akblake

Sherlock has certainly brought a mess into the flat this time!

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“Oh for the love of God. Sherlock,” John bellowed from the bathroom where he just stepped out of the shower, “get in here and get this thing! You promised that they couldn’t escape!” His shout was met by his roommate’s madly pounding feet as Sherlock dashed to unceremoniously throw the bathroom door open.

“Don’t smash it!” He ordered, nearly knocking his towel-clad friend back into the tub in his haste to collect the wayward escapee. Sherlock gently cradled the massive cockroach in his long fingers and brought the hissing monstrosity close to his face, as if inspecting it for any damage John may have done to it. John merely looked less than impressed with his antics.

“Sherlock, get out of the bathroom. I’d like to get dressed and I refuse to do so with both you and that thing in here with me.” John was rather proud that he managed to keep his voice low and civil, and that he hadn’t beaten his roommate about the head with the toilet brush. He was saving that possibility for another time, as even a bin of Madagascar hissing Cockroaches didn’t top the list of distressing things he’s found in the apartment.

Sherlock merely looked at him pityingly, still cradling the monstrosity, and sniped, “You have a boringly Puritanical view of modesty, John. Neither I nor the experiment are impeding your ability to…” His voice trailed off at the look of absolute fury which was directed his way. Such looks would normally be met with disdain at most, but he keenly remembered John’s abilities and much preferred his person unharmed.

“Either get out of the bloody bathroom with that, or I’ll knock you over the head and flush the damned thing!” John threatened, his voice rising now beyond his control. Maggots in his sock drawer he could handle (after forcing Sherlock to replace the contents), heads in the refrigerator didn’t truly shock him anymore (resulting in the purchase of a second refrigerator just for food), but finding the gigantic insect perched on the bath mat was an unpleasant shock. Sherlock slowly backed out of the bathroom, meekly snagging the doorknob and closing the door behind him. John violently blew out a breath of air before moving to check his pile of clothing on the sink. Wouldn’t do for that thing to have brought friends along on its escape!

Fully dressed and feeling collected enough to deal with the mad genius, emphasis on the mad, John stepped out of the bathroom and nearly into Sherlock. They both started in surprise then Sherlock held out what appeared to be a cup of perfectly-brewed tea. John accepted the saucer and cup, looking askance at both.

“To calm… Err, to say… That is,” Sherlock stumbled over his words, looking completely out of his depth. He paused, took a breath, and then tried again, “I’m sorry. I did promise that the cockroaches couldn’t escape their bin, and obviously have failed.” He sounded a bit stilted, but still sincere. At John’s holding the cup of tea aloft, he hurried to explain, “As an apology, I made tea. I’ve observed that ninety-three percent of the time you desire a cup of tea immediately after showering and made a cup to save you from having to make the effort.”

Remembering a past unsolicited drink, John had to question his intentions. “What’s in this, Sherlock? Sugar? Milk? An experimental hallucinogenic drug?”

Sherlock briefly looked frustrated at John’s suspicion, then snatched the cup and drank a mouthful. “No drugs in it, only tea, sugar, and milk. I’m ashamed of you John- I would never drug you the same way twice! You would be expecting it, as you just did, and that would skew the data.” He walked away, apparently bored with his apology, and John had to fight a grin. He enjoyed getting Sherlock’s goat, though he now had disturbing visions of his next curry being drugged.

He was walking into the living room when the silence was shattered by another scream, this one from the floor below. “Sherlock, get down here and get this disgusting thing!” Mrs. Hudson yelled, followed by several loud crashes and bangs. Sherlock froze, guiltily looked toward the cockroach bin, and then dashed off to save yet another escapee.

John merely grinned as he settled himself into his chair. He’d let someone else deal with the mad idiot for a few minutes while he enjoyed his cup of tea. At least they’d figured out that the shop owner couldn’t have accidentally fallen to his death in the pet store’s large display bin of Hissers; given that none of the buggers had escaped after, it clearly took a person on the outside to dump the body in and close up the lid to keep them in. They’d all be thankful if Sherlock would only do the same!

Another particularly loud crash, this time followed by an inarticulate yell, lead him to believe that Mrs. Hudson didn’t have his restraint about hitting Sherlock. John merely chuckled and sipped his tea.