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jessamygriffithTitle: The Structural Composition of Folly
Rating: Mature
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Pairing(s): John/Sherlock
Word Count: 11,000 for the entire fic
Disclaimer: Interpretation of characters is my own. Standard disclaimers apply. Emails redacted from actual ones sent by Misha Collins. Based upon a real event.
Category: Humour, Fluff, Rom/Com ending
Betas: red_adam for Brit pick, and alltoseek for wrangling and style
Also Found Here: AO3
Summary: John convinces Sherlock to join the Greatest International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen, the brainchild of Misha 'Castiel' Collins.
Can Sherlock's superior mental power rise to the insane challenges of the Hunt? How many rules can one consulting detective break? Is he in it to win it? And will John ever be the same after it's over?
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Epilogue
Chapter 3 - Potato, or How the Irish Rebelled Against Consulting Detectives
From: Misha Collins <mishacollins@gishwhes.com>
Date: Sunday, November 20th, 2011
To: Jennifer Bondy <clarinetz**@gmail.com>, Christine T. Brown <cbrown**@gmail.com>, Luca Santiago <LcaSanta4*@gmail.com>, Sherlock Holmes <sherlockholmes@scienceofdeduction.co.uk>, Jolie Smith <smith***@mail.stamford.edu>, Shiobhan McKane <smckane**@gmail.com>, Katrinka van den Steene <gelatto2*@gmail.com>, Lesley N. Anderson <anders3**@gmail.com>, Jamie Coally <fak**ed@gmail.com>, Tara Lee Brooke <Tara***Brooke@gmail.com>
Subject: To GISHWHES Team #221
Well, this is it. You are Team #221 and this is your team. If you have a problem with anyone on your team, work it out - that's life.
I hope this waiting time has given those of you who see internet data forms as stages for comedy some time to reflect. We did our best to put you on the teams you wanted, but it wasn't always possible. Now is your time to grieve... Now is the time to stop grieving... Now we're moving on...
Please notify us if you find that you are on two teams... You cannot actually do the Hunt on two teams, so you must immediately notify us IMMEDIATELY...
Alright. We are setting the Item List countdown clock for 29 minutes. And this time when the clock runs out, the final Item List will be posted on the site and the Greatest (by a factor of 10) International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen will begin!
-Misha
~oOo~
John hummed a little tune in satisfaction. His spur-of-the-moment idea was working out, keeping Sherlock's brain employed and the flat violin-screech free. Sherlock had already set up a password-protected web page for his team members, appointing himself as de facto captain. He was working up a spreadsheet for the items to be filled in by team-mates. A separate section of the site was for sharing the pictures and videos finished by the team.
"You ready? Is the list out yet?" Sherlock glared at him sideways and hit F5 again. His eyes focussed on the spread of information now available and began scanning down the list of items to be scavenged.
"Two hundred nineteen items," he muttered, and immediately copied and pasted it into his group's database, sending an alert to his team. "I hope Lesley and Jennifer get this, they haven't responded to any contact thus far. It will be harder for the rest of us if we're disadvantaged by having two non-contributing members."
John sat forward in his chair, closing the Patrick O'Brian novel he'd been reading. "Excuse me? Are you... Sherlock, are you taking this seriously then?"
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him. "Of course. If it's worth doing, it's worth doing well, is it not?"
John sat back again, surprised. "Oh. I just didn't think - you sound like you are in it to win it, is all."
A corner of Sherlock's mouth kicked up. "Do my best. In spite of the restrictions you've placed upon me."
If anyone could, Sherlock would. He had contacts all over to help assist him. "All I said is you've got to do at least five. Personally."
The dark head nodded, as fingers tapped out a response to an email just received. John clapped his hands together decisively. "Right! You sent me the list? Good. You run the number generator, I'll read you the item, and pass my judgement." He moved to the table and flipped open his laptop. He couldn't quite suppress a wide smile - he loved Sherlock's intensity, and when he became invested in something, he would throw his heart over the fence in pursuit of his goal. No matter how 'silly', apparently. It was quite endearing.
Sherlock looked up. "Ready when you are."
"Let's have it, then."
Sherlock tapped. "Ninety one."
