The Great Meet of Great Minds Ch.2
Jun. 2nd, 2012 08:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jdmcoolTitle: The Great Meet of Great Minds, Ch.2
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,211
Summary: After faking his death, Sherlock sets out to settle a few matters, starting with his biological father.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Set after The Reichenbach Fall (Sherlock) and Love Is Blind (House).
Sitting in his office, Wilson couldn’t help but think that he should teach House how to knock when he heard someone barge into his office. Not that he thought the man would ever actually pay attention to the lesson. No, he’d probably just make some smart ass comment or turn it into a thing and just thinking about that made Wilson’s head hurt. So, finishing up his paper work, he looked up to those focused blue eyes and frowned.
“You’re not House.”
“I’m here to speak to you about him. That must count for something,” he said before leaning forward and holding out his hand toward Wilson. “Sherlock Holmes, detective.”
“Oh God,” Wilson muttered as he shook the man’s hand.
What was worse was the fact that he wasn’t particularly surprised. After all, House seemed to attract legal attention for the things he did and it wasn’t the first time he had some officer of the law after him. Sighing as he resigned himself to another House related fiasco, Wilson leaned back in his chair.
“Just… tell me he didn’t take your temperature rectally.”
Surprised by the comment, Sherlock shook his head before making his way over to the window. “No. Gave me the band-aid though when I tried to speak to him.”
Which only made Wilson hope that House hadn’t actually caused the faint bruises on the man’s cheek and jaw. After all, as far as he knew, no one had pissed off the doctor. Or gotten pissed off enough at him to take a swing at him. Well, not too recently.
“So why are you in my office?” Wilson asked, cautiously.
Turning away from the window, Sherlock seemed confused, as though he had completely forgotten where he was. “Oh. I was told that you were the best source of information on Dr. House.”
“Look, I don’t know what you want from him, but I’m not helping you.”
“You care about him.”
“He’s one of my friends.”
“And you’re his only one. Well, the only one that matters.”
Opening his mouth to question just where this guy had gotten his information, but stopped when he saw the vaguely sad look on Sherlock’s face. It was the same sort of look that he’d seen on House when they were fighting or when his best just wasn’t good enough. Clearly this detective knew what it was like to have one person that mattered and how it felt to lose them judging by his tone. And being James Wilson, he couldn’t just ignore that kind of look on anyone, even if the guy did appear to be spying on his best friend.
With a sigh, he stood up and walked over to the other, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Look, I don’t know why you want to know about House, but there’s not that much to say. Yes, he’s an ass, but he cares and he’s good at his job and a billion other things because he has this addiction to being more than good.”
Sherlock nodded and glanced back over at the window. “Thank you, for that. I’ll just be going.”
“Yeah. Wait! Why are you looking into House?”
Instead of answering, Sherlock just began to head out to the balcony. Pausing as he opened the door, he looked back at Wilson and said, “Don’t tell anyone.”
Watching him close the blinds before slipping out, Wilson frowned before shaking his head. He didn’t want to know. He knew he didn’t want to know, so instead, he sat down on his couch, pointedly trying to forget everything that had just happened and debating whether the start of a headache he felt building was enough reason to take an aspirin.
“Why are you sitting there? And why are the blinds closed? Hungover?!” House asked, raising his voice with the last question.
Wincing, Wilson got up and went back over to his desk to find that aspirin since he knew that whatever House had to say to him would only make his blossoming headache even worse. Finding the pills, he took one before focusing on House, who was still staring at him like he was the most fascinating thing in the room.
“I was doing paper work, House. It tends to get a bit much for those of us who don’t have other people do it for them,” he lied.
Thankfully, House didn’t seem to notice. Just shrugged it off and said, “They sign my name a lot better than I do.”
“Is there something you need? Because I have work to do.”
“I have a problem I need a consult on.”
Perking up at that, Wilson sat up a bit straighter in his chair. “You think your patient has cancer?”
“What? No. It’s… personal.”
Which was even worse since House didn’t really ask for advice on personal problems. He just ignored them or flaunted them until Wilson couldn’t help but offer some sort of advice for the sake of his own mental health.
“I have a stalker.”
“Again?”
