You Could Always Start With Moby Murdoch, Sherlock

Benedict Cumberbatch as BBC Sherlock holding a harpoon and looking peeved

John, I think it’s time we did a little hunting of our own. I’m heading to Fleet Street!

Hatman and Robin Strike Again

by J. H. Watson
~ 450 words

“Put the harpoon down, Sherlock,” John Watson said before taking another sip of coffee.

“No, John, that was the last straw. I’ve had enough of this relentless stalking.” Sherlock paced around the flat, tossing the harpoon from hand to hand, his dressing gown snapping with every sharp pivot.

John flipped to another channel on the telly. “You’re a celebrity now. You can’t stop them.”

Sherlock stopped pacing. “Do you really believe I can’t do that? That I can’t do anything I set my mind to?”

“Sherlock, you aren’t harpooning journalists. Even Mycroft couldn’t get away with that.”

“Don’t bet on it.” Sherlock tossed the harpoon on the sofa and collapsed into the chair across from John. “Maybe you’re right.”

John did a double-take. “Say that again.”

Sherlock ignored him and continued to stare ahead, his hands steepled below his chin. “Perhaps I should give them a taste of their own medicine. I could start publishing daily bits about them and their private lives online.”

“That would just escalate things and make you more enemies, Sherlock. The last thing you need is more enemies. And what happens when they start going after your family?”

Sherlock tilted his head towards John and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Or your friends,” John added. As Sherlock raised the other eyebrow, John continued, “And don’t say you don’t have any friends. Imagine what they could do with the story of Mrs. Hudson and her flirtation with the bigamist downstairs. Or poor Greg Lestrade and his adulterous wife. Or Molly who violates regulations to let you abuse corpses and see medical records.”

Sherlock studied the wall for a moment in silence before closing his eyes and saying, “Or you and I sharing a flat and a partnership.”

“Yeah, well, they already do enough with that one. And maybe you shouldn’t call us partners. Colleagues. Colleagues, works.”

John punched the remote and the television went black and silent. “Look, Sherlock, it isn’t that big a deal. It’ll die down if you just leave it alone.”

“The hat didn’t. Until this.”

“Yeah, well, I told you not to buy it, but did Mr. I’ve-Got-Better-Fashion-Sense-Than-You-Sweater-Boy listen?

“Now you’re just being petty. I needed a new coat.”

“Yeah, but did it have to be an Inverness?”

John tossed the paper to Sherlock. Sherlock looked the front page photo of himself  with the headline “The Caped Crusader!” He said, “Well, it does look good on me.”

John sighed and clicked the telly back on as he replied, “And that’s all that matters, Batman.”

### End ###

 

 

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