Sherlock/Legend of Korra fic: A Study in Earthbending (2/2)
Title: A Study in Earthbending (2/2)
Fandom: Sherlock/Legend of Korra
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Mycroft
Rating/Warnings: Rated T. Spoilers for ASiP and spoilers for the setting of Legend of Korra (no spoilers for the plot/characters itself)
Length: 12,927 words total
Summary: John is an earthbender who was sent back to Republic City after being invalided home from the army. There he meets Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective and one of the most powerful benders in the city, who appears to have left both a riding crop and a fire ferret in the mortuary. Sherlock fusion with Legend of Korra (which is a spinoff of Avatar the Last Airbender).
Author's note: This is a fusion with the Legend of Korra/Avatar the Last Airbender. You don’t need to have seen the show to read this, all you need to know is that it takes place in a steampunkish universe where there are people who are able to “bend”, or kinetically manipulate, the elements using various styles of martial arts. There are earthbenders, firebenders, waterbenders, and airbenders. Thanks to Brandon for looking this over for me.
John’s head was aching when he awoke, pounding pistons firing off far too fast in his head as he tried to get it up to speed. He groaned, his hands and feet restrained by metal chains, strapped onto a steel block. So earthbending was out of the picture then. Fantastic.
“It seems your friend is finally awake,” a voice called, different from the one of the chi blocker, this one higher and lighter.
“Well done, it seems you can observe,” drawled an all-too familiar baritone. “I was worried for a moment that my captor had put us into completely incompetent hands. Speaking of which, where is he exactly?”
“None of your concern,” the voice said breezily.
John cracked his eyes open, wincing at the sudden light, and saw Sherlock was chained to a metal block similar to John’s. Sherlock shot him a grin before turning back to their captor, a tall, broad shouldered woman with dark hair.
“Let me guess,” Sherlock said, casting his eyes lazily about the woman, analyzing her far more coldly than John had ever seen him do to anyone. “Waterbender. Worked your way to the middle ranks of this organization, skilled, but mostly expendable. You like one of your ‘co-workers’ but won’t tell him, and your sister is a non-bender whom you’re very protective of. She’s the reason you joined the Triad, wanted to get money for her schooling. Not far off, am I?” Sherlock smiled tightly at her, not seeming terribly bothered by the chains encasing his hands and feet.
The woman looked shocked for a moment, and then smirked. “Nice try, Holmes. They told me you would do that. Too bad it won’t get you out of those chains. Can’t get out with your bending either, so don’t even think about trying it. Firebending won’t work in this room.”
“Of course not, it’s a freezer,” Sherlock said, nodding. John could feel it too, the arctic air that was being pushed out of the vents, shrouding the room in a cold fog, leaving everyone’s breath to come out as mist. John’s hands were trembling in their chains, gooseflesh covering his arms and legs. Even Sherlock was trembling slightly, his lips a faint blue. While the cold wouldn’t make firebending impossible, the harsh temperature could weaken it to the point where Sherlock would be no match for this waterbender, no matter what his skill.
“Yep,” she said. “We’ve got the word off the street, Holmes, we know you’re a firebender. Your very own friend said so earlier,” she said, jerking her head to John. Guilt flooded John’s system as he recalled what he’d said to Sherlock after the fight, not even bothering to think if the threats had been adequately neutralized. He’d given Sherlock away, opened up his weaknesses to these people!
Sherlock nodded gravely. “Yes, and this room would make it difficult for any firebender to effectively fight. They would have to warm up their own system first, expending energy to do so, and even if they managed that, it would take even more energy to create a flame in a freezing room. Simple science,” Sherlock said, a smile creeping onto his face. “Really quite ingenious actually. Unfortunately, you have made the assumption that most everyone makes when they meet me, probably due to my ‘fiery personality’ as Mummy always liked to say. Of course, I can’t say that I do anything to correct that assumptions, as it usually seems to work to my advantage, especially in situations like these,” Sherlock said, nodding to his chains and then looking sharply back at the woman. “Which is why I’m afraid you’re about to be beaten. You’ve drawn your conclusions without enough evidence, and now you will pay the price for your rash assessment.”
John’s eyes widened, he strained at his chains as Sherlock spoke. No way, he thought, mentally kicking himself for making the exact same mistake that the woman had made. The woman didn’t appear to catch on though, frowning at Sherlock. “What are you talking about? What assumption?” she asked, automatically moving into a fighting stance.
