Disclaimer: As much as I would jump at the chance to sell my soul in exchange for the BBC, it has yet to happen...but keep a weather eye on the horizon!
"Sherlock!" John's agitated voice carried from the kitchen to where Sherlock was laid barefoot on the sofa, his suited body wrapped in his favourite blue dressing-gown, "How many times have I told you about leaving bloody body parts in our fridge?"
Sherlock took a moment to glance at his flatmate, who was now standing, arms folded tightly across his chest in the gap between the kitchen and the living room. He did not look pleased, although Sherlock couldn't think for the life of him what he could do to make him less pleased. Staging a murder to induce the thrill of the chase was, even he could see, a little extreme. Good intentions nonewithstanding, pedantics were the word of the day.
"They're not bloody, in fact they're very clean." Sherlock drawled, draping his arm over his eyes so that John couldn't glare him down; this didn't stop him frmo trying, as Sherlock didn't even hear him move, "As a doctor you should know by now that dead men don't bleed, especially when said pieces of said men are no longer connected to the vascular system."
John growled under his breath, his footsteps tracking his journey from the kettle to his chair beside the fire. Sherlock risked a peek and was met by an exasperated glare and a pair of fingers pinching the bridge of their owner's nose.
"Why are there so many?" John asked after a few moments, "There's almost no room left in the fridge, I couldn't even see the milk."
"I was being nice." Sherlock replied shortly, and a small smile, the one that appeared when Sherlock thought that he had done something pleasing, tugged at the corners of his lips. John's eyebrows pinched, and he seemed to forge this anger in the stead of confusion.
"No, I'm sorry Sherlock...nice?"
Sherlock gave his flatmate a withering look. What was the point in not deleting things if John didn't extend the same courtesy
"Yes. You told me to be nicer to Molly, so when she complained about the amount of bodies that she had to look after recently, I offered to lighten the load and take some off of her hands." he explained, annunciating every syllable, just in case John felt the need to repeat his question.
John pursed his lips, and it was clearly an inch either way as to whether he tackle that explanation, or accept that Sherlock had done something that he thought was kind, and leave it be. The latter seemed to have won, to Sherlock's relief, as the tension in John's shoulders released, and he collapsed into the cushions.
"Dare I ask what you plan to do with so many arms, and tongues, and...I don't even want to know what those things on the top shelf are." he asked wearily.
"They're two livers, a pancreas, and a phallus." Sherlock retorted, hoisting himself up onto his elbows; if John had given in so easily, then today promised to be less dull than first anticipated, "And I don't have a plan yet, but there will always be another experiment. That's the wonder of science, there's always more to discover."
John let out an almost imperceptible scoff.
"If you can be bothered to discover it you mean."
Sherlock turned his head to glare at his flatmate, pointing his finger accusingly.
"I told you last time! If you go anywhere near astronomy again, I will personally lobotomise you so that you can't remember where you sleep at night, let alone what's in the sky!" he warned, before gesturing towards the skull, "You really will be filling in for Billy then!"
John raised his hands in surrender and took a sip of his tea. Just as Sherlock was about to close his eyes and return to his musings on the latest entrant to the Darwin Awards, the doctor spoke up again.
"While you were spending the day being nice...I don't suppose you took the time to get me that milk I wanted?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the small smile he aimed at his flatmate.
"I put it in that drawer at the bottom so that it wouldn't get infected." he said warmly, enjoying the pleased face that John made as he continued to sip his tea, now with a newspaper on his lap, "And I picked up that presciption that you've been nagging me about. I still don't understand why I need it, but I thought I'd save you the trip that you were inevitably going to make for me."
John had the grace to look surprised, and then almost flattered.
"Brilliant!" he remarked, ignoring the self-rightous smirk on Sherlock's face, "I'm glad you've done that, even if it is just a weird phase."
"It was my pleasure." Sherlock replied, closing his eyes and settling into his thinking pose, his hands clasped beneath his chin. There were a few moments of companionable silence before the sound of the newspaper slamming shut made Sherlock's eyes snap open and focus on John, although he made an effort to look nonchalant.
"Sherlock!" John gritted out between his clenched teeth, "What did you do?"
Sherlock pursed his lips, and had the gaul to try and look innocent. His eyes flittered across the ceiling.
"What makes you think I did anything?"
John slammed his mug and the paper onto the coffee table, before sitting forward, his elboes on his knees, his hands clenched tightly together.
"That's why you're being nice; you've done something, and this is your way of buttering me up." he growled, glaring at the detective, who still refused to make eye contact.
Sherlock glanced around the room a bit more, hoping half-heartedly that John would just sigh and continue drinking his tea. When this didn't happen, Sherlock exhaled and rolled his eyes. He looked John directly in the face, remaining laid down in the hope that John would see his vulnerability and take pity as he gazed imploringly into his eyes.
"Don't be mad at me...but..."
Forgive the cliffhanger, I find that imagination works far more wonders than the written word.
My first Sherlock drabble, thoughts? In character?
If you like this, you might like my crossover 'One Big Mess', which involves a lot of Sherlock (my favorite by far), with some Avengers and Doctor Who thrown in