Fortune Cookie
By Ioan Nemos
“I can always predict the fortune cookies.” - Sherlock
“No, you can't.” - John
“Almost can.” - Sherlock
~A Study in Pink
~~~
Pleasantly full, John Watson sat back and sighed, and glanced at his dinner companion. Sherlock Holmes’ eyes were flickering around the room, no doubt making lightning-quick deductions about each and every person he could see. Having never seen Sherlock eat before, he’d been a little surprised to see how much he could put away.
He’d also been surprised at the way Sherlock could carry a conversation that didn’t involve deduction. The other man had talked at length about classical music and his favorite composers. Mentally tired, John had been grateful for the in-depth treatise on Beethoven vs. Bach. It made it easier to shove back the images that tried to force themselves to the forefront of his mind.
“Sherlock!”
The recoil of the gun, the realization that in a moment Sherlock was going to look out the window and see him, the rush for the exit, trying to be both quick and quiet, trying to get to a sensible location before the police arrived, the thunder of his heart, putting on his poker face, giving nothing away ...
“John.”
“Hm?” He started up from where he’d been staring at the wall and looked over at Sherlock.
Sherlock pulled a fortune cookie from underneath a mountain of crumpled paper serviettes and cupped it in his hands. He studied it a moment, then looked at John out of the tops of his eyes. “‘Good luck will be yours this week,’” he predicted, a hint of amusement in his voice. He cracked the fortune cookie down the middle and extracted the slip of paper, then smiled triumphantly and turned the fortune so John could read:
A lucky week awaits you.
Your lucky numbers are: 7. 17. 50. 3. 25.
John picked up his own fortune cookie. “Right, well. What’s mine say?”
Sherlock looked at it thoughtfully. “‘Love is just around the corner.’”
John sniffed derisively and cracked open his fortune cookie. He pulled the fortune out and read it, then read it again, a line forming between his eyes.
“Problem?” Sherlock asked.
“Maybe you’d better read it for yourself,” John replied slowly, then handed over the slip of paper. Sherlock read:
The rubber bands are headed in the right direction.
Your lucky numbers are: 8. 7. 3. 81. 21.
John had to laugh at Sherlock’s nonplussed expression. “Not much to do with love, has it?”
“That doesn’t make a scrap of sense,” Sherlock muttered, tossing it to the table in irritation. “The fortune in a fortune cookie should be generic enough to fit a variety --”
“Yeah, well, I guess the person who writes these got bored,” John cut him off, not really interested in statistics. He read it again and shook his head, smiling at the nonsensical nature. “Makes no difference to the cookie, I suppose.”
“I suppose not,” Sherlock conceded, glowering at the fortune.
At the next table, a young woman opened her own fortune cookie. She read with delight:
Love is just around the corner.
Your lucky numbers are: 4. 13. 66. 6. 9.
“What’s yours say?” her companion asked. Upon being shown, she exclaimed, “Ooh, Sarah! How exciting!...”
~~~
A/N: The meat of it was written in about a half hour, with a little editing afterward. When Holmes said “I can always predict the fortune cookies”, I thought, I wonder if he’d be able to predict the one my sister got. And yeah, it said The rubber bands are headed in the right direction. And no, I have no idea what it’s supposed to mean either.
(Serviettes are to most of the world what napkins are to Americans. And yeah, that ending was kind of a reference to Watson’s girlfriend in The Blind Banker. Sorry about abruptness.)
“No, you can't.” - John
“Almost can.” - Sherlock
~A Study in Pink
~~~
Pleasantly full, John Watson sat back and sighed, and glanced at his dinner companion. Sherlock Holmes’ eyes were flickering around the room, no doubt making lightning-quick deductions about each and every person he could see. Having never seen Sherlock eat before, he’d been a little surprised to see how much he could put away.
He’d also been surprised at the way Sherlock could carry a conversation that didn’t involve deduction. The other man had talked at length about classical music and his favorite composers. Mentally tired, John had been grateful for the in-depth treatise on Beethoven vs. Bach. It made it easier to shove back the images that tried to force themselves to the forefront of his mind.
“Sherlock!”
The recoil of the gun, the realization that in a moment Sherlock was going to look out the window and see him, the rush for the exit, trying to be both quick and quiet, trying to get to a sensible location before the police arrived, the thunder of his heart, putting on his poker face, giving nothing away ...
“John.”
“Hm?” He started up from where he’d been staring at the wall and looked over at Sherlock.
Sherlock pulled a fortune cookie from underneath a mountain of crumpled paper serviettes and cupped it in his hands. He studied it a moment, then looked at John out of the tops of his eyes. “‘Good luck will be yours this week,’” he predicted, a hint of amusement in his voice. He cracked the fortune cookie down the middle and extracted the slip of paper, then smiled triumphantly and turned the fortune so John could read:
A lucky week awaits you.
Your lucky numbers are: 7. 17. 50. 3. 25.
John picked up his own fortune cookie. “Right, well. What’s mine say?”
Sherlock looked at it thoughtfully. “‘Love is just around the corner.’”
John sniffed derisively and cracked open his fortune cookie. He pulled the fortune out and read it, then read it again, a line forming between his eyes.
“Problem?” Sherlock asked.
“Maybe you’d better read it for yourself,” John replied slowly, then handed over the slip of paper. Sherlock read:
The rubber bands are headed in the right direction.
Your lucky numbers are: 8. 7. 3. 81. 21.
John had to laugh at Sherlock’s nonplussed expression. “Not much to do with love, has it?”
“That doesn’t make a scrap of sense,” Sherlock muttered, tossing it to the table in irritation. “The fortune in a fortune cookie should be generic enough to fit a variety --”
“Yeah, well, I guess the person who writes these got bored,” John cut him off, not really interested in statistics. He read it again and shook his head, smiling at the nonsensical nature. “Makes no difference to the cookie, I suppose.”
“I suppose not,” Sherlock conceded, glowering at the fortune.
At the next table, a young woman opened her own fortune cookie. She read with delight:
Love is just around the corner.
Your lucky numbers are: 4. 13. 66. 6. 9.
“What’s yours say?” her companion asked. Upon being shown, she exclaimed, “Ooh, Sarah! How exciting!...”
~~~
A/N: The meat of it was written in about a half hour, with a little editing afterward. When Holmes said “I can always predict the fortune cookies”, I thought, I wonder if he’d be able to predict the one my sister got. And yeah, it said The rubber bands are headed in the right direction. And no, I have no idea what it’s supposed to mean either.
(Serviettes are to most of the world what napkins are to Americans. And yeah, that ending was kind of a reference to Watson’s girlfriend in The Blind Banker. Sorry about abruptness.)