(no subject)

Later, down the pub, Greg sipped at his whisky worshipfully and regarded his friend with an amused eye. “Now what the bloody hell was all that about?”

John laughed. “What, you mean when we all took a beating from a packing crate or the bit where we all three of us acted out Shakespeare in the living room?”

“Well, what I’d really like you to explain is why Sherlock broke into what I assume is an aria during the Shakespeare, but I’ll settle for an explanation for the acting and why you’re so keen on it. Is this a secret hobby of yours?”

“No, god no. I’m just keen not to look a complete and utter arse, and where acting is concerned Sherlock is the best bloody tutor you could ask for.”

“But what theatre cast you as Benedick? This isn’t the sort of thing that happens by accident, you know. You’d have to audition for starters.”

“Greg, you wouldn’t bloody believe me if I told you.”

Greg leaned back and challenged, “Try me.”

So John took a deep breath and told him. He told him about the sprawling house in the country and dressing for dinner; he told him about Grandmother, who was so very tiny but could move men with the power of her will alone; he told him about how Peter could get a wild deer to eat out of his hand, and how Richard was useful in a crisis, and how Not Anthea was both a lot of fun and a lot of trouble to be around; he told him about the painter and the composer who were quite cosy in their vine-covered cottage and happily sniped at each other as they created beautiful things all day long; he told him about how Sherlock had magically tutored children into understanding how a bird’s wings work and how Mycroft was training up the next generation to rule the world. After a few more drinks he told him about Sherlock’s parents, and Greg’s eyes both lightened in understanding and gained a hard glint that was a twin to the one in his own; he told him that Sherlock and Mycroft had once agreed on something and that they’d had a puppy named Plutarch; and then he invited him to spend his Christmas with the Holmeses.

(no subject)

Later, down the pub, Greg sipped at his whisky worshipfully and regarded his friend with an amused eye. “Now what the bloody hell was all that about?”

John laughed. “What, you mean when we all took a beating from a packing crate or the bit where we all three of us acted out Shakespeare in the living room?”

“Well, what I’d really like you to explain is why Sherlock broke into what I assume is an aria during the Shakespeare, but I’ll settle for an explanation for the acting and why you’re so keen on it. Is this a secret hobby of yours?”

“No, god no. I’m just keen not to look a complete and utter arse, and where acting is concerned Sherlock is the best bloody tutor you could ask for.”

“But what theatre cast you as Benedick? This isn’t the sort of thing that happens by accident, you know. You’d have to audition for starters.”

“Greg, you wouldn’t bloody believe me if I told you.”

Greg leaned back and challenged, “Try me.”

So John took a deep breath and told him. He told him about the sprawling house in the country and dressing for dinner; he told him about Grandmother, who was so very tiny but could move men with the power of her will alone; he told him about how Peter could get a wild deer to eat out of his hand, and how Richard was useful in a crisis, and how Not Anthea was both a lot of fun and a lot of trouble to be around; he told him about the painter and the composer who were quite cosy in their vine-covered cottage and happily sniped at each other as they created beautiful things all day long; he told him about how Sherlock had magically tutored children into understanding how a bird’s wings work and how Mycroft was training up the next generation to rule the world. After a few more drinks he told him about Sherlock’s parents, and Greg’s eyes both lightened in understanding and gained a hard glint that was a twin to the one in his own; he told him that Sherlock and Mycroft had once agreed on something and that they’d had a puppy named Plutarch; and then he invited him to spend his Christmas with the Holmeses.