I know...I know. I have a bunch of other stories I need to be working on, right?

Yes...but I'm experiencing writer's block. That is soooo frustrating. And besides, we had this stuff typed up weeks ago, so it wasn't like I wrote all of this on a whim this morning.

This ficlet was inspired and devised by myself and my younger sister, who has helped me several times in the past with stories, such as Tattles and Curtains - Get the Connection?

So I'm going to be posting all of the one-shots that we've come up with so far. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

Enjoy!

God bless and have a great day (or night)!
ThePro-LifeCatholic

Disclaimer: My sister and I don't own BBC Sherlock, nor do we own The Hobbit. If we did, the movies wouldn't have been such a disappointment. That, and you wouldn't be reading this. You'd be watching it. :)

"Are your parents very observant?"

Sherlock looked up from his cup of tea. The blogger and the consulting detective were relaxing in the flat at 221B Baker Street. Outside, a fine drizzle of rain streaked down the window-panes, dripping onto the grey street below.

"No…not quite as observant as Mycroft and I." The detective took a sip of the hot liquid. "But I believe it's a hereditary trait."

"Oh," was all John had to say.

"While we had to work hard to get our observational skills as fine-tuned as they are now, my brother and I have always possessed an innate knack for detection." Sherlock explained, setting the white tea cup down on the small glass plate. He brought his hands up to his chin, folding them together.

"Well, my ancestors probably didn't have that observational streak," John Watson piped up, "but some of them certainly had an appetite for adventure. You know, I come directly from the line of Bagginses myself."

Mr. Holmes had been lost in thought. Now he cracked open his eyes and glanced at his flat mate. "Who?"

"The Bagginses, a very respectable family back then, before the Age of Men," John supplied. Sherlock stared hard at Watson, trying to figure out if this was some joke.

"They were Hobbits," Dr. Watson finished, leaning back in his chair. Apparently thinking the conversation over, he picked up a newspaper and began reading it. Sherlock blinked, trying to formulate a proper comeback to the war doctor's newest statement.

"Wasn't that the movie you went to see yesterday with Mary?" the detective queried. John peered over the top of the paper.

"No. A Hobbit is a small…well…they're like little people, and they live in holes in the ground-"

"You went to see a movie called The Hobbit last night with Mary, correct?" Sherlock ground out the words. It wasn't even 10 o'clock, and he already felt a bad mood coming.

"Yes, but not with Merry. He lives across Brandywine River, with the other Brandybucks," John responded, who was only partly paying attention to Sherlock's question.

Sherlock was getting very annoyed now. "Mary. Mary Watson. Mary, Mary!"

"'Course I married Mary," John scoffed, shaking his head. "She's my wife!"

Sherlock glared at John Watson for several seconds, emptying an imaginary revolver into his skull. Then he shot up from the chair, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"I'm going to call Lestrade about a case," he grumbled. John went back to his newspaper.

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