It was a typical London evening, people hurrying out with friends to go to bars, while others began their night shifts, blissfully unaware of the man always watching doing the jobs they'd sustain for the rest of their natural born Life.
And in the kitchen in 221b Baker Street, a certain high functioning sociopath was perched on a chair in front of a cluttered table, stirring around a rather bright blue Concoction and examining the effects of rabies on different parts of the animal brain via Microscope. Just a regular day in the life of Sherlock Holmes.
Another bustled in and out of the kitchen, he had cleaned, scrubbed and washed everything in the flat as Sherlock was not very good at the whole cleanliness thing. This was Dr. John Watson.
He approached the table and ignored the brains all over but focused on Sherlock, he frowned "Holmes, when was the last time you had a bath?" he asked, expecting a reply stating why the genius didn't need a bath when quite truthfully the other stunk to high heavens.
"Because baths are boring. And I'll have one when Molly texts me about the latest addition to the morgue, or when I'm done with this case," Long, thin fingers clutched a pen, writing but not seeing what was down on the paper till cold blue eyes glanced up at his flat mate. "And all those stupid lotions and potions designed to make you 'relax'. I can't do that, can't soften or stop my brain," He stated after, taking a sip of clock cold tea. But John just frowned.
He took the pen from Sherlock and grabbed the back of his shirt, dragging him out of the chair "I'll wash you myself then to make sure you actually get a bath." He Said as he pulled the stubborn detective towards the bathroom, determined to make him bath and maybe just maybe, he would be like a child when he got in the warm water and not want out.
"No! John, get the hell off me!" Sherlock snapped, trying to wriggle out of John's grasp with a frown upon his face. "I will take a bath when I feel like it- now is not that time!" He still tried to get out of the doctor's hold, twisting and turning and punching the other's arm like a child.
"If I leave you to sit there without cleaning you, you will stink enough to kill a cat before you even think a bath would be necessary." John said in a scolding manor before successfully getting Sherlock into the bathroom and locking the door.
Once the door was locked he began to strip the detective of his dirty clothes "Dirt contaminates evidence Sherlock, Why do you think your experiments are more likely to fail when you haven't had a bath in a month." he said as he turned the water on to run the bath, still blocking the door. Sherlock was pouting - keeping his boxers on for his owns sake of dignity.
His brow was furrowed in anger and grey blue eyes watched John with cold fury, crossing his arms over his pale chest. "They'd be perfectly fine John, nothing has happened,"
John let Sherlock keep his boxers on for now until the hot water reached a reasonable depth "get in." He said, not caring about the other's protests, the other stunk like rotting corpses, month old tea and swampy earth, he kept his gaze locked with Sherlock's "Now." he ordered.
Sherlock did step into the bath though, still looking rather grumpy and chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Lord knows what'd happen if Mycroft was watching us,"
John sighed and wet his flatmates hair and began washing with the shampoo they had which seemed that Sherlock never used more than once every two months, he massaged it in, trying to get all of the thick hair on Sherlock's head sufficiently clean.
Sherlock quite liked the feeling of fingers raking through his hair, he didn't speak though, closing his eyes and giving out a sigh as the other washed his curly hair. His mind was still whizzing at a mile an hour as he brought his knee's up to his chest, clamping his arms around them and thinking. John washed Sherlock's hair, he was rather happy to get Sherlock to bathe for once so he slowly washed the other's black curly hair though as the bubbles became thicker his hair seemed to straighten but it would curl when dried again, he knew that much. "Can you please hurry this up?" Sherlock tried to sound annoyed, glaring at John and moving the wet hair that started to fall into his line of vision.
"I am a busy man, and who knows what'll happen if I'm not there to tend to my work." John sighed and washed away the soap with fresh clean water; he smiled and washed Sherlock's back and neck, cleaning off months of dirt, allowing himself to clean the front. Sherlock now started to feel slightly awkward- he imagined this was that 'personal space' thing people often snapped at him for invading. And he was being touched; something
He disliked. He shuffled a little way from John, a warning look on his face. John pulled his hand away "Sorry Sherley but sitting in the water won't get rid of the dirt on you." he washed off the soap and got up, he found the largest towel he could and placed it by the bath "Get out then." he said, as he picked up Sherlock's clothes to wash.
Sherlock still remained in the water, eyes examining fingers that had started to get wrinkly at the tips and he curiously and experimentally licked them. He tapped them against each other, getting up and stepping out of the bathtub. He didn't thank John; that would be like admitting defeat and he wrapped the towel loosely around his waist, slipping off his boxers and adding them to the washing pile. "Now, I must get back to my Experiments."