Hi." John sat down beside me and listen to me tap my feet impatiently. John looked like a confused chipmunk as he studied Sherlock. Sherlock maintained a neutral look. "Are you wearing trousers?"
"No." he stated quickly.
"Ok." John said accepting it easily.
"He's not wearing anything!" I bite out. "He is completely…naked under there. And we're in Buckingham Palace! I hope to God the queen doesn't come around the corner!"
My words only caused both of them to laugh maniacally, further irritating me. I groaned and clunked my heels on the floor. John patted his knees and looked around while Sherlock continued chuckling. "Buckingham Palace." John commented in wonder. "I am seriously fighting the impulse to steal an ashtray." Both men continued chuckling. "What are we doing here, Sherlock?" John asked as he continued looking around him. "Seriously, what?"
"I don't know." He smirked.
"Oh stop lying Sherlock." I said. "You know everything and I want to know what we are doing here!"
"Are we here to see the queen?" John asked.
Both men started laughing again. I groaned. "You're both hopeless!"
"Just once, can you two behave like grownups?" I groaned when I realized that it was Mycroft talking to us.
John chuckled quietly. "We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. I wouldn't hold out too much hope."
"And I put up with both of them," I said. "therefore my mental state must be questioned. Especially since I date the man who's modeling bed sheets for the next fashion magazine!"
"Either way, these things must be dealt with accordingly." He glanced at me. "Hello Tammy."
"I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft." Sherlock states in irritation. "And do stop talking to Tammy; she's really not interested in you."
"To my knowledge, London is in a free country." I look upwards at the ceiling, struggling to find some patience. "Therefore, Mycroft can talk to me."
"The hiker and the backfire?" Mycroft asked. "I glanced at the police report. A bit obvious, surely."
"Transparent," Sherlock said. "as are your continuous glances at Tammy."
"Ignore him Mycroft; he's acting like a child." I stood up and removed my white coat completely. All eyes went towards me and my skirt that's thigh high. "Now, shall we get back to business?"
Sherlock glowered at my legs, which were completely exposed thanks to rather short skirt. "Put your coat on."
"No. Not until you put your clothes on."
"Time to get on then." Mycroft picked up the stack of Sherlock's clothes and extended them to him. Sherlock shot him a look that said, 'please, don't be an idiot and tell me what to do again'. But Mycroft didn't take the hint. "We're in Buckingham Palace, at the very heart of the British nation."
"Obviously." I muttered.
"Sherlock Holmes," Mycroft said testily. "put your trousers on."
"What for?" I rolled my eyes at Sherlock's rare display of his stupidity.
Sherlock stands up, refusing to allow Mycroft to have any more extra inches over him. "And my client is?"
"Illustrious," all our heads whipped towards another door to see another man, who could double as Mycroft, but then, that was my opinion. "in the extreme. And remaining, I'll have to inform you, entirely anonymous."
"Harry." Mycroft said shaking Harry's hand. "May I apologize for the state of my little brother?"
"A full time occupation, I imagine." Sherlock and I glowered at Harry as he turns towards John. "And this must be Mr. John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."
"Hello, yes." They shake hands and I rolled my eyes.
"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."
"She particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch," he stated. John shot Sherlock a pointed look that clearly said, 'See! I have talent! People read my blog and like it.' The man walked up to me, surveying me from top to bottom. "And you, I'm afraid I'm not familiar with you."
He smiled a little bit too friendly with his smile. "An enchanting, beautiful girl. And you are-
I straightened. "I'm Sherlock's girlfriend."
"Girlfriend?" He turns to Mycroft. "You never mentioned that."
"They don't like to mention their relationship. I was…respecting their wishes. Besides, you never know how long these things last."
"I see." I ignore Harry's hand that he's extended to me and I sit back down. He went to Sherlock. "And Mr. Holmes the younger, you look taller in your photographs."
I groaned and rolled my eyes. This man just blew whatever chances he had for Sherlock taking the case. He complimented John's blog, gave me the eye and then insulted Sherlock's height. I reach over and pick up Sherlock's clothes, preparing to leave.
"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." I could tell by his tone that his patience had run out and he wasn't sticking around anymore. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases." I stood up, preparing to follow him out. "Both ends is too much work. Good morning."
At that moment, Mycroft stepped on Sherlock's sheet, catching it and giving me a view of Sherlock's rear end, which I didn't really want to see. I blushed red and looked down on the floor, covering my eyes out of habit.
"This is a matter of national importance," Mycroft hissed. "grow up!"
"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock somehow managed to snap, bark and hiss in the same breath. I could hear his anger.
"Or I'll just walk away." He states calmly, leaving me no doubt that he would actually walk out of Buckingham Palace completely naked.
"Don't you dare!" I cried out.
"I'll let you." Mycroft sneered.
"Oh will the two of you grow up!?" I shouted.
"Boys, please," John asked patiently. "not here. You're making Tammy uncomfortable as well."
"Who….is…my…..client?!" Sherlock demanded.
"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God's sake," Mycroft caught himself from shouting and he took a second to right his emotions. "Put your clothes on."
I realize that Sherlock isn't going to do so until he calms down. So, steeling my nerve, I step up to Sherlock and placed a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock jumped and spun around, tension still in his shoulders. I noticed that even in the muscles in his throat were taut. He frowns at me, knowing that I'm very uncomfortable, but I'm putting my emotions aside for him for the moment.
"Inhale…and then exhale Sherlock." He does as I suggest with a dark glower on his face. I handed him his clothes with a smile. He looked somewhat pouty so I stretched up and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. "Now, get dressed, please?"
Sherlock took the clothes and nodded. He walked away, muttering to himself. Mycroft nodded. "Thank you Tammy, you should get roses for that."
"Ha, like Sherlock would buy me roses. But…a girl can dream can't she? But honestly, you all are rather stupid. You were just asking for him to blow you off. If you want Sherlock to work with you, first, don't suggest that sherlock is the problem child and Mycroft has to go around cleaning up his messes. Second, do not praise John's writing, no matter how brilliant it is in front of Sherlock. He hates it. Thirdly, don't make a pass at his girlfriend. And above all else, do not insult his height or else about him. He will make sure that your dig your way out of the mess you made on your own. Not to mention, he will sit back in his chair with a bag of popcorn and laugh at you all."
"Sherlock doesn't eat popcorn." Mycroft points out. "He hates it."
I smirk. "That's what you think!"