#fff259

Sherlock fandom. (Uni!lock)

An Old Joke

Like with so many things, it was Mycroft who learned Sherlock to build houses with playing cards. When Sherlock was bored almost to death, the simple task made his brain focus and find new solutions to construct the perfect house of cards.

At the age of seven, he was a master, even surpassing his older brother. His parents thoroughly believed he wanted to be an architect at that point, which both brothers dismissed as utter nonsense.

John was in awe over Sherlock’s skills when he showed off at the second week of uni, but when Sherlock waved it away as nothing, John surprised him.

“Challenge yourself then if you think of this card palace as a minor thing,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“Elaborate,” Sherlock retorted, sceptical that anything could make the building more interesting.

“From what I can see, you only operate with unused or fairly new cards. I think you’ll find it quite difficult to build a two stories high house with these,” John said innocently and presented a stack of cards.

The cards were old. Worn and soft, lacking the sharp edges of Sherlock’s cards. Some missed a bit of a corner, others were bent. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stated that it would be impossible to get John’s cards to do anything but collapse.

“I’m sure you can figure something out, posh boy,” John said and winked at him before he went downstairs for dinner.

***

Sherlock got absorbed in the difficult assignment John had presented him with. When John had rugby practise, slept, or had biology classes, Sherlock practised with his old cards. As predicted, it was futile, until he went to get his mail in the secretary’s office. 

“Am I allowed to use that?” Sherlock asked, and pointed at a machine on the opposite wall, trying to be as polite as possible to ensure to get permission.

“What for?” the secretary asked suspiciously.

Sherlock had a rather questionable reputation already, but he managed to charm the middle-aged woman, and gained access to what he presumed would be the solution to his predicament.

***

When John emerged from the showers a week later, Sherlock had built five small houses with the old cards. John’s eyes widened in surprise and astonishment, before his brows furrowed. He walked slowly against Sherlock’s desk, and once he realised how Sherlock had solved the puzzle he started to giggle. It was Sherlock’s favourite sound in the whole world.

“You are amazing,” John said when he’d gathered himself. “I told you, though.”

“Mm, so you did,” Sherlock murmured and crowded in on John.

“What are you doing?” John asked gingerly.

“Claiming my prize,” Sherlock purred.

“What prize?” John whispered; his eyes fixed on Sherlock’s lips.

“I’m sure you can figure that out, captain,” Sherlock answered and bent down to connect his lips with John’s.

***

A decade later, Greg Lestrade walked into the living room of 221B and stopped abruptly. Sherlock sat by the desk, which for once was cleared of the normal clutter, and before him was a house built of old playing cards. It was high and remarkably sturdy. When Greg moved closer to the table, he paused for a second, not sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

“Are those cards laminated?” he asked incredulously.

Sherlock hummed in agreement but didn’t take his eyes off the construction.

“Hi, Greg,” John greeted when he entered the room from the kitchen, bringing two mugs of tea.

“John,” Greg said and gestured with his head in Sherlock’s direction.

John placed Sherlock’s mug carefully on the desk, far enough away to not disturb the building, and near enough for Sherlock to reach when he wanted a sip.

“What’s with the lamination?” Greg asked silently.

“Oh, just an old joke,” John said and shrugged.

“Must be by the look of them,” Greg deadpanned.

“Oi! Don’t be disrespectful of my cards,” John protested half-heartedly.

“Your cards?” Greg asked, evidently none the wiser.

“Just tell him, John, or we’ll never hear the end of it,” Sherlock huffed and took a sip of tea.

“You’re quite the genius yourself,” Greg said when John finished the story behind the cards.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Cheeky bastard is what people normally said about my behaviour and appearance back in uni,” John retorted.

“We both were,” Sherlock stated and made room for himself in John’s lap, giving him a soft kiss.

John giggled into the kiss, Sherlock snuggled into John’s neck and sighed contentedly before he rose and turned to face Greg.

“You have a case. Where?” he wanted to know.

Greg cleared his throat awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Piccadilly. Um…Grosvenor Casino,” he retorted.

“You have got to be joking!” John exclaimed.

“´Fraid not, John,” Greg sighed.

Sherlock’s deep rumble was soon joined by John’s higher pitched laughter, and for once Greg descended the stairs with a hopeful feeling that Sherlock would behave on the crime scene where the croupier lay dead surrounded by playing cards that consisted only of hearts of spades.

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This is also my entry to this month's Sherlock Challenge and the prompt Joke.

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Family Time

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial 's 259 prompt: House of Cards

There was nothing like it. Sitting around a table with my mom, stepdad, brother, and sometimes a few others. The feel of the cards in my hand and the love of my family in my heart as we played rummy and euchre. Poor in material goods but rich in time spent together.

Whether it was around our own kitchen table or my stepdad ‘s moms, playing cards deep into the night always drew us closer together.

We would talk and laugh. Tell stories and make memories. Stumbling off to bed with hands of cards running through our heads. 

When my step dad's eyes drifted to another lady, our house of cards fell apart. Our fragile family fell to pieces scattering like a game of 52 pick- up.