John scrolled through his list of GISHWHES items. "Ninety one - a photo challenge. Carve a scale model of the Uragh Stone Circle from potatoes, for seventeen points."
Sherlock pursed his lips. "That one seems very Hiberno-centric. We do have an Irish girl on our team - shouldn't we..?"
"I don't think so." John was enjoying this. "Remember, we agreed I would be the judge of whether or not you could do the challenge. This is well within your capabilities."
Sherlock glared. "Do we have potatoes?"
John pretended to ponder. "You know, I don't think we do!"
Sherlock shifted on the sofa. "Could you -?"
"No." John couldn't hold back the smile. "The first part of your challenge, mighty Hunter. Infiltrate the wilds of Tesco, find your prize, and subdue the chip-and-pin machine." Sherlock's expression of distaste was sweet. John savoured the sight. "Here," he said, heart singing as he dug in his pocket for his wallet. "You can use my card."
Sherlock snarled and snatched the plastic rectangle from John's hand.
"I'd say this hitherto-fore undiscovered sadistic streak is not your style, but obviously it is," Sherlock complained. John only smiled beatifically and released a breath of satisfaction as his disgruntled lover slammed the door pointedly on his way out.
"About time you did the shopping, Sherlock." He stretched, deciding he'd duck out for a while to avoid the vitriol Sherlock would pour on him when he came back from the hated shopping excursion. He pulled out his phone and texted Lestrade.
[Up for a pint? JWatson]
Three hours later, John returned to a scene of utter chaos in the kitchen, worse than anything he'd ever seen. There was dirt sifted liberally over the floor, grass, potato peelings and chunks of root vegetable everywhere. It looked as if a chip shop had exploded. John covered his face with his hand and rubbed vigorously. Covering the kitchen table was a small patch of green turf, with several brownish rectangles sticking up. The Uragh stone circle, he guessed. Rather well done, actually - the 'stones' actually looked weathered.
"Sherlock?" he called. "You still here?"
A grunt from the bathroom was his reply. John shrugged and moved to open the fridge, looking for some milk. "Fancy a cuppa?" he called. He paused, hand outstretched to the fridge door. There were several bloody smears adorning the enamel. A number of dread scenarios ran through his head - attack? enemies? experiment?
"Sherlock? Are you all right?"
"You may need to go to the shops this time, John. We're out of plasters," came the deep voice. John crossed to the bathroom in several quick strides and wrenched the door open. There stood Sherlock, sleeves rolled up and shirt liberally stained with potato juice and muddy smears. His fingers were covered with sticking-plasters. He was pressing a fat wad of tissues to his left hand. The look on his face was dire. John bit his lip so as not to laugh, but Sherlock's expression grew even stormier.
"Did the Fenians win the battle against the English then?" enquired John. His voice trembled ever so slightly. "I had no idea you were that unhandy at carving - you're quick enough at dissection."
"There is a fundamental difference," said Sherlock with a semblance of dignity, "between cutting things apart and carving things for artistic value. Also, they were slippery."
John carefully did not snigger, but his eyes crinkled. He held out a hand. "Let me." He carefully inspected the cut, held Sherlock's hand under running water to rinse away any dirt and pressed fresh tissue to it. "There are some plasters in my room. I'll get them."
"Thank you, Doctor."
"It looks wonderful, by the way. The, uh. The blood smears on the potatoes are quite - symbolic. But the grass...?"
Sherlock waved his free hand dismissively. "Regent's Park."
John choked. "Sorry. You just went to Regent's Park, and pulled up some turf?" An arched brow was his reply. "Of course you did," murmured John. "Try not to get arrested during the Hunt, please? We don't need you getting an ASBO."
"What, and compete with your criminal record? As if I would, John." Sherlock grinned suddenly, and John grinned back. "First one down."
John's heart warmed at the look of absurd pride on Sherlock's face. "One down, yes. Well done. Don't forget to mail it." This was working out well, this distraction. He only hoped the next one wouldn't be as bloody.
On to the next.
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Notes: Photo Challenge - 91. Carve a scale model of the Uragh Stone Circle from potatoes. (17 points)
Uragh is a Stonehenge style circle in Ireland.
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