Sherlock walked into the dusty store. It seemed like ages since anyone walked into it, which wasn't odd since it was at the edge of town. The floor was covered in dirt and the lights flickered every few minutes, but since he was on a case in this part of town anyway, he thought he might as well pass his time there, maybe buy some eggs and milk.
The overweight cashier with the oil stain on his shirt nodded his head in Sherlock's direction. As Sherlock observed, he was obviously living with a stripper and stole money from the cash register. He walked down the aisles, moving slowly and looking at the things on the shelves. When he got to the milk, he flipped over the cartons and saw the expiration date on all of them was between 10-15 days ago. Grimacing, he moved on to the next isle. He walked by a few jars of peanut butter, jam and other things stacked up against the wall when he saw a little boy with a red balloon standing in front of some jars who's contents he could not see.
"Mummy, please please buy me one!" He said to his mother, who peered around the aisle to see her child trying to reach a jar on a shelf to high for him.
"Sweety, no, how many times do I have to tell you you'll get bored of it in a week?" She answered. She then came up to the pouting child and took his hand, guiding him away from Sherlock with an apologetic smile. Sherlock, know partially curious, went to see what the boy wanted so badly.
On every shelf, in every glass jar, was a small person. Almost identical to each other, they all seemed to be doing different things: sleeping, exercising, watching Sherlock. He was surprised. He'd never seen such a curious thing, were they even real? Surely they weren't legal. The consulting detective looked at the label on one of the jars, picking it up: John- the best friend anyone can have: he walks, talks, and listens!
Sherlock then looked at the minuscule creature looking him in the eyes: he had blond hair, dark blue-ish eyes and was wearing a light colored jumper covered in a red cardigan. The John was leaning against the glass, looking hopefully up at Sherlock. He was obviously already picked up many times, but always put back on the shelf. His eyes seemed to be asking "will you be the one to take me home? Free me from my jar?" And even the emotionless robot holding the glass jar felt like his heart melted a little as the tiny man stared at him. He wondered, how many people had picked him up, raised his hopes and then set him down back on the shelf, waiting for the next person to choose him out of the tens of other, identical creatures? He walked back to the cash register, John in hand, and laid the jar on the table. "How much?" He asked, not making eye contact with the cashier as he took out his wallet.
"Ah, good choice. Johns are really cute and good friends, I'm sure your son will love him-"
"I don't have a son, and I asked how much he costs, not what he is, I read the label." Sherlock said, cutting him off. The cashier, raising an eyebrow, told Sherlock the price. He left the money on the table and walked out, stuffing the glass jar into his inner jacket pocket.
When he got to 221b Baker Street that evening, he took the jar out and put it on his kitchen table. The John, who seemed to have fallen asleep, sat up and rubbed his eyes. Sherlock sat down by the table and placed his chin on it, eye-level with his newest purchase. The John stood up and leaned against the glass, looking the detective in the eyes. After a few moments, Sherlock unscrewed the lid of the jar and picked up the John by the back of his collar, placing him on the table.
The John sat down, stretching his legs in front if him and leaning in the jar behind him.
"Hello." Sherlock said quietly.
"Hello." The John said in a small, high voice.
"I'm Sherlock."
"I'm John."
"I know."
They sat in silence, just staring at each other. After a while, the John opened his mouth to say something, but closed it after a moments thought.
"What?" Sherlock snapped. Ugh, why did I buy this? Dull, he thought to himself.
"I was just wondering, why you bought me? Most people buy Johns because they have children, and you... Don't seem the type."
Sherlock shrugged.
"I don't know, it seemed interesting, the fact that we now sell miniature people. Isn't it against the law?" He asked. The John, scratched his chin.
"I don't know. I don't think so, but I don't really remember where I came from, so I can't say. My first memory is from the store."
Sherlock nodded.
"Isn't it a bit claustrophobic, sitting for weeks, even months in a closed jar?"
"Not really, I have some holes in the lid and I am used to the small space, so I'm fine." He said, looking around the room.
They sat for a while, Sherlock watching the small man look around the room, absorbing his new surroundings, his new home. After a few minutes, Sherlock got bored. He looked at his watch. Nine fifteen.
"Are you hungry?" He asked the John.
"No, I usually get fed around eleven, so I get hungry around that time."
Sherlock nodded. Suddenly, his phone rang.
Thank god, he thought as he took it out, looking at the caller ID. Lestrade.
"Yes?" He asked.
"There's been another one."
"Another what? You know I don't read the papers."
"You know what I'm talking about. The suicides?"
"Oh, yes. Where do I go?"
"Follow my car."
With that, Sherlock hung up.
"Haha!" He said, jumping in the air.
The John raised an eyebrow at him.
"I'm a detective," he explained.
"And there's been a fourth suicide, exactly like the others! Ha! It must be Christmas." He said, picking up the John in his hands.
"Are you interested in coming with me?" He asked the small man.
"I've lived my whole life in a small jar, watching people walk past me, look at me for a second then continue with their life, never having the ability to join them."
"So the answer is..?" Sherlock asked, although he was fairly sure he knew it.
"Oh god, yes."