Many thanks for MapleLeafCameo (If you want to read something wonderful go and read her piece Ordinary Day but bring a hanky!) for staying up a little later so she could look through this for me.
I do not own them so I cannot profit from them.
After the fourth grumble, Sherlock decided to look up from his experiment and turned his attention to the angry flatmate currently in their living room. John was sitting in his chair, hands clenched on the arm rests. The consulting detective got up from his perch in the kitchen and moved to settle down opposite his friend.
Once seated, Sherlock took a few moments to take in what information he could before John drew him into conversation. He did not have to wait long.
"What?" John asked, frustration evident in his voice.
Sherlock shrugged his bony shoulders before answering.
"While experimenting on the pianist's fingers Molly gave me I could not help but hear your agitation and have come to find out what has annoyed you. Considering your laptop is on your knees, a blank document page is open and I have heard you forcefully choose the backspace button multiple times in the past have hour, might I conclude you are having difficulty with your writing?"
John turned his face towards the fireplace while he took a breath and let the tension slowly bleed from his fingertips upwards.
"I am trying to write a short story for Mrs. Hudson's birthday but I can't think of anything to write!"
Sherlock steepled his fingers and rested the tips against the bottom of his lips.
"What style of piece are you attempting to create?"
John turned his face again once more, this time towards their sofa as his face took on a red tinge.
Sherlock rolled his eyes before closing them. "John, John, John. Please tell me you are not attempting to write a romantic piece of fiction."
The man whose ears were as red as the rest of his profile cleared his throat. That was enough to make the consulting detective groan.
"Do all of us a favour, John and write our good landlady one of the cases you have yet to post online, if you insist on giving her such a gift. Your success in that genre has been proven by the popularity your blog has had over the past five years."
The good doctor sat stunned for a moment. It was a rare occurrence for Sherlock give a compliment, especially one that was not accompanied by an insult. A minute ticked by on a nearby clock.
Sherlock finally pushed himself out of his seat and started back towards the kitchen, patting John on the shoulder as he passed.
Feeling energized by the faith his flat mate had in him, John decided to start anew. As he searched for a case that would work, Sherlock suddenly called out.
"I would recommend writing up the case of the strangled ballerina. It will appeal to Mrs. Hudson's fondness for the art as well as highlight your ability to write the ridiculous melodrama you are famous for. After all, stupid people love the sensational."
John smacked his right palm against his forehead. And there it was.
