The Great Meet of Great Minds Ch.7
Jun. 2nd, 2012 11:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jdmcoolTitle: The Great Meet of Great Minds, Ch.7
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,637
Summary: House and Sherlock finally come to terms with their new relationship the only way they know how.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Set after The Reichenbach Fall (Sherlock) and Love Is Blind (House).
He’d been lying on the couch, gently rubbing at his leg, waiting for the vicodin to kick in when he had first heard the noise. So, reacting on instinct, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, managing to get his breathing slower pace as he listened to the footsteps. He’d been waiting for the sound of someone moving something or trying to take his things, but eventually the footsteps came to a stop. The sounds or a seat scraping against the floor briefly filled the air and then there was nothing yet again.
Nothing except for the gentle sounds of a violin.
“Are you playing Bach?” House asked as he sat up.
“It was on my mind,” Sherlock explained casually.
Watching him, House noted that the seat he heard scraping happened to be his piano chair. That and the fact that the guy really wasn’t all that bad. Looking over at the clock, though, he figured that could’ve easily had something to do with the fact that it was half past two in the morning and it wasn’t often a person was subjected to the sounds of a Bach concerto at that time.
Rubbing at his leg, the pain dying down, slowly but surely, House decided to get up from his place on the couch and sit next to Sherlock. Flexing his fingers, he met the curious gaze that was focused on him, violin silenced as they stared at each other.
“Know any Mozart?” House questioned casually.
“I will not play a sonata.”
“Oh and what would you prefer? Don Giovanni?”
“It was a very good opera.”
Staring down the man, House bit back any erstwhile comment he may have had and simply said, “Follow my lead.”
And with nothing else said, he began to play the Devil Went Down to Georgia just to mess with the guy. After all, no one was allowed to tell him no after breaking into his home at some ungodly hour, even if he had been awake anyways. But to his surprise, Sherlock merely rolled his eyes and went with it.
It was actually kind of amusing to watch, House found himself admitting to no one except himself. The guy was good at what he did and it had been a long time since he’d actually played with anyone. If he had more people to play with, he would’ve stopped after that song instead of going on to play Mozart and Debussy, both of them barely hiding their smiles as they did so.
And then, without either of them noticing, violin and piano duets had turned into duets for the violin and guitar, even if it was mostly them faking their way through string concertos, laughing along as they went. It filled a part of his soul he didn’t even realize was there before he found himself denying the fact that he could possibly have a son.
They were in the middle of Cats in the Cradle when Sherlock gestured toward the hallway with his beer, sheepish smile on his face. Looking over his shoulder at where Dominika leaned against the wall looking tired and mildly annoyed, House just smiled and kept on with the song, unwilling to stop for anything.
“And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me. My boy was just like me,” House sang, smiled wavering slightly as he did.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t having fun or that they hadn’t seen the humor of the song when he had first started playing it. It was just some unnamable feeling as he looked at Sherlock sitting on the floor, beer in his hand as he sang along with the chorus. And as the song came to an end, House put his guitar aside, still staring at his new son.
“You both needs to shut up now. I trying to sleep,” she declared with a small pout.
Forcing a look of seriousness on his face, Sherlock nodded in agreement. “Of course. We’ll be mindful of that from now on.”
Turning to face her, House nodded as well. “What he said.”
“Good. And no more late music,” she complained before wandering back to the bedroom.
Waiting until she was out of the room, House couldn’t keep himself from snickering. Not when Sherlock quickly broke out into a similar look of boyish glee over their small reprimand. Leaning back against the piano, Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“So you’re my son,” House said quickly. The last thing he wanted was for any sort of awkward silence to overcome them now that things seemed so calm.
Caught off guard, Sherlock put down his beer and wiped his mouth. “It would seem that way.”
“I have a son named Sherlock Holmes.”
“I have a father named… House.”
“Gregory House,” he corrected.
“It’s still a livable structure. And… Your name’s Greg too? Interesting.”
House gave him a strange look before deciding that he wasn’t going to get caught up in questioning the guy’s odd little remarks. He genuinely wasn’t that curious at the moment. Instead, he finished off the last of his own beer and put away his guitar before sitting back down across from his son.
Ruffling his own hair, he sighed. “I have a dead son. Do anything interesting in your life? Other than the dying thing.”
Sherlock shrugged. “Not particularly. Well, unless you count being the world’s only consulting detective and having been taken naked to Buckingham Palace.”
And while he tried to remember that he wasn’t questioning the other’s oddities, house couldn’t resist asking, “Why were you naked?”
“I was at home when my brother’s… men chose to take regardless of my state of dress.”
Biting his tongue briefly, House asked, “You realize how dirty that sound, right?”
“Mycroft practically is the British government. He really does have men that take people.”
“Alright,” House said, figuring it was probably just best to agree.
The last thing he needed was to find out how annoying arguing with someone like him could be by continuing on with the subject. Instead, he just nudged Sherlock’s leg with his foot, giving a small snort of amusement when Sherlock repeated the action.
“So… You alright with the fact that your mom totally boned me?”
