This is my first Wholock fic. The background is basically this: After Reichenbach, the Doctor's TARDIS crashed in London and John found him. They traveled together, found Sherlock, and followed the basic plotline for Rory and Amy. This is Angels Take Manhattan.
Many thanks to Potato Fairy, 1895GoodSir, and .com for all the help. After you read this you should go check out their stuff, it tastes good.
Not my characters, obviously. I just like tears.
"London growled at my window, but I was ready for it. My stocking seams were straight, my lipstick was combat ready, and I was packing cleavage that could fell an ox at twenty feet."
"Sherlock, do you mind? I'm reading."
"Yes you are, out loud. Would you please stop, I'm trying to work." Sherlock massaged his temples, aggravated.
"Have I really been reading out loud?" John asked, slightly embarrassed. He hadn't noticed. Sherlock groaned dramatically and slumped down against the kitchen table, face in his hands.
"I've been listening to you narrate the adventures of the overly buxom Melody Malone for the past ten minutes. At one point, you said 'yowzah'. It's quite droll. Are you really so desperate for female companionship that you are attracted to a fictional character?" John made a face and adjusted his reading glasses.
"Tell us how you really feel, why don't you?" He muttered to himself, turning back to his book. Sherlock slammed his fist on the table and jumped up out of his chair. John looked back up and watched as Sherlock irritably wound his scarf around his neck and pulled on his coat, tugging on the buttons much more harshly than was necessary. "Going somewhere?" he asked lightly.
"I'm going for coffee, I need some air. Perhaps by the time I get back, you and Ms. Malone will have found a room where you can narrate her exploits in cleavage without disturbing my work." Sherlock snapped testily before leaving, closing the door with a sharp snap. John rolled his eyes and turned back to his book.
Two coffees in hand, Sherlock walked with his eyes straight ahead, fighting the instinctive urge to observe the insignificant people around him. He needed his mind clear for the experiment he was currently working on if it was to be finished any time soon. Hopefully John would have given up his reading by the time he got back, it was quite ridiculous. He turned the corner onto an empty street – strange for this time of day, usually at this time the streets are filled with people - , walking past a small green with a fountain adorned with small statues of infants. He glanced at the fountain for a moment before looking away and picking up his pace, uncomfortable under their penetrating gazes. Don't be ridiculous, they are merely statues he reprimanded himself mentally. Nevertheless, he walked slightly faster.
Sherlock stopped, not sure of what he just heard. He stood perfectly still, listening as hard as he could. He could hear the chatter of the people and traffic the street over, but their babble seemed muted and distant. He felt strangely isolated despite being in the middle of the city.
"He he he! He he!"
Sherlock jumped around, nearly spilling his coffee in the process.
"Who's there?" he called, feeling foolish for speaking out to a clearly empty road. He swept his eyes across the street, taking in the scene – street well paved like most, small green on one side with the running fountain, posters on the wall of the building on the opposite side - . There wasn't room behind the fountain for a person to hide. He walked over to the building and put his ear to the wall to listening for activity. He set the coffees down on the pavement and checked round the corners twice.
No one was there. No one who could have been laughing.
Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. Get a grip he thought to himself firmly before picking up the coffees and turning back around, mind already back with his experiment. Perhaps if I add hydrogen peroxide to the solution -
That's when the street changed.