ShErLoCk oNeSiEs

"That's actually his name?" (Part 1)

Yo world

I just thought it would be a funny thing to do for the fandom. I had sO much fun writing it :x

Alright go have fun be free

~~~

"Sherlock, look at this." John flipped his laptop so his flatmate could see the screen. "I told you. People love the hat."

A very much triggered Sherlock walked over to John's armchair and promptly plucked the laptop from its owner. John's amused look only intensified as Sherlock's interest was captured by the passionate opinions of the public.

"Wha- 'Deerstalker Holmes is my aesthetic'..." Sherlock sent a strange look in John's direction. "'The hat just makes him and his cheekbones more brilliant'," said Sherlock, his incredulous tone evoking a smirk from John. Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Is that even possible?"

"I don't know, and frankly, I don't really care because your current level of apparent brilliance and stupid cheekbones-" John rolled his eyes, much to Sherlock's confusion, "-is pretty much fine by me."

"Well, of course you're satisfied with what you get," Sherlock strode to the other side of the living room. "You make do, never try for more. All you think you need is sufficient, where in reality you're being held together by mere threads, John, never aiming for the mine but making do with the tiny pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Much on the contrary, I will never be clever enough. There's always something. Something to lead you to an answer. Something everyone misses."

Sherlock's gaze shot from the very interesting wallpaper to a now half-asleep John. "John?"

A slightly undignified snort escaped John as he jolted awake. "Hhnnggggg I'm up I'm up you were saying I heard the rainbow."

Sherlock tried not to smirk at John's drooping eyelids, but the amused twinkle in his eyes was hard to miss. "That was a tiny bit precious," he said, setting the laptop down on the table. "Should've gotten it on video. Lestrade would've been rendered senseless-" he cocked his head in debate with himself, "-not that he has much to begin with."

"Precious?" John said in complete disbelief. "What the..." he yawned, "...hell are you talking about?"

"I really must start a collection or something. 'The Moments of John Watson'," Sherlock chuckled. "I'll have to take it up with Graham."

"Greg's not gonna be taking up anything with anyone, because there isn't gonna be a collection, because you-" John pointed at Sherlock, "-are not going to have anything to show him."

"Greg?" said Sherlock, this time in real confusion. "That's actually his name?"

John stared at him for a minute.

And another minute.

And another.

It was starting to get a little scary by this point.

Sherlock was frozen to the spot, puzzled by why in hell his question would evoke such a reaction from John. Then a tiny, two watt bulb went off somewhere in the basement of his mind palace. What if his name is actually-

He was interrupted by unrestrained bouts of laughter erupting from the chair in front of him. Not the polite chuckles he usually heard from John, no, these were uncontrollable fits of positive giggling that had possessed his blogger. He stood there, slightly enraptured by the sight of John, sitting there in his armchair, practically shriveling up on himself. It seemed like he would dry up and turn into a raisin if he cried too many tears of pure joy.

Sherlock couldn't resist cracking a smile. When would he see John so happy again?

"Are you alright, John?"

John's seemingly incessant laughter halted. A pair of ocean blue eyes found Sherlock's through the tears and smiles, trying to deduce whether the detective's inquiry was genuine.

"You're adorable, you know that?"

Sherlock froze. What?

John froze. It had just slipped out.

But.

What was done was done. Time to move on, Watson.

So John cracked a smile. "You're adorable," he repeated, a hint of the previously witnessed humour creeping back into his voice.

Sherlock's face remained a cryptic set of features. "What makes you say that?"

"It's just...you," John gestured to Sherlock's existence in general. "You can tell when someone's lying with your eyes closed, and you can't tell when someone tells you something so plainly rigid that it's really the truth. Sherlock," he said, rising from the armchair, "his name is actually Greg. Not Graham, not George, not Garfield. Greg." He made a point of enunciating the last bit clearly enough as if ensuring that Sherlock received the sound waves and registered them in...whatever was in Sherlock's head.

Sherlock's face was priceless.

It took John a tremendous amount of willpower to keep himself from blushing and exploding at the same time.

Blushing?

"Seriously?" said Sherlock, acceptance shifting into his baritone. "Greg? Why Greg?"

John couldn't take it. "What does that even mean? It's his name!"

And he exploded exactly how he tried not to.

His light laugh was soon paired with a deep velvety chuckle. Sherlock finally got the joke. John looked up to see real amusement in Sherlock's multicolored irises and folds in the skin of his cheeks. A flare of pride went through John's heart. He had made Sherlock Holmes laugh.

Sherlock hadn't planned to, but soon he and John were laughing like there was no tomorrow, clutching their sides and smiling wider than they had ever seen the other do so. Sherlock was familiar with cramps, he'd get them on days of particular hunger. He'd resort to the morphine on those days, just to get rid of the feeling of an organ cinching beneath his ribcage.

These cramps were pure joy, and humour, and uncontrollable fits of laughter and John. The man's laughter was more contagious that any contagious disease Sherlock could think of.

"So...so..." Sherlock gasped out. "I've been calling him the wrong thing for years now? And no one told me?"

"We tried, Sherlock," John wheezed. "You never listened!"

"Rubbish."

"No, look, I'll prove it to you," John said as he picked up his laptop. "I've mentioned your...mistakes time and again on my blog, and..." he swiveled the machine. "I guess you could call this positive response?"

Sherlock bent towards the screen. It was endless, tens of people mocking the mistaken name starting with 'G'. Nearly 700 of the 889 comments on the blog were simply alternate names to 'Greg'. Literally, anything but Greg. His frown refused to cooperate as the corners of his mouth slid up, with his eyes running down the list.

"Gary, Gordon, Gabriel, Gertrude-" he nearly choked. "Really? Gertrude?"

"Oh, it gets better," said John, sitting down with the laptop and rapidly scrolling to a point in the endless ocean of frankly ridiculous names for the detective inspector. Sherlock couldn't help noticing the way his eyes lit up victoriously as he found what he was looking for.

Sherlock made a split-second decision and rested his chin on John's shoulder, bending from behind the armchair. John's breath momentarily hitched, but then Sherlock saw the name John was pointing to.

Sherlock seriously appreciated these people and their insane creativity.

"GALADRIEL?"