Copper Beeches 2 (Samantha Lestrade/His Doctor/S.Holmes)

"Bored." Sherlock muttered to no one in particular. John was out of course, leaving him to lounge about in the flat without a case- a combination that would soon result in either his brain going into a vegetative state or the furnishings taking serious casualties. He had been reading a few of John's blog entries about there cases. His friend seemed to take a great deal of enjoyment in wittily naming the cases he'd solved as well as picking out the most trivial of details about Sherlock's life.

Flicking over to the other tab Sherlock hit 'refresh' on the browser for the 37th time that hour, watching impatiently as the 'Enquiries' page reloaded. The blog was where most of their private cases made the first point of contact, and he needed a new case. Naturally, 95% of cases got dismissed as too obvious and dull, but right now Sherlock was willing to take anything over a 5. Times were desperate.

As the page reloaded Sherlock's eyebrows jumped unexpectedly at the new message that had been posted.

Help regarding a new job
Dear Mr. Holmes,
I would very much appreciate your advice on a job I have been offered. Please don't dismiss my case as too mundane for you. I have left my email and mobile number for you to contact me.
Violet Hunter

Sherlock let out a dark chuckle before launching up from the couch and half throwing the laptop onto the sofa. "Pllleasse don't dismiss my case Mister Holmes, ugh!" he mimicked a whining girl who seemed think that solving their petty problems was more important than tracking down criminals. There was no one in the flat to hear him though. This wasn't even a 1; who did they think he was?

Now fuming, Sherlock knew only one person that could possibly cheer him up. And that person was currently on one of his infamous 'dates', probably ordering desert by now and trying his best attempt at flirting on a woman even more despicable than 'Violet Hunter'.

Pulling on his coat and scarf, Sherlock swooped down the stairs and hailed a cab, requesting to be taken to the restaurant that John always took his first dates too.

Hows the date going? -SH

((NB: This is a restart of Copper Beeches as we wanted to change some stuff around, so it will look the same for a little while but will hopefully continue))

“How about a refill?” John picked up the bottle of red wine and hovered it over the nearly empty glass of his bubbly blonde date, Belinda. She giggled sweetly and accepted the offer.

John smiled and was about to ask Belinda how long she had been working at Barts when his mobile text alert sounded. “How... er scuse me a sec.” Possibly it was Sherlock with news of a case since it was unlikely that anybody else would be texting him. He smiled at Belinda while fishing his phone out and read the message. Disappointed, wishing it had been a message to inform him of a case he wondered what the hell Sherlock was doing asking about his progress on his date.

The doctor stuffed the phone back in his jacket pocket without replying to Sherlock's question since it wasn't urgent and he wasn't going to start writing a running commentary on his private life to his flat-mate.

“Soo how long have you been working at Barts then?” John asked his blonde companion who, being new to the hospital and hadn't made friends to go out with socially, had virtually forced herself upon him while in the canteen.

Come on John, don't be obvious. 3 months. -SH

Sherlock had managed to slip into the restaurant unnoticed by John. It wasn't that John would have been so unobservant as to miss him walking in. It had been more to do with the fact that his friend had chosen to sit with his back to the door, and that it was noisy enough for Sherlock's hushed instruction to the waiter to be drowned out by the other diners.

After firing off the text Sherlock sat back and sipped his drink, wondering why John's choice in women seemed to get more dismal each time. This 'Belinda' was truly insufferable to say the least.

Belinda barely had time to open her mouth before her date's phone interrupted the conversation again.

“Sorry.” John muttered and took out his mobile again and read the text message. Shit. What did Sherlock mean? How? Then realisation dawned.

John had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he looked around the room and saw his friend sitting nonchalantly watching him and his date. Not just looking, of course, observing, taking in every detail. It still amazed him how Sherlock worked, and he admired the man's genius mind, but it was disconcertingly like living under a microscope. Privacy had become a very scarce commodity since he had begun sharing 221B Baker Street with the world's only consulting detective.

“Is there something the matter?” Belinda tried to attract John's attention. Her question fell on deaf ears she noted frowning.

John cleared his throat which he always did when he felt uncomfortable and tried to work out what Sherlock was doing in the restaurant.

