A/N: Silly fic is silly. Enjoy! (:
Things the bathtub is not for:
1. Temporary and/or permanent storage of any parts of the human anatomy (sterilized or otherwise)
2. Temporary and/or permanent storage of animal, insects or hybrid corpses (sterilized or otherwise)
3. Fermentation of fungi and/or protoctists
4. Vicious piranha (or otherwise potentially harmful sea creatures) to live in
5. Sorting out 243 types of tobacco ash (and subsequently clogging the drain)
6. Planting mild explosives without consultation of one's flatmate (thereby incurring his wrath)
7. Hiding in when avoiding the wrath of one's flatmate
o.0.o.0.o.0.o.
You can't stay in the bathtub for the rest of your life. –JW
Watch me. –SH
Come out already, I'm not even mad anymore. –JW
No. –SH
I'll just go open the fridge and let that suspicious-looking appendage defrost, then, shall I? –JW
NO. DO NOT EVEN THINK OF TAMPERING WITH THE NECK, JOHN, OR I WILL HAVE YOURS. –SH
o.0.o.0.o.0.o.
Sherlock had to come out of hibernation from the bathtub to rescue the neck.
o.0.o.0.o.0.o.
Things the fridge is not for:
1. Temporary and/or permanent storage of corpses (intact or not)
2. Storage of decapitated HEADS (a sodding HEAD for fuck's sake)
3. Measuring the coagulation of saliva after death in human mouth cavities
4. Measuring the excretion of bodily fluids (be it urea or ejaculate) from the human male anatomy after death (a bloody PENIS in the jam jar)
5. Hiding things from one's flatmate (be thankful guns are acclimated to the cold)
6. Temporary and/or permanent storage of human appendages (including mangled pieces of flesh vaguely resembling human necks)
7. Keeping live specimens of reptile in –
o.0.o.0.o.0.o.
Calm down and stop moving, John –SH
HOW THE BLOODY FUCK DO YOU EXPECT ME TO CALM THE SODDING FUCK DOWN WHEN THERE ARE BLOODY SNAKES ON THE LOOSE IN THE FLAT. –JW
Just go to your mind palace, John, I'll take care of the snakes. –SH
Are you still hiding under the covers? –SH
SOD. OFF. –JW
Jonh idhtyka –ssH
Was that what I thought it was? –JW
Sherlock? –JW
Sherlock, you twat, are you alright? –JW
Damn it. –JW
o.0.o.0.o.0.o.
John found Sherlock grappling with two boa constrictors on the floor.
o.0.o.0.o.0.o.
Things a flatmate is not for:
1. Catering to your every whim on a daily basis (you insufferable arse)
2. Making you tea every morning, afternoon, night, and every available time in between (the kettle's not that hard to manage, honestly)
3. Making sure you eat enough to keep your health level slightly above that of the average corpse (it's a wonder you're able to function at all, really)
4. Entertainment in the form of belittlement (you absolute twat)
5. Ranting at whenever your overlarge brain needs an outlet (though you are brilliant)
6. Collapsing on whenever your meager energy supply is depleted before you make it to bed (and on my bad shoulder every time, too)
7. Rescuing you from getting strangled by snakes you left lying around in the BLOODY FRIDGE, the BLOODY FRIDGE, Sherlock
o.0.o.0.o.0.o.
In the sterilized, unnatural whiteness of the hospital, Sherlock opened his eyes.
He saw John at his bedside, studiously writing out a list on a piece of paper.
John held it up so he could read it. Sherlock laughed so much his stomach cramped and his throat rasped (though that could have been due to having his wind pipes almost crushed by a snake recently).
"I – I simply forgot they were hibernating when I put them in the fridge, John."