Fandom Oneshots [Mainly Marvel, Sherlock, and Good Omens, and House MD]

BBC Sherlock: (Johnlock & [Mentioned] Mormor) "Four Numbers"

Headcanon for the 221st time! (hah, help)

Canon diversion is what I really am saying.

I dunno the logic in this, since my headcanons were all over the place...

[「-」]

It was long after everyone settled down, 221B was inhabited by the consulting detective and his best friend and once again flatmate, the ex-army doctor. It was like the first night they met all over again, but it was without the icy barrier that was once wrapped around the thin walls of the flat. The cameras that focused on the windows caught a warm glow of the streetlights.

Though, of course, life didn't always settle down for the two flatmates.

"I'm heading out to get some groceries, I think you can handle not tearing up the flat for at the most twenty minutes?" John held up his hand up, which had caught the attention of Sherlock.

"Hardly a challenge," Slipped out Sherlock's mouth as he rolled his eyes.

John paused, his mouth thinning to a line, he huffed, "I'll agree to it when I don't see blood or a knife on the floor when I get back." John said whilst slipping his shoes on. He surveyed the area before heading out the door, then when he got to the sidewalk. He burst into light chuckles as he reached Tesco.

Perhaps the reason Sherlock was like this was due to the growing relationship with his brother. The two got closer after stopping Moriarty's right-hand-man, Rosemund Moran, who was supposed to assassinate him after Sherlock's death; instead, Moran had acted as Mary Morstan, an interested party in affections to damage Sherlock in that way.

John picked out the strawberry jam sitting right in the center of the shelf, not too deep inside, not too to the side. "Old habits die hard." He murmured half-heartedly, letting the selected carton of milk drop into the blue basket. He gazed at the biscuits. "Sherlock does like the other kind..." He muttered at his favorite kind of biscuit with a somber look. Putting both kinds in the basket, he made his way to the self-checkout machine and let the basket fall in the pile of the others when he loaded everything into the bags.

"Don't." He nearly growled at the machine after everything was bagged and he held a credit card in his fingers.

During the light hike back home, he heard the familiar ring of his phone, guessing that it was his flatmate, he fished the phone from his pockets, 'Jim Moriarty and Irene Adler are both alive. -SH' was typed out in ordinary letters.

He fumbled with his bags. He simply typed in his thoughts, 'What? After all this time?' being them.

No response.

He bolted.

The door was a tad bit ajar to John's dismay, his eyes widened, jaw tightened as he trekked closer. He heard a distinct voice, one of a bold, confident, smooth siren's song.

"Sherlock." The female's voice traveled to John's ears and he stepped closer, his eyes seeing the scene unfold. The Woman stood by the doorway and the younger Holmes stood closer to the inside, chin tilted high.

"Ms. Adler," Sherlock said, his eyes not coming off of Irene's own.

"It's 'Ms. Adler' now? What happened to 'Irene'?" She said, her right hand reaching for her left shoulder. John swore he grabbed his gun when he stepped outside.

"I'm impressed," He uttered, "You come this far for a single cellphone." Sherlock chuckled, a strained sound to John's ears as he's heard it far too many times. "The phone has been destroyed," Sherlock stated, knowing full well for the reason she was here. "Your 'protection' is gone, Ms. Adler."