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Literature Text
5 unacceptable names for baby and 1 which was just perfect
They lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The Baby had been asleep in his crib for nearly two hours.
"What do you think of Mark?" John asked.
"No. It somehow reminds me of Mycroft."
"How? Mark has nothing to do with Mycroft!"
"The first letter is the same." Sherlock eyed him in the gloom. "It's enough."
John rolled his eyes. "What about Martin--No. First letter, right."
"Yes. And I don't want our child to grow up obsessed with aeroplanes. So Martin is out. As are Douglas and Arthur."
John giggled. Sherlock was impossible.
"Steven?" the good doctor asked, after few minutes filled with quiet snoring from the crib.
"Name me a Steven who isn't a troll! Come on, John, use your imagination!"
"Hey! I'm trying to! I've given you at least twenty names in the last two--"
He was cut short by a wail. Oh, so it was already two hours and twenty-one minutes? The Baby worked like a Swiss watch. John watched Sherlock--thank God it was his turn--with a smile. Sherlock was good at this. Hell, he was good at anything he put his gigantic mind to.
"There, there, my little cucumber patch, daddy is here..."
"Benedict," John snapped.
Sherlock smiled, long fingers teasing out a halo of blond curls.
"So he is... Benedict."
They lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The Baby had been asleep in his crib for nearly two hours.
"What do you think of Mark?" John asked.
"No. It somehow reminds me of Mycroft."
"How? Mark has nothing to do with Mycroft!"
"The first letter is the same." Sherlock eyed him in the gloom. "It's enough."
John rolled his eyes. "What about Martin--No. First letter, right."
"Yes. And I don't want our child to grow up obsessed with aeroplanes. So Martin is out. As are Douglas and Arthur."
John giggled. Sherlock was impossible.
"Steven?" the good doctor asked, after few minutes filled with quiet snoring from the crib.
"Name me a Steven who isn't a troll! Come on, John, use your imagination!"
"Hey! I'm trying to! I've given you at least twenty names in the last two--"
He was cut short by a wail. Oh, so it was already two hours and twenty-one minutes? The Baby worked like a Swiss watch. John watched Sherlock--thank God it was his turn--with a smile. Sherlock was good at this. Hell, he was good at anything he put his gigantic mind to.
"There, there, my little cucumber patch, daddy is here..."
"Benedict," John snapped.
Sherlock smiled, long fingers teasing out a halo of blond curls.
"So he is... Benedict."
Literature
BBC Sherlock - Gladstone
Dr. John Watson bounced eagerly on the balls of his feet, trying to fight the urge to start grinning like an idiot. He felt like a child on Christmas Eve, all delighted energy and frustration that things were moving too slowly. For goodness sake, I've invaded Afghanistan, I've been shot in war, killed a serial killer in cold blood and now I'm acting like a three year old hyper on sugar! He mentally berated himself, but found he was too happy to care really. Sometimes acting like a child is good for the soul.
Sherlock Holmes looked sideways at him and couldn't quite stifle a small, indulgent smile. "You're mad, you know that?" He said, but hi
Literature
BBC Sherlock - Undercover
Since he had started living with Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson had gotten used to coming home to strange sights.
However, he had to admit to himself as he stood in the doorway, this one took first prize for out-and-out weirdness.
Okay, this one even beats the time I came home to find him systematically nailing himself to the floor by his clothes. And the time I found him re-enacting a black magic ritual to get inside the mind of a murderer. Come to think of it, you can still see the chalk from that pentagram on the floor. I'm surprised Mrs Hudson never said anything about that . . . Oh, and then there was that time with the dead octopus
Literature
Under Your Spell
"I'm afraid that is impossible." Sherlock waited for the reply. "I do not involve myself with..." John watched as Sherlock frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is there nothing else I can do instead?" Sherlock sighed. "Very well," was his final answer as he hung up and threw his mobile on the space next to him on the couch. John said nothing but looked expectantly at Sherlock. "Count Benini. He refuses to be of any help to us."
"Doesn't he understand that we are trying to catch a thief?" John asked.
"Oh John, you and your morals. Benini is a Count, therefore reputation and power is the most important thing in his life. He does not c
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awww ,very short but absolutely adorable , thank you