House glared at him for that, not that it wasn’t true. House attracted stalkers like a celebrity and his tended to be far more disturbing. Though, perhaps they had to be to decide that attempting to get the doctor’s attention was a good thing.
“Yeah. Again. He’s this obnoxious English guy.”
Paling, Wilson tried to school his features into a look of impassiveness, but he could tell by the look on House’s face that he’d been caught.
Making his way over to him, House prodded his chest with the butt of his cane. “You’ve met him.”
“He said he was a detective looking into you,” Wilson complained as he tried to bat the cane away.
“And that’s a reason to tell him something?!” House complained, jabbing him harder with the cane as he did.
Wincing away, Wilson frowned. “I didn’t tell him anything someone in a room with you for five minutes couldn’t figure out.”
Nodding, House placed his cane back on the floor, thankfully over his need to punish him. But then he was looking around the room again, carefully looking over everything before finally making his way to the blinds. Opening them, House practically growled at the clear sight of Sherlock sitting at his desk. Rising to his feet, Wilson followed after his friend as the man quickly headed to his office.
When they got there, Sherlock didn’t even move a muscle from where he sat at House’s desk, feet casually resting on House’s desk as he tossed around the tennis ball. It made Wilson come to a surprised stop at the door while House made his way to the other man and snatched away the ball.
“I thought I told you to leave,” House said angrily.
“And I told you this wasn’t over,” Sherlock said casually.
“You’re wrong. Very wrong. Now get out of my office!”
Rising to his feet, Sherlock glared back at him. “There’s a very simple way of testing my theory.”
Standing there, House clenched his jaw, but didn’t say anything. It was as if he was going over the idea in his head. Which made it all the more frustrating because Wilson didn’t even know what they were fighting about and couldn’t take a side on the matter with that being the case.
“I’m not really into testing theories. I prefer to wing it. Now if you don’t mind, I have another person with an annoying accent to deal with.”
“You’re just going to keep running from me?”
Stopping to think it over, House nodded. “Pretty much. Oh, and next time you break in here I’m calling security.”
With that said he brushed passed with Wilson, making sure to give him an annoyed look, not that Wilson felt he was really to blame. Well, not entirely, since House couldn’t expect him not to trust someone who said they were a detective.
But with him out of the room, it left Wilson alone with the man House seemed to be avoiding. Crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned, trying to think of the best way to broach the subject of just what the hell was going on.
“I didn’t lie to you,” Sherlock muttered, not even bothering to look at him.
Uncrossing his arms to rest his hands on his hips, Wilson bit back a few choice words. “You… You broke into his office and you expect me to believe that you also wouldn’t lie.”
“Of course I would lie. Everyone lies. I just didn’t lie to you.”
“And logically I should believe that,” Wilson said with a roll of his eyes.
Rolling the ball around the top of the desk, Sherlock sighed. “My name is Sherlock Holmes and I really am a detective. Of sorts.”
“Of sorts?” He questioned, not willing to let that slide.
“I’m a consulting detective. Detectives consult me on crimes they can’t solve.”
“Right,” he said disbelievingly. “You just make up that title right now?”
“No. Made it up years ago. But I am a detective. I use reasoning and obvious clues.”
Staring him down, Wilson was beginning to get the feeling that House was probably right about him being a groupie, even if he did seem to hide it better than most. Some young hot shot trying to prove something or other. It made him feel embarrassed that he had ever felt bad for the other man.
That was until he stepped closer and said in the most put upon voice, “You’re head of your department, from what I’ve heard, which means you’re rather bright considering your age. Ambitious, but for a reason. Something that led you into oncology, where you constantly are forced to give terrible news.”
“And they pay you for that?” Wilson questioned sarcastically.
Looking him over again, Sherlock smirked. “You hate to be surprised or caught off guard, hence working in a field where expectation are set. That implies that you went through something that didn’t just catch you off guard, but helpless since as a bright boy, you would’ve tried everything to change it. You’ve been married three times and have been known to have an affair. Add in your close relationship with Dr. House, the fact that you’re neatly coiffed in a hospital and the fact that you blow dry your hair, I’d say you’re gay. Possibly closeted.”
“I’m not gay and… Someone told you that.”