“As alright as one can be under such circumstances,” Sherlock said. Leaning his head back against the leg of the piano, he asked, “Are you alright with having a son who’s life you had absolutely no impact on?”
“I will be when you give me back the vicodin you took when I went to the john,” he said, not able to actually sound too bothered.
It wasn’t as though he didn’t already piece together the fact that the guy was a bit of an addict like him. And Sherlock didn’t put up much of a fight on the matter. Merely took one of the pills before handing the container back to him as though he’d simply taken a piece of candy instead of a serious drug. Of course, House tended to take them like candy as well.
“Oh. Who gave you this?” Sherlock questioned once they drug began to kick in.
“Doctor’s tend to give cripples with pain management problems drugs to shut them up.”
Closing his eyes, Sherlock sat there with a vague smile on his face. “My doctor does not treat as nicely.”
“You’re not a cripple and shouldn’t be taking my drugs.”
“It’s not even that strong. Or the worst thing I’ve done. It’s just… pleasant.”
“Finally, someone who understands me.”
Opening his eyes, Sherlock looked at him with a surprising focus considering the drugs and alcohol now coursing through his veins. Something House felt he should’ve considered before he let the guy pop one of his pills. Certainly if it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have been even half as trusting.
“So what now?” Sherlock questioned, a serious quality coloring his voice the first time since the night started.
Frowning, House looked him in the eyes and simply said, “I want you to stick around for awhile. Get to know you.”
“You want to figure me out,” the younger man corrected with a roll of his eyes.
“Are you saying you don’t want to do the same to me?”
Smartly, Sherlock chose not to answer, instead looking away from him. “I suppose I’ll need to find somewhere to stay then.”
“Don’t worry,” House said, leaning his head back against the couch. “I know the perfect place for you to stay. Just let me handle everything.”
“Sounds questionable.”
“I know. That’s why you’re going to do it.”
And as Sherlock chuckled in response, House could almost convince himself that maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Sure, he had a son that he didn’t actually know about until a two days ago, but he still didn’t know who his own father was and a son seemed like a fair enough trade for that particular mystery.
Besides, he knew about Sherlock now and with everything he’d found online about the man being a potential fraud and connected in the suicide of an actor that Sherlock was accused of making into a master criminal, he couldn’t just let that go. Although, as he sat there, watching his son stare off at the kitchen window, House found himself thinking it would be better if they really were all lies and his kid wasn’t some mass murdering psychopath. Not that it wasn’t cool, but what parent wouldn’t want their kid to not be a serial killer?
Amused with his own thoughts, House moved to sit next to Sherlock. When the guy looked at him, utterly confused, House merely slung an arm around his shoulder and said, “You’re my son.”
Because, really, he was still having troubles getting over that feeling.
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,637
Summary: House and Sherlock finally come to terms with their new relationship the only way they know how.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Set after The Reichenbach Fall (Sherlock) and Love Is Blind (House).
He’d been lying on the couch, gently rubbing at his leg, waiting for the vicodin to kick in when he had first heard the noise. So, reacting on instinct, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, managing to get his breathing slower pace as he listened to the footsteps. He’d been waiting for the sound of someone moving something or trying to take his things, but eventually the footsteps came to a stop. The sounds or a seat scraping against the floor briefly filled the air and then there was nothing yet again.
Nothing except for the gentle sounds of a violin.
“Are you playing Bach?” House asked as he sat up.
“It was on my mind,” Sherlock explained casually.
Watching him, House noted that the seat he heard scraping happened to be his piano chair. That and the fact that the guy really wasn’t all that bad. Looking over at the clock, though, he figured that could’ve easily had something to do with the fact that it was half past two in the morning and it wasn’t often a person was subjected to the sounds of a Bach concerto at that time.
Rubbing at his leg, the pain dying down, slowly but surely, House decided to get up from his place on the couch and sit next to Sherlock. Flexing his fingers, he met the curious gaze that was focused on him, violin silenced as they stared at each other.
“Know any Mozart?” House questioned casually.
“I will not play a sonata.”
“Oh and what would you prefer? Don Giovanni?”
“It was a very good opera.”
Staring down the man, House bit back any erstwhile comment he may have had and simply said, “Follow my lead.”
And with nothing else said, he began to play the Devil Went Down to Georgia just to mess with the guy. After all, no one was allowed to tell him no after breaking into his home at some ungodly hour, even if he had been awake anyways. But to his surprise, Sherlock merely rolled his eyes and went with it.
It was actually kind of amusing to watch, House found himself admitting to no one except himself. The guy was good at what he did and it had been a long time since he’d actually played with anyone. If he had more people to play with, he would’ve stopped after that song instead of going on to play Mozart and Debussy, both of them barely hiding their smiles as they did so.
And then, without either of them noticing, violin and piano duets had turned into duets for the violin and guitar, even if it was mostly them faking their way through string concertos, laughing along as they went. It filled a part of his soul he didn’t even realize was there before he found himself denying the fact that he could possibly have a son.
They were in the middle of Cats in the Cradle when Sherlock gestured toward the hallway with his beer, sheepish smile on his face. Looking over his shoulder at where Dominika leaned against the wall looking tired and mildly annoyed, House just smiled and kept on with the song, unwilling to stop for anything.