Sherlock had to use all his self control not to allow himself to smirk as John's eyes frantically searched the restaurant and fixed him with a glare.

"Carry on!" Sherlock mouthed silently and waving a dismissive hand when John's date wasn't looking his way.

This would be entertaining enough to distract him from the lack of a case. John attempting to flirting was priceless and although it had crossed Sherlock's mind that it could be perceived as perverse, he continued to enjoy watching his friend stumble over his words and attempt to woo his complete 'air-head' of a date.

His phone sounding in his suit pocket distracted him from the proceedings across the restaurant for a moment. New email;

Sender: [Only admins are allowed to see this link]
Subject: Help regarding a new job
Dear Mr. Holmes,
I would very much appreciate your advice on a job I have been offered. Please don't dismiss my case as too mundane for you, as I am sure you already have by this point. I have left my mobile number for you to contact me as soon as possible.
Violet Hunter

Sherlock blinked twice at the message but knowing full well that his eyes would never deceive him. The new-job-girl again? It was bad enough to waste his time by posting on the blog with a ridiculous request which couldn't even count as a 'case', let alone spam his email. Angrily he typed out a curt reply.

To: [Only admins are allowed to see this link]
Subject: Stop trying to contact me
Dear Ms Hunter,
I am not interested in your so called 'case'. Contrary to you claims of your 'case' being not 'mundane', I assure you that it is abysmally dull and not worth a second more of my time. Kindly stop contacting me.
S. Holmes

He hit send and looked up to resume his observation of John's date. But when he glanced over to the table he found John's seat empty.

John was still frowning, wondering what the hell Sherlock was doing just sitting in the restaurant. Apparently deducing how his 'date' was going of all things.

“Who's that man watching you?” Belinda asked worriedly, rattling her spoon down onto her dish.

“What, sorry?” the doctor replied suddenly aware that the blonde lab assistant was speaking to him.

“I said, who...is that man watching you. Us?” her tone sharpened appreciably. Weren't Doctora supposed to be attentive and have a bedside manner. This doctor was rude, and boring.

“Um. Nobody,” John smiled unconvincingly. His eyes went back to the detective who was mouthing silently at him to 'Carry On'. John gave him the benefit of an unamused glare.

“John, are you looking at a man?” Belinda was becoming frustrated at John's lack of interest. Why had he agreed to a date with her if he wasn't going to pay her any attention.

“Um, that's Sherlock, you know, the detective? I told you about him.” John glanced nervously at his tall friend and back to Belinda. “I...er thought he was at home doing some experiment or something” he added distractedly.

Now Belinda understood. It was obvious. “You what! You live with him?” She cried in a stunned, high, loud voice. No wonder this doctor wasn't interested in her.

“Yes, he's my...” John began but he was silenced by Belinda shrieking at him.

“You live with him!” Belinda's sharp high voice pierced the hush that had descended on the room. She stood up abruptly, rocking the table and scraping her chair back in her haste to snatch up her handbag and coat.

“Yes, No! God no! Not like that.” John stood up going a little red and suddenly wishing a hole would appear in the floor.

“He's your boyfriend!” Belinda, the blonde hair flying behind her, tore out of the restaurant unable to get away fast enough.

The doctor went to the door after her to explain. “No, no. Wait, he's... my...flatmate. Shit.” Great. John thought, Just great. That'd soon be round her workplace.

John turned around, ignoring the eyes following him across the crowded room, and approached the detective with thinly disguised annoyance. “Thank you, Sherlock. Thanks to you...She...thinks...I'm gay.” he said drily.

John cocked his head to the side, took a breath and shut his mouth, attempting to find words. “Tell me you aren't here just to ruin my night out. There's a new case?...there is a new case...isn't there?

Sherlock kept his mouth shut a while as John found his words, observing the slightly balling of his fists by his sides. He raised his eyebrows in surprise before pushing the chair opposite out from the table with a well practiced foot.

"Sit down, your making a scene." he smirked before thinking better of it.

"I fail to see how my just being in the same room as you and your date, is enough to make her change her opinion on your sexual status, but then again I won't pretend to be an expert in these things." Sherlock brushed it off with a wave of a carefree hand.