Sherlock looked at her from his metal block and grinned. “I am no firebender,” he said, suddenly moving his arms as much as he could given their confinement, sweat shining against his brow despite the cold. Sherlock lifted his arms in the air and the fog around them condensed into water, slicing through his chains when he brought his arms down. Sherlock shook the irons off and leapt to his feet, manipulating the water in his hands, grinning wildly as he threw his arms out to strike the woman with the water.
“You’re a waterbender,” she hissed, managing to take control of the stream before if hit her, violently throwing it back at Sherlock.
“And you’re just a lowly Triad member with aspirations for greatness,” Sherlock said, effortlessly catching the water. It thrived in his hands, alive and moving, snakelike, ready to strike. “But you are severely outmatched. I am Sherlock Holmes, I have studied all known styles of bending and fighting, and I am a waterbending master,” he said calmly. “Do you really think you can win?”
With that, Sherlock tossed the water into the air before throwing himself up with it, spinning and throwing his feet down, using them to slice the water at the woman. John and the woman’s eyes both widened at the distinctly firebending technique being used to waterbend. The woman tried to fight back, using standard and practiced waterbending moves, but it was like Sherlock said – he was a master. And he was no ordinary master either. At one moment he adopted an earthbending stance and thrust his arms forward to control the water, at another he avoided her attacks using the sweeping spiral movements of the airbenders, and he continued to use the ferocious punches and kicks that were reminiscent of firebending. Even though city styles of bending tended to blend the different techniques anyway, Sherlock took it to a whole new level, his style something new and even frightening in its efficiency. Sherlock took the water and drew it up around himself, using the great, flowing movements of the waterbenders to cascade the water down on the woman, freezing it into ice form to trap her. The woman, far too exhausted to change it back to water, slumped in defeat, all but her head captured in the ice.
Sherlock smiled dangerously at her. “I win,” he said viciously, before turning to John and using the water to cut through his chains as well.
John was…dumbstruck to say the least. Gaping at Sherlock Holmes seemed to be his new state of being, he was doing it so often today. He rubbed his wrists and sputtered, trying to form a coherent sentence in the wake of that display. “That…that was…”
“Freakish, I know,” Sherlock said with a grimace. “Don’t worry, John, if you no longer wish to keep the flat or remain acquaintances, I will, of course, understand.”
“Freakish? What are you talking about, that was astounding!” John cried. “Where did you learn to do that?”
A smile appeared on Sherlock’s face, this one different from any of the coldly calculating ones he had worn before, this one born of surprise and maybe even delight. “Like I said, I’ve studied all types of bending. Why simply study waterbending techniques when there are three other styles to learn as well?”
John laughed, leftover adrenaline and newfound freedom filling him to the brim and spilling over. “You’re a waterbender, you great prat. Were never going to tell me?”
Sherlock smiled again. “Like I said, it works to my advantage that people don’t know. And I was curious to see how long it would take you to figure it out.”
John actually laughed at that. “You were testing me. Of course you were. Well I hope I wasn’t too disappointing.”
“Nah, you got it in time for the big reveal. Few even accomplish that.”
“Yeah? Let me guess, Lestrade is one of those people too,” John asked, half-curious and half-joking.
Sherlock looked at him carefully, studying him as if he’d done something unexpected, something extraordinary, when really John had just been being…John. “I’m far too used to such assumptions to bother correcting people,” Sherlock said after a moment, with a sort of strong, self-assured voice that came from years of lacking any kind of assurance, of defending oneself against distrust, a sort of tone that came from being forced to be too strong, to build walls to shut everyone else out. “Rarely does anyone bother to search for the truth: that water is the element of change, that waterbending is about using someone’s own offense against them.”
And God, could John see that, the way Sherlock deduced people, using their own flaws against them when provoked, how adaptable Sherlock seemed to be, flowing and changing to suit the terrain while still remaining constant. “I’m sorry,” John said, guilt rising to the surface.
Sherlock shrugged. “It’s the assumption everyone makes, and a logical one at that.” Nonetheless he turned to John with a grateful sort of smile, a bit crooked from disuse. “Though if we’re going to have any more heartfelt moments, I think I would prefer it if we left this Triad base before doing so.”