Closing his eyes, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, that start of a headache back again.
“No because you would never tell anyone about your misplaced guilt leading you into oncology. Or the blow drying, though it is rather obvious when taking notice of—“
“House! No, Sherlock. Just… Let’s say I believe you. What does that have to do with House?”
For the first time, the man didn’t fire back with some immediate comment that made Wilson want to grind his teeth and walk away. Instead, he furrowed his brows as he appeared to think over the question. Thankfully, he seemed to come to a decision quickly, something in him settling before Wilson’s eyes.
“I want to get to know him.”
“Why?” Wilson asked, wishing he could take back the hint of surprise in his tone.
Staring out into the hallway, Sherlock said, “He’s my father.”
The sentence hit Wilson like a ton of bricks as he stared at the man before him. Following his gaze out toward the hallway where House was busy having a conversation with his team, Wilson couldn’t help but look between the two men. Shocked beyond all reason, he moved to stand next to Sherlock and simply watched his best friend.
“Does he know? I mean… Are you sure? Because he would’ve mentioned this at some point over the twenty years I’ve known him,” he said, unsure of what he could do beyond remembering how to breathe.
Sherlock only nodded before making his way toward the door. “What? Don’t think he’s old enough to have an adult son?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m as sure as I can be without a test.”
“And that’s what he said no to,” Wilson said, feeling a bit better knowing what had led to the sudden reaction in House. Taking a deep breath, he frowned when he caught the almost sad look in Sherlock’s eyes. No wonder it seemed so familiar. “I know House. You’re not just going to change his mind. Just… just let me talk to him, alright?”
Holding up a piece of paper with his number on it, Sherlock smiled when he took it before heading toward the door. “You are so predictably caring. He’s lucky to have you.”
Wilson looked at the piece of paper and then back at the retreating form of the other man. Frowning at the paper, he tried to ignore the usual sense of being played and told himself that he was doing this for a good cause. House couldn’t really not care about Sherlock and his plight. Not when it was so similar to his own father drama.
Reading the number on the paper, Wilson put it in his pocket and rubbed at the bridge of his nose again. Heading back to his own office, he muttered, “Oh God. There’s two of them out there.”
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,211
Summary: After faking his death, Sherlock sets out to settle a few matters, starting with his biological father.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Set after The Reichenbach Fall (Sherlock) and Love Is Blind (House).
Sitting in his office, Wilson couldn’t help but think that he should teach House how to knock when he heard someone barge into his office. Not that he thought the man would ever actually pay attention to the lesson. No, he’d probably just make some smart ass comment or turn it into a thing and just thinking about that made Wilson’s head hurt. So, finishing up his paper work, he looked up to those focused blue eyes and frowned.
“You’re not House.”
“I’m here to speak to you about him. That must count for something,” he said before leaning forward and holding out his hand toward Wilson. “Sherlock Holmes, detective.”
“Oh God,” Wilson muttered as he shook the man’s hand.
What was worse was the fact that he wasn’t particularly surprised. After all, House seemed to attract legal attention for the things he did and it wasn’t the first time he had some officer of the law after him. Sighing as he resigned himself to another House related fiasco, Wilson leaned back in his chair.
“Just… tell me he didn’t take your temperature rectally.”
Surprised by the comment, Sherlock shook his head before making his way over to the window. “No. Gave me the band-aid though when I tried to speak to him.”
Which only made Wilson hope that House hadn’t actually caused the faint bruises on the man’s cheek and jaw. After all, as far as he knew, no one had pissed off the doctor. Or gotten pissed off enough at him to take a swing at him. Well, not too recently.
“So why are you in my office?” Wilson asked, cautiously.
Turning away from the window, Sherlock seemed confused, as though he had completely forgotten where he was. “Oh. I was told that you were the best source of information on Dr. House.”
“Look, I don’t know what you want from him, but I’m not helping you.”
“You care about him.”
“He’s one of my friends.”
“And you’re his only one. Well, the only one that matters.”
Opening his mouth to question just where this guy had gotten his information, but stopped when he saw the vaguely sad look on Sherlock’s face. It was the same sort of look that he’d seen on House when they were fighting or when his best just wasn’t good enough. Clearly this detective knew what it was like to have one person that mattered and how it felt to lose them judging by his tone. And being James Wilson, he couldn’t just ignore that kind of look on anyone, even if the guy did appear to be spying on his best friend.
