#wee babbies

How rare is this photo?  

The girls on the other side of the pool giggle and Sherlock’s scowl deepens. He should never have let John talk him into coming here. He’d merely been curious about where John went on hot summer afternoons and why he hadn't been coming around to the pond on Sherlock’s estate. So this is why.

‘Come on, John!’ One of the girls calls. ‘We’re one person short to split into two teams!’ She’s blond and her flesh is taut and trim; she reminds Sherlock of a dolphin in warm waters. John grins at her and Sherlock sinks back further into the shade. If he could somehow melt into the ground, that would perhaps be the best.

‘You’ll be okay on your own, then?’ John asks.

‘Yes,’ Sherlock says shortly. John slides off the chair and goes over. Sherlock decidedly does not admire his bum in those shorts. They’re tight and a most eye-catching shade of red. The girls smile at him and John is soon splashing with them, laughing and letting them touch him all over.

Sherlock looks up at the underside of the umbrella quietly and recites what he’d read up in Stages of Development that morning.

‘In neuroscience, partitioning can isolate particular segments of the brain and the signals they send. This is normally accomplished to eliminate dysfunctional…’

‘Or overly functional neuro-performance,’ comes a voice. He looks up. It’s a girl in a green gingham pinup swimsuit, and her eyes are as blue as the cloudless sky. She smiles at him and sits down under the nearby umbrella, crossing her legs.

‘I’m Irene,’ she says, and smiles at him. ‘I do find frolicking about in the pool rather plebeian, don’t you?’ Sherlock looks at the pool and sees John carrying one of the girls on his shoulders, making her squeal with joy. He turns back to Irene.

‘Yes,’ Sherlock says firmly. ‘I wouldn’t take part in those activities even on pain of death.’

+

John enjoys the company of Jeanette, Sarah and Mindy. He really does. But all the same, he misses Sherlock. He glances back, hoping to coax Sherlock out of his funk, but the shout dies in his throat. Sherlock is turned towards a beautiful girl, all creamy shoulders and endless legs. Sherlock’s entire being radiates focus and they’re both chatting, getting along well. She ducks her head and laughs when he says something, and the way he looks at her is surprised and happy in a way John wishes he could evoke in Sherlock. It stings a little.

‘John?’ Mindy says. ‘You alright?’

‘Yes, yes. Fine,’ John says, and smiles at the three of them. ‘Hey, listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon, yeah?’

‘Aww,’ they chorus, but bid him goodbye politely. John walks over to where Sherlock is sitting with mystery girl, hoping to catch them at a lull in their conversation.

No luck.

‘Low resistance to specific compounds is one vector that would allow other poisons or micro-organisms to more easily enter a human body when defences are destroyed,’ he hears the girl say.

‘Botulin,’ Sherlock says, and they grin at each other.

‘Fungal carcinogens,’ she replies. Her smile is blinding, and John can safely report that if she hadn’t caught Sherlock’s eye he’d have fallen for her himself.

’Staphylococcal enterotoxin,’ Sherlock rejoins, and they giggle. John feels himself grow hot. That’s their thing! Giggling inappropriately is a thing between Sherlock and John, not between Sherlock and her.

And she looks up, and her eyes read him the way Sherlock reads him. Except hers are clearer, unclouded by the ignorance Sherlock possesses regarding human societal norms. She sees John and she smiles predatorily. 

‘Hello.’

‘Oh, John!’ Sherlock says. He’s not looking at him, attention completely focused on the girl. ‘This is Miss Irene Adler. We were just talking about bioweapons.’

‘He knows how to charm the ladies, this one,’ Irene says to John drily. Her eyes are coquettish and intelligent, sizing him up. Clever and beautiful. Like Sherlock, then.

‘If you’re having fun, I’ll just go first,’ John offers. ‘Er.’

‘No, no, I have to go,’ Irene says. ‘Nice to meet you, John. Bye, Sherlock.’

‘Yes, goodbye,’ Sherlock replies politely. Irene gets up and leaves, waggling her fingers at the both of them.

They sit in silence. The afternoon has cooled down and Sherlock is pink at the edges, his nose and cheeks flushed from the earlier heat.

‘So,’ John says.

‘So.’

‘Ready to leave?’ Sherlock nods and they stand up. John’s trunks have dried from the sun, so there isn’t a need for him to change in the toilet. He pulls on a pair of trousers and a shirt before slinging his bag over his shoulder, standing up straight. Sherlock stands up as well, and he’s a little too tall to fit under the umbrella so he shuffles out sideways to stand beside John.

‘Come on.’ As they leave and walk along the road, John reaches out and takes Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock starts, surprised, and looks at their joined hands.

‘John.’ 

‘Sherlock.’ John says, and resolutely does not look at him. His face is flaming red.