Author's Notes: One of the things that I try to avoid in my regular writing is giving too much into the stereotypes. Especially the ones that are more fanon than canon. The great joy of these pieces is that I feel free to indulge myself as much as I like and do the things that I would normally shy away from.
Sting Like a Bee
"Alright," John said, putting down his book, "you've been staring at me all morning. What is it?"
Sherlock released a small, thoughtful sound. "I've been debating. But I've finally decided. You, John, are a bee."
With that the detective gave a self-satisfied nod and relaxed back into his chair, casually folding one leg over the other and letting his head fall back on the cushions.
"I... what?" John said.
"Your hearing is fine, John," Sherlock said in reply.
"Yes," John murmured. "Yes, thank you for that."
He shifted, trying to get a better look at Sherlock's expression. "Just... really? A bee, Sherlock? You think I'm... what? A small fuzzy thing with a stinger?"
Sherlock snorted. "Not what I was going for. But given your predilection for jumpers and your skill in small arms, not to mention your height, it's not wholly inaccurate either."
John waited a moment before he sighed. "You aren't going to explain, are you?"
"Dull," Sherlock drawled.
"Right," John said. "Okay then."
And let it go.
"Mycroft," John half-greeted, half complained, dropping into a chair at the Diogenes Club. "What do you want? I was doing the shopping."
"Nothing strenuous, I assure you," Mycroft said, pouring a cup of tea. "I just wish to check in on yourself and my brother."
"And you couldn't have phoned for this?" John grumbled under his breath before giving in. "He's fine. Just being... Sherlock. Would you believe he called me a bee this morning?"
If he didn't know better John would swear that Mycroft appeared shocked.
As it was the man's eyebrows rose practically to his hairline. "Really?" Mycroft said, carefully taking a seat in front of John. "If he has that is most... interesting."
"He has," John said with a rueful shake of his head. "I think I'd know when I've been compared to an insect."
Mycroft hummed and leaned back against his chair. "There is a common misconception that bumblebees, according to the laws of aerodynamics, should not be able to achieve flight," Mycroft informed him. "Utterly false, of course, but nonetheless a gripping image. Nature defeating the very science that seeks to understand it."
John listened distractedly, wondering where Mycroft was going with this.
"When Sherlock was quite young a maid told him this information as if it were fact. Sherlock quickly learned otherwise but it began a rather... focused interest in bumblebees. Indeed, in bees of all varieties and forms. Sherlock finds bees nothing less than endlessly fascinating."
Mycroft twirled a spoon around his cup, examining the ex-soldier thoughtfully.
"Dr. Watson – John, if Sherlock has indeed referred to you as a bee then you should take it as no less than the ultimate compliment he is capable of delivering."
John stared, completely taken off guard.
"You can't be serious."
John debated whether or not he should say anything for most of the evening before he could no longer hold it in.
He found himself putting on the kettle just to have an excuse to be in the kitchen while Sherlock worked on his microscope.
"Sherlock," he started hesitantly, "about the... bee thing. Mycroft told me what you meant by it."
"Yes," Sherlock muttered, not bothering to look up. "I'd noticed your rather ridiculous grin after coming back from shopping."
John cleared his throat. "Yes, well, thank you... for that. It's... nice."
Sherlock finally glanced up. "Do try to not let it go to your head, John. Frankly, that grin makes you appear to be even more of an idiot than you are."
John grinned wider. "Love you too, Sherlock."
Sherlock responded with a rude gesture, causing John to break out into laughter.