11Hai :) It's- it's been, uh, more than awhile since I last posted on this site. I'm lacking inspiration nowadays, I'm sorry... :/
BUT! But. Speaking of inspiration - the reason why I managed to write this is that I was inspired! After reading sherlockian191's Trip to the supermarket, to be exact :) Don't worry, I told her I was inspired by her fic, and to not offend her, I told her in advance that I would like to make a story out of this plot bunny. And she was kind enough to give me free rein to the idea too :) So thank you sherlockian191! And I hope you all like this a bit over-the-top story (to me, that is :/) :DDD
Getting Sherlock Holmes to come along for shopping was hardly an easy chore.
For such a brilliant man - with his extensive knowledge of blood splatters, awareness of the importance of paying attention to body language, and absolutely logical and scientific mind - every time it was Shopping Day, he would instead revert to a childish 10-year-old, doing his best to stay out of it and not come along with Molly. For the past few times, she humoured him, but this time, she was adamant on him doing the shopping with her.
"No - I said I'm not coming along."
"And what is wrong with me continuing my research on Toby?"
"Cats can be potential killers too, Molly - the world is a strange place, to quote a saying."
"Molly, no. I don't want to."
"Fine - I'll come along. But only if you allow me to get Toby into a- no?"
"Do not involve Mrs Hudson in this!"
"...yes, Mrs H. Molly, I thought you want to go; let's just get a move on already!"
"Thank you, Mrs Hudson; I will never know how to get Sherlock out of the house. It's getting more difficult."
"It's okay, dearie. Sherlock's not too fond of his skull getting confiscated anymore. I was half-hoping him to refuse - I have a perfect hiding place for it this time!"
"Sherlock, it's this way."
"Just because I'm dragged along on this idiotic trip does not mean I have to trail behind you like some child."
Molly stopped her walking for a moment to rub at her forehead, trying to keep the impending headache at bay. Assuring that the trolley in front of her would not roll away once she let go of her grip on it, she turned around to face the person she called her 'husband'. Giving him a severely withered look, she spoke up, "Sherlock, both of us are shopping for essential items for our pantry and home. Our home, and it means mine and yours."
The man huffed and crossed his arms in rebellion. "You know what items the house require, and you are obviously familiar with the layout of this supermarket, if you moving around with a sense of purpose and not cursing your luck when you arrive at an aisle you don't need anything from were anything to go by-"
"Sherlock, go and get a tin of tomatoes."
He stopped his ranting and stared incredulously at the petite woman, who had come closer to him with the trolley and had planted both her hands on her hips. "Did you just order me?"
She felt her resolve waver at the rather harsh but confused tone in his question, but only by a little bit; recovering quickly, she stood a little taller and nodded. "Yes, Sherlock Holmes. I just ordered you to get a tin of tomatoes."
Sherlock was about to laugh at the absurdity of the situation - Sherlock Holmes, holding the title of The World's Only Consulting Detective, is never ordered by anyone, least of all his pathologist of a wife, to scour through a supermarket for a tin of tomatoes - when he was abruptly pushed from the side by said pathologist of a wife. "You will get the tomatoes, if that's the last thing you will ever do. And the tomatoes must be the brand we always use. Once you get it, meet me at the cash register no. 4 for payment - then we can discuss about your reward."
He paid more attention to her last statement more than anything else she had said and gave a boyish, expectant smile at that. "Reward? Why don't we discuss about that now?"
"No, because you don't have the tin of tomatoes. Once you have it, we can talk."
Pushing him once more to the general direction of the tomatoes, Molly went back to the trolley. "And please, Sherlock - stay away from trouble," she called out over her shoulder as she moved over to where the bread was.
"When have I not?" he replied just as loudly.
"Do not make me list them down."
Once the retreating form of his wife disappeared from his view, Sherlock rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands into his trench coat pockets, sulking as he made his way to the tins section. Why was he forced to join Molly in this inane activity, when it was clear she knew what to buy and where to get them? If she needed someone to help her with carrying the groceries, she could always text him and he would come down running to her. But she always said it was something more every time he expressed his dislike about these trips; she liked to mention something about 'bonding time' and how it would make them closer.
While inspecting a box of colourful cereal with slight disdain over the amount of sugar it contained, Sherlock was wondering how could them being apart, with her going off to grab the other items on the shopping list while he was stuck with acquiring a measly tin of tomatoes, help in 'making them closer', when he felt the presence of someone beside him. He glanced to his right to find out who the person was and - judging by the man's slumped shoulders, unsure expression as he scanned through the various boxes of cereal in front of him, and a gold ring on his left hand's fourth finger - came to the conclusion that he was in the same predicament as him.
"I wholly understand you," Sherlock said to him, uncharacteristically deciding to start a conversation.
The other man whipped his head to his left, a confused look on his face. "Pardon?"
"You and me - finding something only because our wives asked us to."
"So I'm not the only one with this problem. That is actually a relief."
