Of course, with this prompt, I immediately thought of Lynn Anderson's song, "I Beg Your Pardon, I Never Promised You a Rose Garden". Hence the title of the story itself.
I was struck by John to steal flowers from Sherlock's garden. And, of course, Sherlock has bees because it's Sherlock and of course he's got bees. This was a fun little AU (alternative universe) where perhaps they didn't meet at Bart's, but rather on the way to visit the ex-army soldier's parents.
I had fun with it and hope you enjoy it.
I Never Promised You a Rose Garden - An original story by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016
It was nearly a weekly routine. He’d make his way to the cemetery, occasionally pause at the edge of a large field of wildflowers to pick a small bouquet, and finish his walk. He’d stop by the stone that held their names and places the flowers, spending a brief amount of time there, sometimes talking, sometimes silent.
His return home was by far much quicker. He’d walk quickly through the cemetery, past the field, and return home to lock himself away for another week, maybe two if he thought he could get away with it.
It went on this way for months, until he hesitated at the edge of the field, suddenly wary of the tall man who stood in the middle of the wildflowers. He had a scowl on his face and quicksilver eyes seemed to bore into his mind.
“You’re the one stealing flowers from my garden.”
He blinked rapidly for a moment, mouth hanging open in surprise. His garden? It was just a field of wildflowers, not a garden. Wasn’t it?
“Once a week you wander past here, sometimes stopping to gather a small amount of flowers, particularly the dimorphotheca aurantiaca and nemophila menziesii.” The man’s frown deepened. “I do not know why, though I suspect it’s for some female, to gain her attention and affections, and those two, in particular, seem to be her favorites. Or your favorites, since the later does seem to deepen the blue of your own eyes. A point in your favor, perhaps, since women do seem to favor tall, dark, and handsome, which trait you only carry one.”
“I, uh,” he blinked, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was your garden. Didn’t realize it was a garden at all, in fact.”
“No, of course not. People rarely seem to think. Flowers growing next to a manicured lawn, surely nothing odd about that. The bees would take unkindly to you if they carried such mental capacity.” The taller man rolled his eyes. “However, I will admit I am curious to see if your token of sentiment works or not. Gather what you will and I will determine if you are to be allowed to continue or if I should call the police after you.”
“The police!” He shook his head, “There’s no need for that! I didn’t know, honest! I won’t do it again!”
The man waved a hand. “For me to decide. You have your instructions. Pick what this woman of yours desires and let’s get on with it, yes? I do not have all day.”
He huffed and gathered a handful of flowers, tempted to stay away from the daisies and baby blue eyes, but they were a favorite, though not for the reason the taller man suspected. He grit his teeth and stood, waving a hand towards the path he usually took.
“Sherlock Holmes,” the man said once he’d caught up.
He looked over at the taller man, frowning for a moment, before offering up his own name.
“John Watson,” he stared at the path. “I am sorry, Mr. Holmes-.”
“Sherlock,” the tall man muttered.
“Sherlock, then,” John huffed, “I didn’t realize it was a garden. I’ll just drop by the florist next time.”
“Perhaps,” Sherlock interrupted. “But that is if I decide not to press charges for your theft. Constant, I must say. My brother can probably fetch plenty of evidence against you, which would be a pity for you and this relationship you’re in.”
“Now see here, Mr. Holmes!” John bristled, pausing for a moment.
“Sherlock, please,” the taller man looked down at John. “Stand down, soldier, I won’t bite. If nothing else, you have alleviated my boredom for the day. Perhaps I shall leave the Yard out of this should it be interesting enough.”
“Boredom?” John frowned. What was this madman playing at? He blinked and gaped at Sherlock, the thought of telling the taller man that they were in fact on their way to the graveyard instead of seeing some woman slipped his mind. “Stand down, soldier? What the hell was that?”
“You were a soldier, the way you hold yourself when confronted with a thought you don’t like or a threat. I suppose that limp you’ve now got is entirely in your head, but I do believe you’ve been told that by your therapist enough that you finally believed it. I suppose it comes out at moments of great duress, such as this – a complete stranger accompanying you to your significant other to deliver flowers and to be put under scrutiny. Hardly commonplace.”
“And you got that how?”
“Your tan lines. Nearly gone now, but still visible. Cuffs and collar, not enough of you tanned to be a vacation and, as I do hate repeating myself, the way you hold yourself. I have seen enough military men in my line of work to know how they stand at attention. You hold yourself much like them, even if you’ve been discharged for quite some time.” Sherlock glanced at him, a small smile playing on his lips. “Like I said, interesting.”
“Brilliant,” John muttered, forgetting to be annoyed for a moment or two.
Sherlock frowned. “That’s not what people usually say.”
“No?” John chuckled. “What do they usually say?”
Sherlock smirked. "Piss off."
John nodded, laughter dying as he stood outside the gates to the graveyard. Sherlock blinked a few times, his frown returning. He stared at John, who merely shrugged and made his way to the familiar stone, the taller man trailing close behind.
“Hey Mum, hey Da,” John murmured, staring at the stone. “Made a new friend today on the way here. Found out the flowers I’ve been picking actually belong in his garden. Didn’t know. May have to bring you fancier ones next time if he doesn’t have me tossed in jail.”
His eyes flicked towards Sherlock who stood next to him, staring at the stone with a surprised and confused look on his face. His lips twitched up in a smile before disappearing as he looked back at the worn headstone.
“His name’s Sherlock Holmes,” John cleared his throat, continuing, “Guessed about my service, and my limp, though that’s hardly surprising, right?” A soft laugh escaped. “Thought I was getting flowers for a date, the silly man. But, he was right. You’ve always loved daisies and baby blues, haven’t you, Mum?”
John knelt for a moment, placing the bundle of flowers he’d picked from Sherlock’s garden in front of the stone before standing and turning to the tall man. He grinned tightly, waving a hand down at the names.
“Meet my parents, Sherlock,” he chuckled, “The lucky lady who knew which flowers would best match my eyes.”
“John,” Sherlock blinked, finally turning to look at the man before him. “I – I apologize, I had no clue that this is what you, where you were going. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have said anything.”
John laughed, waving him off. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Now you can come visit them with me. Mum would have liked you, I think, with your brilliant wit and fast tongue. Would have given her a run for her money in the gossip circles.”
For several moments, they stood in silence around the stone before John snapped to attention, saluting the stone. With easy precision, he spun and marched a few steps away before slumping into an easier pace.
Sherlock jogged to catch up, wondering if John had followed in his father’s footsteps, going into the military. It was a good possibility, but it was not a question he’d ask at this moment, not when the memory was still sore.
They walked in silence until they reached the edge of Sherlock’s vast garden of wildflowers. John smirked, smiling up at him with his hands in his pockets.
“So, do I need to wait around for the police, or was my girl pretty enough for you?”
Sherlock looked down at John, confusion, and horror flicking across his face for a moment before he schooled his expression into a neutral one.
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary.” Sherlock waved a hand to brush off the notion. “However, I would like to invite you in for tea. I’d love to learn more about your parents. Weekly visits? Why is that? I’ve plenty of questions if you’re willing.”
John grinned, relaxing and nodding. “Tea sounds fantastic.”
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