"And of course I'm not here to ruin your night out." he exclaimed incredulously, "But there is still no case. I can practically feel my brain rotting away John!"

Sherlock sat back into his chair abruptly, causing it to let out a loud squeak.
"Oh, and I kept getting 'spammers' on my email."

John sighed and sat down on the chair that Sherlock had propelled forward with his foot. He thought that after all this time he ought to be used to people making entirely wrong assumptions about him and his flatmate by now. That one had been screechy and embarrassingly loud though.

“Let's just say, you aren't my number one choice for dating advice?” John remarked drily recovering his sense of humour a little.

“Is that why you are here, to tell me you have spam mail?” John was no longer cross. “pass it over, I'll see if I can put on a filter.”

Sherlock passed his phone over with the e-mails up. John read the missives. “That's not spam, she's not the rich widow of a deposed head of a non-existent state. Could be a 6, or more, but a 5's better than you feeling crap and your brain rotting isn't it.” he cocked his head a little to the side “Or does watching crap telly sound better?”

"Oh come on, you can't be serious!" Sherlock almost shouted, causing yet a few more heads to turn in the restaurant. "She wants job advice, John, from me!" he lent forward, elbows slamming onto the table, "I'm the worlds only Consulting Detective, and this is all they've got for me?"

Sherlock gulped down his drink and stood up. "If you want to take it then please, be my guest, but I assure you it's not worth even your time." he strode off out into the cool nights air, a little more frustrated than he'd intended to be.

Sherlock complained rather loudly that the non-case lady was seeking job advice, heads turned from their meals to see what all the noise was about.

John didn't really care and ignored the diners to listen to Sherlock who suggested that he could see what the woman wanted, although he was quite sure it would be a waste of time. There had been an agreement of sorts that Sherlock did interesting cases rated at 6 or higher and anything below that John could do.

John hurried after Sherlock and caught up with him outside. “Wait, ok, ok,” John put his hands up in admission of being at fault. “You were right, it's what we agreed, 5 or under I go.”

The doctor didn't like Sherlock getting upset and he understood the detective's outburst wasn't personal. It was that Sherlock couldn't stand being bored. “Just let her to come over to the flat, and I'll talk to her, and if it's that simple I won't even need to go anywhere, mm?” he appealed.

Sherlock was surprised to find that John had followed him out so quickly and that he seemed to be apologising, or at least being apologetic towards him. John was just too good to him sometimes, a small part of his mind told him.

"As you wish" Sherlock said plainly before turning towards the street.

"Are you coming home then?" he asked, a little too tentative to pull of the impression of being completely oblivious to what he'd just done.

John smiled as Sherlock agreed to let Miss Hunter pay them a visit. Sherlock was probably right, he usually was, but they wouldn't know for certain unless they gave Miss Hunter a fair chance. John stuck his arm out to hail a taxi for them in response when Sherlock asked if he was going home.

Fortunately there was a taxi cruising slowly down the road looking for a fare and the keen eyed cabbie spotting them immediately accelerated and then pulled into the kerb. John opened the door for his friend and let Sherlock climb in. John then followed him in and gave the driver their address.

“Can I have your phone then to e-mail Miss Hunter, please?” John asked after he had settled into his seat. “9 am tomorrow ok? I'll give her my mobile number and she can text me if that's ok or to arrange a different day?”

Sherlock passed his phone over and John sent the e-mail. “Done.” John announced.

Within ten minutes the taxi pulled up outside 221B Bakers Street. John fished his wallet out and paid the driver and got out to open the front door.

"Certainly." Sherlock handed over his phone.

"I'll make sure to be out." he replied cuttingly to John's question. Surely Miss Hunter couldn't be as exceedingly annoying in person, but then again you could never tell with these people.

Sherlock jogged up to the flat and went over to the bay window, tossing his coat onto the sofa before picking up his violin which as perched precariously on a stack of books. As he started on a concerto his was learning, he could hear John behind him who'd stopped to stare at him with what was probably an exasperated look on his face as he planned the best way to make Sherlock shut up.

"Goodnight, John." Sherlock replied, mid-cadenza, before John could voice his opinion on the matter.

