John returned home after a long and uneventful day at work. With a carton of milk in one hand and his keys in the other, he opened the door to the flat he and his best friend shared. A burning smell immediately reached his nose and smoke filled the room. John set his things on the table and went to see what was wrong. Sherlock had left the stove on with a steaming pan on the burner. John turned off the stove, set the pan in the sink, and opened the window by the edge of the flat.
Though the flat was messier than John had left it that morning, Sherlock was nowhere in sight. All of a sudden, John heard a large crashing noise. He followed the sound to the hall, where the crash sounded again. It was" coming from his room. By the time he threw the door open, it was too late. Books were strewn about all over the bed, and every drawer had been taken off if its proper shelf. Sherlock was in the middle of the mess next to a pile of shirts. He was comparing a striped one to a green one. John sighed.
"Sherlock, what are you doing to my room?"
"Organizing." The detective replied, setting the striped shirt by a pile of large books. "It was a bit cluttered in here."
"Was?" John questioned, exasperated by the cluttered look of his once orderly room. "It's worse in here than when I left!" Sherlock looked up to his companion, then around the room.
"Yes, but you didn't have a system." Sherlock stated. John opened his mouth as if to reply, but Sherlock interrupted. "Before, all of your books were set up on the shelf, but there was no pattern to their placement. Now, I've arranged them by how often you read them. They are also set up so that if you're feeling bored, you can read a book with easy words. If you feel sad, you can read a happy book. I am currently trying to create a shirt and sock index for you, but now you're standing on my plan." John looked to see a crumpled piece of paper under his foot. He sighed again.
"I suppose you can...finish." John stated reluctantly, lifting his foot do Sherlock could take the paper. With that, John left his room to relax in his chair. The main room was less smoky now, but the room was still a disaster. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will do it, he thought, and sat down. If only Sherlock would clean the rest of the flat.