With a sigh, he stood up and walked over to the other, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Look, I don’t know why you want to know about House, but there’s not that much to say. Yes, he’s an ass, but he cares and he’s good at his job and a billion other things because he has this addiction to being more than good.”
Sherlock nodded and glanced back over at the window. “Thank you, for that. I’ll just be going.”
“Yeah. Wait! Why are you looking into House?”
Instead of answering, Sherlock just began to head out to the balcony. Pausing as he opened the door, he looked back at Wilson and said, “Don’t tell anyone.”
Watching him close the blinds before slipping out, Wilson frowned before shaking his head. He didn’t want to know. He knew he didn’t want to know, so instead, he sat down on his couch, pointedly trying to forget everything that had just happened and debating whether the start of a headache he felt building was enough reason to take an aspirin.
“Why are you sitting there? And why are the blinds closed? Hungover?!” House asked, raising his voice with the last question.
Wincing, Wilson got up and went back over to his desk to find that aspirin since he knew that whatever House had to say to him would only make his blossoming headache even worse. Finding the pills, he took one before focusing on House, who was still staring at him like he was the most fascinating thing in the room.
“I was doing paper work, House. It tends to get a bit much for those of us who don’t have other people do it for them,” he lied.
Thankfully, House didn’t seem to notice. Just shrugged it off and said, “They sign my name a lot better than I do.”
“Is there something you need? Because I have work to do.”
“I have a problem I need a consult on.”
Perking up at that, Wilson sat up a bit straighter in his chair. “You think your patient has cancer?”
“What? No. It’s… personal.”
Which was even worse since House didn’t really ask for advice on personal problems. He just ignored them or flaunted them until Wilson couldn’t help but offer some sort of advice for the sake of his own mental health.
“I have a stalker.”
“Again?”
House glared at him for that, not that it wasn’t true. House attracted stalkers like a celebrity and his tended to be far more disturbing. Though, perhaps they had to be to decide that attempting to get the doctor’s attention was a good thing.
“Yeah. Again. He’s this obnoxious English guy.”
Paling, Wilson tried to school his features into a look of impassiveness, but he could tell by the look on House’s face that he’d been caught.
Making his way over to him, House prodded his chest with the butt of his cane. “You’ve met him.”
“He said he was a detective looking into you,” Wilson complained as he tried to bat the cane away.
“And that’s a reason to tell him something?!” House complained, jabbing him harder with the cane as he did.
Wincing away, Wilson frowned. “I didn’t tell him anything someone in a room with you for five minutes couldn’t figure out.”
Nodding, House placed his cane back on the floor, thankfully over his need to punish him. But then he was looking around the room again, carefully looking over everything before finally making his way to the blinds. Opening them, House practically growled at the clear sight of Sherlock sitting at his desk. Rising to his feet, Wilson followed after his friend as the man quickly headed to his office.
When they got there, Sherlock didn’t even move a muscle from where he sat at House’s desk, feet casually resting on House’s desk as he tossed around the tennis ball. It made Wilson come to a surprised stop at the door while House made his way to the other man and snatched away the ball.
“I thought I told you to leave,” House said angrily.
“And I told you this wasn’t over,” Sherlock said casually.
“You’re wrong. Very wrong. Now get out of my office!”
Rising to his feet, Sherlock glared back at him. “There’s a very simple way of testing my theory.”
Standing there, House clenched his jaw, but didn’t say anything. It was as if he was going over the idea in his head. Which made it all the more frustrating because Wilson didn’t even know what they were fighting about and couldn’t take a side on the matter with that being the case.
“I’m not really into testing theories. I prefer to wing it. Now if you don’t mind, I have another person with an annoying accent to deal with.”
“You’re just going to keep running from me?”
Stopping to think it over, House nodded. “Pretty much. Oh, and next time you break in here I’m calling security.”
With that said he brushed passed with Wilson, making sure to give him an annoyed look, not that Wilson felt he was really to blame. Well, not entirely, since House couldn’t expect him not to trust someone who said they were a detective.