Sherlock wouldn't go out when Miss Hunter was due to arrive, John was willing to bet his friend's curiosity would see to that.

The doctor knew perfectly well what was the matter with Sherlock. Boredom. And it was nothing that a nice complex, interesting case wouldn't cure, for a while, at least. Some days he seemed to be at war with the world but usually it was the world that started the fight in that it didn't often come face to face with a man with Sherlock's high intelligence and trained mind.

John had tried to explain it to Harry, it's like giving Stephen Hawking a child's first reading book, three paragraphs in he would be bored and know how the story ends, and that's Sherlock when he's on a simple case which is a 5 on the scale. Harry scoffed and asked if the bloke had written any good books. Like? The Mills and Boon ones she had replied. John sighed and gave up trying to explain.

One of the least annoying ways that Sherlock tackled his boredom was learning new violin pieces. The only problem was that he would practice during what the world considered to be anti-social hours. Sherlock began practising as soon as he got in the flat. John paused and thought about reminding him that Mrs Hudson might be disturbed at this time of night but she would be far more disturbed if he got John's gun out of the desk drawer and started gun practice on the wall. Besides which John only had one spare magazine for it and they never knew when they would need that in heir line of work.

“Goodnight, Sherlock.” John replied shaking his head as he took himself off to his bedroom upstairs. From what he could make out so far Sherlock's new concerto sounded a promising addition to his repertoire.

John checked his alarm was set for 8am and got into bed. There had been too many late nights including one with his rugby mates so it wasn't long before John was fast asleep.

The next thing he knew was it was eight am and the alarm clock was going off.

Sherlock woke up slowly from a dreamless sleep. He realised he'd left the bedroom door open and he could smell toast wafting from the kitchen. Rolling out of bed and pulling the thin duvet around himself, he sauntered to the living room where he unceremoniously threw himself down onto the couch and flicked on the morning’s news.

"I'll have tea." he called to John in the kitchen as he heard the kettle be flicked on. The local news was especially dull. Some bulgur who'd been caught red handed raiding Curry's and then something about a government cabinet reshuffle.

In annoyance Sherlock turned the telly off and grabbed John’s laptop, checking the blog for anymore cases but there was nothing again except some stupid fan mail and a suspicious wife.

Getting up Sherlock made his way into the kitchen to see how mould growth experiment in the fruit bowl was going. Walking in though he was hit by the smell of John’s aftershave. New aftershave; how suspicious.

“Don’t you think you’re a little old for Hugo Boss, John?” he asked, not turning away from the fruit bowl which he was examining with his magnifying glass.

“Do you want toast with your tea?” John called from the kitchen as he heard the detective had surfaced. He had buttered the two slices on the plate for himself and stood with his hand poised over the loaf of bread on the worktop as he heard the dull thump of Sherlock plonking himself on the sofa.

“Miss Hunter due in half an hour.” John reminded his friend who was obviously not in a hurry to get dressed. He shook his head and wouldn't be surprised if the only reply he got was from the newsreader as the tv was put on. The flat swiftly went back to silence until he stirred Sherlock's tea.
He then heard tapping on his laptop.

“It was going cheap.” John replied to the comment on his aftershave. “I'm not that old, anyway!”

“What's the matter with using your own laptop?” John asked with irritation creeping into his voice while putting the mug of tea within Sherlock's reach on the table. He took his coffee into the living room and sat at the desk to add the latest case to his blog. He sat sipping the warming liquid trying to think of a title for the case which had been too busy to write up before. “The Bigamist in the Boot” he typed and started setting out the details of the case.

This was a very strange one. Sherlock was called out to look at an abandoned car outside an empty warehouse. When we got there there the rain that had threatened all day began to lash down and night was closing in. The rain was whipped up by the wind and splattered noisily against the vehicle as Sherlock got to work. Inside the boot, squashed in tightly, was a body of a man, a rather portly, middle aged man, with a nasty wound on his hand from, I thought, a sharp instrument like a knife, and a small gash on his head. It looked very much like murder

John stopped typing to sip more of his coffee and see if he had made any spelling mistakes.

"Hmm, that's debatable" Sherlock replied, his smile evident in his tone as he returned to the sitting room. He took a gulp of his tea, stupidly scalding his mouth, and returned it to the coffee table.