John chuckled, nodding. “Agreed.”
Sherlock froze some water off the ground and put the cube of ice in his pocket. “I don’t think we’ll make it out of here unnoticed,” he said warily. John looked to Sherlock and nodded, and Sherlock carefully opened the door in front of him, dashing inside the room with John right on his heels, both of them instantly assuming a fighting stance.
The room was barren but for a single man, small, old enough to almost look weak if one overlooked the gleam in his eyes, the life and hate that bred there. “Hello,” he said. John froze as he recognized the voice as the one belonging to the chi blocker, Sherlock doing the same beside him.
“Don’t be surprised,” the old man said, “you knew I would find you. Name’s Hope, not that you’ll be alive long enough to remember it.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I had enough time listening to your incompetent underling to figure out who you are. You’re an Equalist who infiltrated the Triad and used them to select specific targets. This wasn’t revenge, however. Your targets were not benders or even those sympathetic to bending. They were seemingly random victims, all designed to capture my attention. You wanted me.”
“That’s spot on. I’m not surprised though, they did say you were good,” Hope acknowledged. “Probably not good enough to make it out of here alive though.”
“You’re outnumbered,” John said, watching as Hope’s eyes shifted toward him as if just realizing he was there.
“Watson is it? Yeah, I might be outnumbered, but you’re only as good as your bending. What do you become when I take that away?” Hope said, subtly shifting toward a fighting position himself.
John grimaced at the memory of being utterly helpless after his chi had been blocked. Sherlock nonchalantly cocked his head at the old man, but John didn’t miss the tightening of Sherlock’s stance.
“Well,” Sherlock said. “I’m here. You have my attention. Now what do you want?”
“Me? Oh, I don’t want anything. I’m just the messenger,” Hope said before moving lightning fast, running right toward John. John felt his fear rising, the thought of being unable to bend again making him feel sick and he lashed out at the man, hurling rock after rock at him, only to find that Hope had dodged every one. Before he or Sherlock could do anything, Hope was behind John, jabbing him until he fell to the ground, useless.
“Sherlock,” he groaned, unable to move his legs or arms. He could barely even move his head. “Get out of here, run.”
Sherlock shook his head minutely, kneeling down and glancing over John briefly before turning the brunt of his glare to the old man. Sherlock’s eyes raged with fire, the kind that raked landscapes and burnt down forests, the kind that firebenders could only dream of harnessing. “Unless harming my colleague was a part of your message, I encourage you to continue,” he said, his voice filled with ice.
“Oh no, I just did that to Watson so he couldn’t get in the way. This was meant to be a private meeting, you see,” he said, casting a disapproving eye over John, as if he were a child who’d been too loud and whiny in the market. “I do have a message though. Would you like to know what it is?” Hope leaned in, his voice just above a whisper. “‘Watch out, Sherlock Holmes. You’re not the only one playing in Republic City now.’”.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? That’s the message?”
“Well, that’s all I had to tell. My instructions were to deliver the message, and then do what I want with you. And now that we have the first part out of the way, I’m quite looking forward to the second.” The old man’s eyes gleamed in the dim room as he took a step toward Sherlock, Sherlock automatically taking a step backward to put space between himself and the chi blocker.
“And what do you intend to do with me? Take away my bending and kill me? You wouldn’t last a minute,” Sherlock snarled, keeping his arms protectively against his sides, glancing at John every now and again.
“I’d expect that from a bender,” Hope said, nodding. “Think you’re superior to everyone else, just because you can move a bit of water. You know what happens with most benders when you chi block them? They can’t even fight back. Can’t even use their brains, don’t have them because they’ve been too busy showing off what they think is their birth-right.” Hope’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “People are so stupid. Why can’t they just think, instead of relying on their bending?”
Sherlock’s lips drew themselves in a tight line, his damnable pride showing. “I’m afraid to inform you that that’s the case with all people, not just benders. Sorry to disappoint.” Sherlock smiled tightly, but his eyes were still wary, never leaving Hope’s face.
“Oh, don’t give up just yet. I’m not done with you. We’re going to play a game, you and I, give you a chance to prove yourself. Let’s see if you’re better than the others.”
“A game?” Sherlock asked, interest showing despite himself.
Hope smiled. “A duel.”
