#john no

Sherlock: No, I don’t think so

John: Are you serious? You’ve never read Peanuts?

Sherlock: No, never

[one hour later]

“I’ve got a bucket, lined with sandpaper, full to the brim of matches and fire alarms.” / come on lucy we're doing CRIME

“YES!” The exclamation is long and drawn out, both of Lucy’s fists thrust into the air above his head. He doesn’t even really know what they’re going to do, but the possibility that he might get to play with matches is more than enough to get him excited for whatever little outing John has planned. “We’re gonna burn stuff?!” Oh, he cannot wait!

He’s quick to shove his feet into his shoes, grabbing John by the hand to drag him out the door, hollering a distracted, “Bye, Arthur!” over his shoulder. Lucy has no idea where his guardian adoptive father is, if he’s in the house at all, if he’s even close enough that he can hear Lucy yelling his goodbye—he also doesn’t really care, just then. If John didn’t tell Arthur he’s taking him out for the day, that’s none of Lucy’s concern. Something for the adults to sort out, not something for him to think about.

Not something he thinks about at all.

“Come on! Why are you so slow?! Do I need to teleport us there? I bet I could do it. Where are we going? Hurry up!”

whats that.

Hancock, now glowing: Ta-da!