Sherlock merely grunted in agreement. They both parted ways about 5 minutes later, after Sherlock helped the stuck man out, deducing what kind of cereal brand the man's family would consume from the knowledge that he had two children and another one along the way, his wife being a teacher and him an engineer, and that they always eat their cereal with milk, narrowing it down to three brands and the man having recognised one of them.
The detective wandered aimlessly through the aisles of the supermarket once more, taking in the vibrant displays and having the song playing through the PA system looped in his head. Delete, delete, delete, he urged himself as he tried to do so.
He finally made it to where the tinned tomatoes were and as he scanned through the brands available (which brand did they usually use again? Should have tried to keep some of the domestic information in his Mind Palace) and took one out to inspect its nutritional value, he was suddenly shoved unceremoniously to the front from behind, with him slamming hard against the shelves as a result. Sherlock immediately whipped round, and spotted a hooded figure running away; taking in information at the speed of light and concluding that he had a rather smart thief at hand, the bored husband unconsciously pocketed the tin of tomatoes and geared up for a chase to catch a criminal as he raced after the guilty one.
Molly took a moment to think things through.
The apples, or pears?
She was aware that, although Sherlock did not eat as regularly as normal people, when he did he was surprisingly picky about it; he once insisted that there be no blackened spots on his toast - not even a tiny one - and she made him three that were deemed unsatisfactory in his eyes before she gave up and told him to make his own. On his part, he somehow managed to burn not only his toast, but the toaster itself.
Sherlock was mostly an apple-lover, but the times she offered him some he would refuse them. However, he would complain about the pears that accumulate in the fruits basket (Molly preferred pears); since he hardly ate the apples, she figured there was not much use to having loads of the red fruit at home and filled the basket with her green favourite instead.
After much debating, Molly made her choice and decided on two of each, to satisfy her and her troublesome husband. Loud stomping sounds echoed behind her a second later and she turned around to see who was running. She thought she caught a glimpse of some black hair as the person disappeared round an aisle, but shrugged it off when she rationalised that there were a few dark-haired men in this supermarket; anyway, she saw about two just earlier on.
Sherlock zipped through the aisles, his eyes fixed on his fast target and never wanting him out of sight. The added difficulty of avoiding other people in the supermarket made the chase all the more thrilling for the detective, as he vaguely acknowledged that he was in the toys section now. The thief in front of him gave a good fight along the way, what with him pushing shelves onto the ground as physical obstacles for his pursuer and throwing whatever he could get his hands on behind him to stun and slow down said pursuer (a stuffed kitten hit Sherlock square on the nose and the lithe man mentally commended on his rival's aiming skills as he, in turn, threw it back at the hooded man; Sherlock missed him as the latter made a sharp turn left, though).
The detective increased his running speed when he began to lose sight of his prey; spotting him soon, Sherlock was about to called him out when the thief shook out the contents of a glass bottle and out came tiny blue marbles, the loud noise vibrating throughout the toys section. Sherlock steered clear of them just in time (don't want to be embarrassed by skidding on them and falling ungracefully, now, do we?) and took an immediate right turn. He came into rows of skipping ropes and, with a plan already formulated in his head, grabbed one of the longer ones, his running speed not faltering one bit as he made a lariat loop at one end.
There he is. What a chase, Sherlock thought, secretly pleased at how this criminal was making it harder for him to catch. But, as they say - all good things must come to an end.
With that, he swung the noose up and around his head. After calculating the distance between them and taking into account the length of the rope now and the momentum he had going on with the swinging, he bid his time and, finally finding a window of opportunity, cast the rope towards his target with a quick movement of his wrist. The noose flew and caught the thief over the head and around the shoulders; with one hard tug, Sherlock brought the moving man down.
"Tell me again, Mr Holmes - why did we get kicked out of a supermarket?"
"Because I chased after a criminal, who also happened to be someone on DI Lestrade's wanted list?"
"And cause a destruction in the toys section while you're at it?"
"That was the thief's fault; I was not the one throwing toys at people nor shoving shelves onto the ground."
"Sherlock!" Molly suddenly half-shouted, causing the man beside her to look at her bemusedly.
"You- I asked you to grab one tin of tomatoes - just one tin, mind you - but instead I came to know that you half destroyed a section of the supermarket in the process and, to top it off, you deduced the manager in front of his workers!"
Sherlock shrugged his broad shoulders, not particularly bothered by it.
"Great - one less supermarket to get groceries from," she finally sighed.
"At least I get the tomatoes right, didn't I?"
Turning to stare at him with barely concealed irritation, she gritted her teeth as she admitted, "Yes. Yes, you did. Well done, you."
Sherlock looked at her, full of childish self-pride, and Molly wanted to wipe that sickeningly adorable and innocent smile off his face. She took a much needed deep breath of air and exhaled, feeling a bit better. When she got home, she would drop the groceries on the kitchen table and allow herself to laugh at how the day went. God, who knew shopping could turn out this way?
After this, Molly would definitely not bring Sherlock Holmes out shopping again.
She felt soft breathing in her right ear a brief moment later, and a low seductive voice soon followed, asking her, "May I choose what is my reward, then?"