“And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me. My boy was just like me,” House sang, smiled wavering slightly as he did.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t having fun or that they hadn’t seen the humor of the song when he had first started playing it. It was just some unnamable feeling as he looked at Sherlock sitting on the floor, beer in his hand as he sang along with the chorus. And as the song came to an end, House put his guitar aside, still staring at his new son.
“You both needs to shut up now. I trying to sleep,” she declared with a small pout.
Forcing a look of seriousness on his face, Sherlock nodded in agreement. “Of course. We’ll be mindful of that from now on.”
Turning to face her, House nodded as well. “What he said.”
“Good. And no more late music,” she complained before wandering back to the bedroom.
Waiting until she was out of the room, House couldn’t keep himself from snickering. Not when Sherlock quickly broke out into a similar look of boyish glee over their small reprimand. Leaning back against the piano, Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“So you’re my son,” House said quickly. The last thing he wanted was for any sort of awkward silence to overcome them now that things seemed so calm.
Caught off guard, Sherlock put down his beer and wiped his mouth. “It would seem that way.”
“I have a son named Sherlock Holmes.”
“I have a father named… House.”
“Gregory House,” he corrected.
“It’s still a livable structure. And… Your name’s Greg too? Interesting.”
House gave him a strange look before deciding that he wasn’t going to get caught up in questioning the guy’s odd little remarks. He genuinely wasn’t that curious at the moment. Instead, he finished off the last of his own beer and put away his guitar before sitting back down across from his son.
Ruffling his own hair, he sighed. “I have a dead son. Do anything interesting in your life? Other than the dying thing.”
Sherlock shrugged. “Not particularly. Well, unless you count being the world’s only consulting detective and having been taken naked to Buckingham Palace.”
And while he tried to remember that he wasn’t questioning the other’s oddities, house couldn’t resist asking, “Why were you naked?”
“I was at home when my brother’s… men chose to take regardless of my state of dress.”
Biting his tongue briefly, House asked, “You realize how dirty that sound, right?”
“Mycroft practically is the British government. He really does have men that take people.”
“Alright,” House said, figuring it was probably just best to agree.
The last thing he needed was to find out how annoying arguing with someone like him could be by continuing on with the subject. Instead, he just nudged Sherlock’s leg with his foot, giving a small snort of amusement when Sherlock repeated the action.
“So… You alright with the fact that your mom totally boned me?”
“As alright as one can be under such circumstances,” Sherlock said. Leaning his head back against the leg of the piano, he asked, “Are you alright with having a son who’s life you had absolutely no impact on?”
“I will be when you give me back the vicodin you took when I went to the john,” he said, not able to actually sound too bothered.
It wasn’t as though he didn’t already piece together the fact that the guy was a bit of an addict like him. And Sherlock didn’t put up much of a fight on the matter. Merely took one of the pills before handing the container back to him as though he’d simply taken a piece of candy instead of a serious drug. Of course, House tended to take them like candy as well.
“Oh. Who gave you this?” Sherlock questioned once they drug began to kick in.
“Doctor’s tend to give cripples with pain management problems drugs to shut them up.”
Closing his eyes, Sherlock sat there with a vague smile on his face. “My doctor does not treat as nicely.”
“You’re not a cripple and shouldn’t be taking my drugs.”
“It’s not even that strong. Or the worst thing I’ve done. It’s just… pleasant.”
“Finally, someone who understands me.”
Opening his eyes, Sherlock looked at him with a surprising focus considering the drugs and alcohol now coursing through his veins. Something House felt he should’ve considered before he let the guy pop one of his pills. Certainly if it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have been even half as trusting.
“So what now?” Sherlock questioned, a serious quality coloring his voice the first time since the night started.
Frowning, House looked him in the eyes and simply said, “I want you to stick around for awhile. Get to know you.”
“You want to figure me out,” the younger man corrected with a roll of his eyes.
“Are you saying you don’t want to do the same to me?”
Smartly, Sherlock chose not to answer, instead looking away from him. “I suppose I’ll need to find somewhere to stay then.”
“Don’t worry,” House said, leaning his head back against the couch. “I know the perfect place for you to stay. Just let me handle everything.”
“Sounds questionable.”
“I know. That’s why you’re going to do it.”
And as Sherlock chuckled in response, House could almost convince himself that maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Sure, he had a son that he didn’t actually know about until a two days ago, but he still didn’t know who his own father was and a son seemed like a fair enough trade for that particular mystery.
Besides, he knew about Sherlock now and with everything he’d found online about the man being a potential fraud and connected in the suicide of an actor that Sherlock was accused of making into a master criminal, he couldn’t just let that go. Although, as he sat there, watching his son stare off at the kitchen window, House found himself thinking it would be better if they really were all lies and his kid wasn’t some mass murdering psychopath. Not that it wasn’t cool, but what parent wouldn’t want their kid to not be a serial killer?
Amused with his own thoughts, House moved to sit next to Sherlock. When the guy looked at him, utterly confused, House merely slung an arm around his shoulder and said, “You’re my son.”
Because, really, he was still having troubles getting over that feeling.
