John had been sitting at his side of the desk all morning, flipping through a case notepad, until Sherlock stuttered back to life in his leather chair. The detective repositioned himself so that his spidery legs were draped over the armrest and he could see his flatmate.
"You're thinking. What a rare occurrence. It must be very frightening for you."
"Shut up Sherlock." He received a giggle in reply.
"Really though. What's got you so enraptured? It's already ten and you haven't so much as looked at the kettle." His feet wiggled as if a song was playing in a dimension only he could reach. John absentmindedly plucked at the ring binding while he decided on how to tell Sherlock without getting a mocking eye-roll.
"Well... The blog's been doing really well, obviously. I mean, we get more clients from it than Lestrade." He internally grimaced when his friend's face contorted in disgust, "... And seeing as the stories are so popular-"
"- You want to write a book."
The doctor exhaled slowly and nodded in premature defeat. "Yes. And you're going to shoot the idea to hell, which is why I hadn't planned on telling you until I had a first draft. It was a stupid thought anyway..."
Sherlock planted his neck on the other armrest and crossed his hands over his stomach. "A detective story, I assume?"
"Uhm, yes. That was the plan originally."
"Plot?"
John halfheartedly waved the notepad. "I was just gonna rehash one of the cases I haven't written about on the blog. Maybe mix a couple together... I don't know." He tossed the notes onto a stack of papers and ran his palms down his thighs to bring them back to life. "Cuppa? It's never too late in the day."
Sherlock gave a noncommittal grunt and seemed to disappear inside himself.
oOoOoOoOo
A month packed full of bizarre cases passed, and John had paid no heed to various narratives forming in his head while they examined the more intriguing crime scenes. He set himself up on a Tuesday evening to start typing up the latest case, which involved a selection of unrelated books all with the same oddly printed page at the very back, when he noticed a file he hadn't created, hiding amongst his draft files. Plot ideas.
John's gaze wandered through the kitchen and down to Sherlock's bedroom door. The detective was surely passed out, but there had been a two minute window earlier wherein Sherlock could have hijacked the laptop while John popped down to say hello to Mrs Hudson. Cheeky bastard was quick.
Overcome with curiosity, John clicked on the little lined-page icon.
Somebody had certainly been busy.
1. Use the matchbox case, but instead have it filled with radioactive material that burns anything it comes in contact with. Include Russians, they like such things, don't they?
The doctor sighed and pressed his forehead onto the table in exasperation.
2. Bees. Exploding bees. Robot bees. Bees that make honey that tastes like copper. Basically something to do with bees.
3. Somebody switches all of the street name plates around and chaos erupts among tourists. It results in the killing of thirty two people, and every witness tells of a trio of vagabonds in blue hoods. Turns out to be the narrator's wife. Smoke and mirrors in practice!
4. The narrator kills people in his sleep but doesn't know it. Makes a mistake when on the case and ends up blaming his neighbour. This could possibly already have been made into a film, but you know these things better than I do. Somehow.
5. Describe absolutely everything that we are contractually obliged to keep secret. Basically sell Mycroft out.
6. A homeless woman dies of hypothermia but the next day she is seen perfectly healthy, operating a forklift.
7. You always get twitchy whenever I mention sex, so maybe that could be interesting. Interesting for me to watch you squirm as you write it, I mean. There doesn't even have to be a plot, I just think it would be entertaining. To prove my point- Erect penis. Clitoral stimulation. Cunnilingus. Are you uncomfortable yet?
8. Baskerville, but set in the future. Similar to one of those sci-fi things you seem to like so much.
The list went on to suggest some rather objectionable material that could never be printed, and by the time John finished reading he felt dizzy with bewilderment at Sherlock's bizarre imagination.
"Sherlock Holmes, you have the mind of a twelve year old!"
His flatmate's sleepy laugh rumbled quietly from his bedroom door.
oOoOoOoOo
A week later, an envelope slipped out when Sherlock opened his favoured laptop. Inside was a rough spider diagram with scratchy handwritten notes, all joining to the central idea.
"The Exploding Apis"