John groaned internally. This was becoming a battle of the wits between two complete and utter lunatics. And here he was, hardly able to move. But he was John bloody Watson and damn it if he didn’t live to defy expectations. Think, he frowned. Think your way out. John Watson began breathing deeply, straining his neck so that it was completely touching the earth. He could feel the ground beneath him, solid, constant, and he thought, I can do this. Beneath the surface, the earth began shifting as John lost himself to his own concentration.
“It’s really quite simple. If I get to you, I block your chi, and well, you’re helpless then, aren’t you? I can kill you easy. Of course, if you manage to take me down, I’d be surprised, but I’d go with you quietly. So how’s it sound?” Hope said. “Do you think you’re good enough to beat me? The great Sherlock Holmes?”
Sherlock frowned. “But why? Why play this game, what do you have to gain? Your message has already been delivered, no doubt you’ve already been paid for delivering it. So why challenge me?”
“Because I want to prove I can beat you, Mr. Holmes. I’m tired of people underestimating me just because I’m not a bender. But it’s me who’s got the last laugh, cause I can take out any bender in this city. Even you,” he said, leaping forward.
Sherlock dodged Hope’s attack, bringing forth his water and attacking ruthlessly with it, slicing Hope at every moment, drowning him with the stream, but it was difficult for Sherlock to focus on an attack for more than a second before being forced to evade Hope’s punches. It was a dynamic dance between the two, Sherlock attempting an attack before stepping back to avoid one of Hope’s. It was a matter of endurance more than anything, both of them bobbing and weaving, dodging and attacking, Sherlock being forced to move in tight circular movements, unable to get any shots in.
“Come on, Sherlock,” John murmured, closing his eyes to focus his energy on the earth, feeling the vibrations against his head, the weight of the dirt, the movement of the creatures beneath the ground.
Sherlock jumped in the air to avoid a jab from Hope, bringing his water crashing down as he descended to the earth. At the same time, Hope struck upward, finally catching Sherlock in the arm. Sherlock cried out and landed with a stumble, falling to the ground and clinging to his arm. Hope had a wide cut across his own arm where the water had sliced him. Both of them were breathing heavily, clutching their arms and staring at each other.
“It would seem we’re evenly matched,” Hope said.
“Hardly,” Sherlock said, raising his good arm in a preemptive defense. “Want to back out before it’s too late?”
“What do you think?” Hope said with a toothy grin, circling Sherlock once again, a predator who’d already cornered his kill. John’s stomach plummeted as he realized Sherlock had been backed into a corner of the room, left with little room to dodge Hope’s advances.
It’s now or never, John thought, hitting his head against the ground with as much force as he could manage, feeling the earth give way, feeling the building rock as the ground swayed from side to side, dust rising up from the floor as John feebly tried to earthbend with only his head to maneuver with.
Hope and Sherlock stumbled where they stood, Sherlock being the first to figure out what had happened and glance over at John, followed by Hope.
“You really think you can upset the status quo, bending like that?” Hope said. “You do better than most, I’ll give you that, but it won’t be enough to save your friend. You do anything funny and I’ll end Holmes right here, Watson, no more games.” Hope backed up so that he had eyes on both Sherlock and John, his gaze flickering between the pair of them. Sherlock eyed Hope warily, clearly unsure of how this fight would end, but forcing a smile anyway. Arrogant bastard.
John frowned and focused his attention back on the earth. With the ground shaken and loose from the miniature quake John had created, it was simple enough to latch onto a small rock with his mind. It was however, nearly impossible to try to shape the damn thing without touching it. John closed his eyes in concentration, gritting his teeth as he tried to sharpen the rock with his mind, make a weapon of some sort. The effort exhausted him, but he had something, a weapon, as small and useless as it was. John wasn’t sure he even had the energy to bend the rock, especially without the use of his hands and feet, and especially when he only had one shot at this, one shot at incapacitating Hope before he took out Sherlock. Damn his exhaustion and damn his blocked chi, what John really needed was a window of opportunity.
Perhaps sensing John’s distress, or perhaps because it never seemed to leave a disaster unattended to, a certain fire ferret decided to let himself in through the window, scurrying across the floor before perching on Sherlock’s shoulder. The ferret hissed at Hope before glaring at Sherlock, as if blaming him for having left it behind during their initial chase of the Triad member.