But with him out of the room, it left Wilson alone with the man House seemed to be avoiding. Crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned, trying to think of the best way to broach the subject of just what the hell was going on.
“I didn’t lie to you,” Sherlock muttered, not even bothering to look at him.
Uncrossing his arms to rest his hands on his hips, Wilson bit back a few choice words. “You… You broke into his office and you expect me to believe that you also wouldn’t lie.”
“Of course I would lie. Everyone lies. I just didn’t lie to you.”
“And logically I should believe that,” Wilson said with a roll of his eyes.
Rolling the ball around the top of the desk, Sherlock sighed. “My name is Sherlock Holmes and I really am a detective. Of sorts.”
“Of sorts?” He questioned, not willing to let that slide.
“I’m a consulting detective. Detectives consult me on crimes they can’t solve.”
“Right,” he said disbelievingly. “You just make up that title right now?”
“No. Made it up years ago. But I am a detective. I use reasoning and obvious clues.”
Staring him down, Wilson was beginning to get the feeling that House was probably right about him being a groupie, even if he did seem to hide it better than most. Some young hot shot trying to prove something or other. It made him feel embarrassed that he had ever felt bad for the other man.
That was until he stepped closer and said in the most put upon voice, “You’re head of your department, from what I’ve heard, which means you’re rather bright considering your age. Ambitious, but for a reason. Something that led you into oncology, where you constantly are forced to give terrible news.”
“And they pay you for that?” Wilson questioned sarcastically.
Looking him over again, Sherlock smirked. “You hate to be surprised or caught off guard, hence working in a field where expectation are set. That implies that you went through something that didn’t just catch you off guard, but helpless since as a bright boy, you would’ve tried everything to change it. You’ve been married three times and have been known to have an affair. Add in your close relationship with Dr. House, the fact that you’re neatly coiffed in a hospital and the fact that you blow dry your hair, I’d say you’re gay. Possibly closeted.”
“I’m not gay and… Someone told you that.”
Closing his eyes, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, that start of a headache back again.
“No because you would never tell anyone about your misplaced guilt leading you into oncology. Or the blow drying, though it is rather obvious when taking notice of—“
“House! No, Sherlock. Just… Let’s say I believe you. What does that have to do with House?”
For the first time, the man didn’t fire back with some immediate comment that made Wilson want to grind his teeth and walk away. Instead, he furrowed his brows as he appeared to think over the question. Thankfully, he seemed to come to a decision quickly, something in him settling before Wilson’s eyes.
“I want to get to know him.”
“Why?” Wilson asked, wishing he could take back the hint of surprise in his tone.
Staring out into the hallway, Sherlock said, “He’s my father.”
The sentence hit Wilson like a ton of bricks as he stared at the man before him. Following his gaze out toward the hallway where House was busy having a conversation with his team, Wilson couldn’t help but look between the two men. Shocked beyond all reason, he moved to stand next to Sherlock and simply watched his best friend.
“Does he know? I mean… Are you sure? Because he would’ve mentioned this at some point over the twenty years I’ve known him,” he said, unsure of what he could do beyond remembering how to breathe.
Sherlock only nodded before making his way toward the door. “What? Don’t think he’s old enough to have an adult son?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m as sure as I can be without a test.”
“And that’s what he said no to,” Wilson said, feeling a bit better knowing what had led to the sudden reaction in House. Taking a deep breath, he frowned when he caught the almost sad look in Sherlock’s eyes. No wonder it seemed so familiar. “I know House. You’re not just going to change his mind. Just… just let me talk to him, alright?”
Holding up a piece of paper with his number on it, Sherlock smiled when he took it before heading toward the door. “You are so predictably caring. He’s lucky to have you.”
Wilson looked at the piece of paper and then back at the retreating form of the other man. Frowning at the paper, he tried to ignore the usual sense of being played and told himself that he was doing this for a good cause. House couldn’t really not care about Sherlock and his plight. Not when it was so similar to his own father drama.
Reading the number on the paper, Wilson put it in his pocket and rubbed at the bridge of his nose again. Heading back to his own office, he muttered, “Oh God. There’s two of them out there.”