"My laptops in the bedroom." Sherlock said curtly, but putting the laptop back on the coffee table anyway. He curled back up into the duvet, wondering if his brain truly would rot. At least their visitor would give him something to focus his mind on, if only light entertainment at watching John attempt to sort out her pointless case.

Restless, Sherlock got up again, circling behind John to read what he was typing over his shoulder.

"John, surely people would be more interested in the details than the weather. No one it sounds like I just pluck the answer from mid-air, 'as if by magic'," he made air quotations with his hands either side of him, voice raising beyond sarcasm, "if you continue to withhold all the relevant information from them."

Sherlock stepped back, sensing a relation from John. “But of course, you’re the blogger...And if that's what you want to lead people to believe then-”
He was cut off by the doorbell sounding and pouted in annoyance at not being able to finish his point.

John sighed as Sherlock loomed over his shoulder. Sherlock's sarcasm was cutting and unjustified, “People want to read something interesting, the weather sets the scene...I haven't...” he protested his voice quiet but rising in pitch. Then realising it really wasn't worth having an argument about it he took a breath in.

He was glad he had taken the breath as his friend had stepped back and allowed that he was their biographer even if his words were still loaded with sarcasm. He might have tried to explain why he didn't relate only facts but the doorbell ringing interrupted them.

“Sherlock, are you going to put some clothes on?” John asked as he went to the flat door to go downstairs to answer the front door.

Sherlock raised a eyebrow at the comment and set John with a withered look.

"Hmm, maybe, but it's hardly necessary." he called as his friend set off down the stairs to open the door.

Sherlock assumed John would use the sitting room, seeing as it had been tidied up especially for the occasion, so Sherlock made his way into the kitchen. He wrapped the duvet a little tighter around himself and pretended to start an experiment, when actually all he'd done was fiddle with the microscope focus a little and position himself so he could observe their guest and the interview.

Violet Hunter stood on the street side of 221B Baker street, waiting patiently for someone to answer the door. As John decended the stairs on the other side of said door, she could hear people calling back and forth, but not what they were saying. She rocked back and forth slightly on the balls of her feet, a habit she'd picked up in the several year's she'd been nannying, from rocking various babes.

She chewed on her lip uncertain if she would get any advice this morning, never mind the advice she was actually looking for. The circumstances of her potential employment were strange to say the least, but would Mr. Holmes, or even his associate Dr. Watson even be interested? Sherlock did not, that much was evident from his e-mailed response.

She waited, dressed for the weather, a dark green peacoat worn over jeans and a blue v-neck sweater. Her hair pulled back and secured with a clip. She heard the door unlock and offered a soft, yet somewhat nervous smile. "Good morning, Dr. Watson I presume. Violet Hunter" She overed her hand. Bright blue eyes studying his face expectantly. They were a contrast to her long dark brown hair.

The doctor jogged down the stairs and opened the door to find an attractive young woman with a nervous smile on the doorstep. “Good morning, Yes. Dr. John Watson” he smiled and offered his hand. He noticed her hand was surprisingly soft “This way, please.” John invited and ushered Violet Hunter up to the flat.

John grabbed up the Union Jack cushion from his fireside chair and waggled it to plump it up before replacing it at the back of the chair. “Have a seat.” John offered the chair smiling and then pulled a chair out from the desk between the two windows so that Sherlock could sit opposite their visitor if he wanted to. He gave her a few moments to settle herself.

“You have a problem to do with an offer of employment?” John asked kindly as he noticed she was a little apprehensive and sat himself down at the table with a notepad and pen ready to take some notes.

[Only admins are allowed to see this image]

Sherlock was sat in the kitchen pretending to tend to his experiment when John showed the guest up. He could tell immediately that John was attracted to her, it was something in his voice, the way he went all soft-spoken and dropped any hint of sarcasm towards her. Smiling to himself he realised that the thought hadn't probably even crossed John's mind yet.

An idea popped into his head and before he'd fully thought it through he was up out of the chair and across the kitchen, filling the kettle with water and trying to find the tea bags. He wouldn't have John flirting on a case, even if it was an inane one like this.