Hope laughed. “Well, I suppose now it’s three on one, eh? A waterbender without a working arm, a scrawny fire ferret, and a useless earthbender. I don’t know how I stand a chance!”
“I wouldn’t say I’m useless,” John grunted, finally able to make his move, jerking his head forward and putting as much force behind the bullet-shaped piece of rock as he could, building up the attack in his mind before letting it loose. The rock went straight through Hope’s heart and embedded itself in the wall. Hope looked down at his chest, mouth gaping, before collapsing to the floor.
John’s head felt like it was on fire after that display, flames licking the sides of his mind and burning dully at his senses. He dimly heard Sherlock shouting at Hope -- something about a Moriarty, whatever that was -- before coming over to John.
“John,” Sherlock said, as if from very far away, “are you alright? Are you alright?”
Sherlock’s fire ferret, in a selfless show of support, took that moment to nuzzle worryingly at John’s face before proceeding to sit on his face.
“You little fucker,” John managed to say before passing out for the second time that day.
John awoke to sore, but mobile limbs, a splitting headache, and a fire ferret sound asleep on his chest. “I can see why Sherlock likes you, I think,” he said blearily, petting the ferret before letting his arm collapse at his side. John closed his eyes, contemplating falling asleep right where he was. He was clearly on a stretcher of some kind, and had probably already been attended to by healers if the relief in his arms and legs was any indication. He could hear Lestrade and Sherlock talking a few meters away, and it should probably worry John how familiar and comforting the sound of them arguing was.
“John was unconscious for the majority of the event, as I told you,” Sherlock said curtly.
“And I’m sure the signs of earthbending are just a coincidence then,” Lestrade replied, skeptical as ever.
“John attempted to earthbend while his chi was blocked, resulting in the minor earthquake in the building, but he passed out from the effort. Hope and I continued dueling, but it was interrupted when the rock shot him in the chest. I know you can’t help being an idiot, Lestrade, but think it through: John was far too exhausted to attempt an attack of any kind, he’s clearly not the shooter.”
John opened his eyes out of surprise, fairly sure that he’d just heard Sherlock Holmes lie for him. He had no time to process why the consulting detective would do such a thing before Lestrade continued talking.
“Alright,” Lestrade conceded. “Then who was the shooter?”
“How should I know? There are hundreds of earthbenders in the city, and eliminating the ones who don’t hold a grudge against the Triad or the Equalists will hardly diminish the list. I doubt you’ll find them,” Sherlock said.
“Won’t stop us from looking,” Lestrade said, sounding stubborn, but only half-heartedly so, apparently willing to drop the subject. “That was a stupid thing you did, Sherlock, accepting his challenge for a duel.”
“As you’ve already told me.”
“Still,” Lestrade said. “Do you think he had you beat?”
There was a pause before Sherlock said, “No. Of course, there’s no way of knowing, the shooter arrived before we could finish.”
Another pause. “I’m glad you’re okay, Sherlock.”
John blinked a few times, never having heard anyone speak to Sherlock so kindly, nor Sherlock showing anyone so much respect when he replied, “Thank you.”
John smiled to himself, closing his eyes and petting the fire ferret behind the ears as he heard Lestrade walk away.
“What are you so happy about?” Sherlock asked him, and John opened his eyes to find Sherlock right in front of him.
“Oh, nothing. You know, I just went to a crime scene, chased down a Triad member, got kidnapped, took out an Equalist, and met an absolute madman named Sherlock Holmes. Pretty much an average day for me,” John said shrugging.
There was a short silence in which Sherlock didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and John started giggling at the absurdity of it all, at having this conversation with Sherlock at God knows what time of day. Sherlock began chuckling alongside him, a true smile on his face, one of those precious ones where he looked like he was surprised to be smiling.
“Yes, well, that was a good shot,” Sherlock said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” John said, smiling drowsily as he combed his hand through the fire ferret’s fur.
“Of course not,” Sherlock said. Then he looked at John, not quite analyzing him, but instead just looking at him, as if he was really trying to see John. “But, whoever the shooter was, his abilities were greater than he originally let on. Being able to earthbend with no contact with the ground save for his head, that’s something not many could do. Given that this shooter never had a master, but did serve abroad, I’d have to say that he learned it in his time in the military,” Sherlock said carefully. “Am I right?”
