Married to My Work, Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Shopping Trip




Sherlock had a problem. Well, he had many problems, but one in particular was that he snuck out at night. John first noticed this the day they returned from New Zealand, but recently the violinist took to disappearing for days at a time. He knew it was none of his business, his employer could do what ever he wanted, but still he felt a strong urge to protect the man. It had nothing to do with the fact he might be seeing some one. Nothing at all.

This of course gave him more time to go out to the pub with Sebastian, well it had. Sebastian had disappeared after that night in the bar, even from Mycroft’s radar.


John was in the living room cleaning the old telescope with an open manual next to him when Sherlock sat down on the couch and began playing a song, the song he had written for someone. John closed his eyes momentarily, he really loved that song, before sighing. Sherlock probably knew it made him.....not jealous.

The music became quieter and Sherlock said, “John, lets go shopping.”

The body guard looked at him in confusion. In the months they had lived together he had never known Sherlock to go to the market, he just seemed to pick off what ever he bought. And it was almost midnight. “I went to Tescos this morning...”

Sherlock gave John a haughty look and stopped playing his violin, “I know. I need to go pick up some violin strings and was wondering if you would accompany me.”

John shrugged, “Alright.”


They took a cab to a boat yard, and John kept looking to Sherlock for clues that were not given. When they got out of the cab John noticed a few boats that looked like they carried cargo. So Sherlock was getting them directly from the buyer.

He took a few steps towards the cargo ships and turned to see Sherlock walking the other way. He hastily followed and to his surprise Sherlock walked up to a monstrous cruise ship that took up more than half of the dock.

They climbed aboard, bowed to by the man on the deck. A party seemed to be going on. “Is this where you disappear to?” John whispered looking around at the lights and listening the music that was sending vibrations through the ship.

“Maybe.” Sherlock said infuriatingly before leading John through a door and down several flights of stairs.

They reached a boiler room and Sherlock opened the door to what seemed to be a broom cupboard, only to reveal another door with a slot at eye level.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Sherlock grinned and knocked on the door. The slot slid open and the violinist mumbled something and handed a few pounds through it. He motioned for John to stand next to him and the door opened. They walked out to a platform and John stared at what lay below. All he could think to say was, “It must be a nightmare to evacuate.”

Sherlock chuckled and put an arm around his shoulders. “I know these people, they would gladly die with their goods or have an escape method so advance it would make your head spin.”

It was too much seeing what looked like a city below him. This was the basement of a ship. He wasn't sure Sherlock’s arm helped either. He certainly could see clearer now, but was distracted by its pressure, and well, presence. Sherlock lead him down the stairs to the city. It was like a scene out of a movie. There were tents and vendors as far as the eye could see. There was a bar along one wall, and the whole place had a general unclean feel to it.

They walked down a street, isle, whatever, and John could feel unsavory eyes on them. Sherlock must have felt him tense and said, “They wont hurt you, they know you are with me.”

“I thought I was suppose to protect you,” John said looking at a stand that was selling what looked like human bone. “What is this place called anyway?”

“Tortuga, the owners of the ship are real movie buffs. But they have not idea that it actually means turtle, not very exciting, or that there is actually an island in Haiti. Ah, here we are.”

Sherlock held open the flap of a tent for John who was taken aback by how clean it was inside. He looked around and felt like he had just entered any store in London. Well any music store. The man behind the counter was giving him a look that vanished the second Sherlock entered.

“Ah, so this is the special man.” The man being he desk said warmly in an accent John could not place.

“Um.” John mumbled.

“The strings, Taj.” Sherlock said.

“Ja, ja.” Taj said waving him off. He turned to John, “you should see this guy. Comes to my shop every night worrying his curly head about one thing or another.” He shook his head and picked up a box from under his desk, “He sits in that chair and worries, I am surprised my customers do not catch his lingering anxiety. I have to tell him, ja the song is good enough, I am sure he will love it. But no level of reassurance is enough.”

John was overwhelmed by the words he was hearing. They were so forward, and sounded to good to be true.  

Sherlock wouldn’t meet his eyes, but John was certain there was a brush of pink across the sharp cheek bones. “How much do I owe you?”

“The same as always,” Taj said tapping a finger on his desk, “three fifty krone.”

Sherlock shoved few colorful crumpled bills at the cashier and hurried out calling, “Keep the change.”

John looked at Taj who said, “You English embarrass so easily. Good luck with him.”

John nodded and made to leave the tent, but paused just to make sure, “The song he wrote, he wrote it for me?”

“Ja, you should have seen him that day after he preformed it for you. He was hoping that you would take the hint.”

“The hint?”

“You know when a cat brings its owner a dead bird to show affection? That was his dead bird.”

“Hm,” John said, just for something to fill the silence and to disguise his swelling heart. “Thank you.” He walked out of the tent and was not surprised to see the violist had vanished. That did not dampen his mood however, he very much doubted anything could.


A cab ride later John walked into the kitchen of 221b. Sherlock must be home, the kettle was on the stove, and he and Mrs Hudson always put it away. John put it away before making his way up to the second floor.

Something was different. He suddenly realized there were open doors all throughout the hall. They were not throw open, just a cracked, enough to be noticed. He walked past Sherlock who was “sleeping” on the couch, to the other hall and found all the doors, with the exception of the rotting room and a door at the end of the hall, were open as well.

John walked back to the living room and leaned against a wall, smiling at Sherlock. The violinist was still feigning sleep, but John could occasionally see his eyes flicker from between his almost closed eyelids. “I am glad you trust me.” John said before getting a little flustered, maybe he should have thought about what he was going to say. He quickly turned and started to walk to his room. He turned at the door to see Sherlock‘s eyes following him before snapping shut.

“I really liked that song you wrote by the way.” John said before shutting his door and sighing.