John sighed, laying his head down and looking up at the night sky, stars gleaming against the black backdrop. “If I had to guess, I’d say you were right. Even as a doctor in the army there’s always danger, and sometimes you don’t realize it until it’s too late.” John breathed deeply before continuing. “When you’re taken captive, you have a lot of time to listen to the earth and find the meaning of earthbending and all that crap, but all you really need is an opportunity. It was the same thing in there: I saw an opportunity and I took it,” John said, feeling as though he was cut open for Sherlock to see, his stomach and lungs and heart laid out, all of it for Sherlock. “Hypothetically of course,” John added.
“Of course,” Sherlock said quietly, still staring at John, as if he were a mystery that was remaining stubbornly unsolved. Blinking he said, “I believe I may have underestimated you, John Watson. You’re not like other earthbenders.”
John laughed. “And you’re not like other waterbenders. Well, actually, you’re just not like anyone.”
“I take that as a compliment,” Sherlock said, smirking.
“Though I do believe that the real hero today is this little one,” John said, holding up the fire ferret in celebration, something which said ferret looked quite annoyed about.
“Yes,” Sherlock said in disgust. “I suppose I’ll actually have to keep it now.” The ferret scowled at Sherlock, but licked his cheek, forcing a brief smile out of the consulting detective.
Lestrade walked toward them, grinning when he saw Sherlock and the ferret. “That’s just adorable,” Lestrade commented. Sherlock rolled his eyes and glared at Lestrade, but the ferret didn’t really help his case when it followed Sherlock’s example and tried to stare down the metalbending officer.
“You should name it,” John said helpfully.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but took the ferret in his arms, looking at it contemplatively, before glancing at the metalbending officer. “Good work tonight, Lestrade.”
Lestrade blinked in surprise, but nodded. “Thank you-“
“Not you,” Sherlock said, cutting him off. “The fire ferret.”
John and Lestrade both looked at Sherlock helplessly. “You’re naming it Lestrade?” John asked, raising an eyebrow, unable to help the grin that spread itself across his face.
“Of course. It’s the perfect name. He’s annoying and useless, but still manages to come in handy every now and again. Isn’t that right, Lestrade?” The ferret chittered in either irritation or happiness, it was difficult to tell. Lestrade was still staring at Sherlock in slight disbelief.
“I’d punch you in the face,” Lestrade said slowly, “but I think that’s the closest I’m ever going to get to a compliment from you.”
“You’re welcome,” Sherlock said breezily, absentmindedly stroking Lestrade-the-ferret’s head.
“You know I still have half a mind to punch you anyway.”
“Yes, I know.”
John cleared his throat, feeling that there were still certain things that the consulting detective needed to be made aware of. “Um, Sherlock. You do realize that Lestr…that the ferret is a girl, right?”
Sherlock blinked. “It is?” Without warning he flipped Lestrade-the-ferret over, bringing forth a screech on the ferret’s part and a sigh from John. “Hmm, what do you know,” Sherlock said.
“So you’re still going to name it that?” John said, trying to hold onto his giggles for Lestrade-the-human’s sake. Lestrade-the-ferret jumped out of Sherlock’s arms and climbed onto John’s shoulder, shooting a glare at the consulting detective once there.
“Of course, why wouldn’t I? Now if you’ll excuse us, Lestrade, we’re off to get dinner,” Sherlock said, walking away, leaving Lestrade to look at Sherlock with a certain mixture of annoyance and affection that John was already all too familiar with. The metalbender sighed. “Well, at least he meant it nicely.”
John laughed and nodded at Lestrade before running to catch up with Sherlock. They walked in companionable silence for a few moments, the thrill of adventure and danger still thrumming dimly in John’s veins. “So, what now?” he asked.
Sherlock seemed to think about it for a moment before finally talking, speaking quickly, as if his words needed to catch up with all the things his mind wanted to say. “I meant it about the dinner, I really am hungry -- don’t think I’ve eaten in a few days -- but after that, well, it’s safe to assume you’re going to move into the flat. Then I suppose we’ll solve more crimes, I’ll do my experiments, you do whatever you do, and it’ll all work out marvelously. Sound good?”
It wasn’t really a question, and John probably needed to talk to Sherlock about things like eating and experiments, but for now John just grinned and said, “Absolutely.”