Sherlock was sitting, brooding in his chair. "You know," said Watson, "There are better things to do than sit around in your dressing gown all day." Sherlock beamed and began to undo the top button. "No, no," John quickly added, "I mean getting out and about and stuff."
"Stuff?" replied Sherlock, eyebrows raised.
"Yeah, you know, going to the shops. Walks in the park."
"Do you think me a dog, John?"
"No."
"Then please refrain from suggesting walks in the park twice a day." Sherlock sighed and rustled his hair.
"You should get that cut too, you know," added John, walking over to him, their faces beside each other in the mirror.
"What's wrong with it?" protested Sherlock.
"It's messy. You know, uncombed."
"I don't see anything wrong with it."
"Sherlock, you don't seem to see anything wrong with keeping body parts in the fridge either. Just trust me, OK? You do the deducing, I'll do the styling. No one's going to hire a detective who can't even tell he's got dandruff."
"Dan who?" Sherlock replied. John gasped and pulled a comb out of his trouser pocket. "I can see I'll have to do this for you as well." He combed out the thick, wavy locks of Sherlock's hair.
"What else is there that you do for me?" he suddenly asked.
"What, you mean apart from making your bed, doing your washing, ironing your clothes, buying the food and stringing your violin? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" John replied. There was a pause. Suddenly, Sherlock looked up at him.
"Am I to take this as a complaint?" he asked.
"It wouldn't be a complaint, Sherlock," he said, "if the only way to register anything with you wasn't by hitting you over the head. But since you're asking, yes, it is a complaint."
"Oh," replied Sherlock, looking puzzled into the mirror. A slap on his brow disrupted his thoughts.
"Wake up, silly! Stop day dreaming!" complained John.
"I do not day dream. I contemplate!" retorted Sherlock, "And when was the last time you did that?"
"Look," replied John, "All I'm asking is that you try things my way for a day. Just try being normal."
"Normal? Why on earth would I want to be normal?" Sherlock protested.
"I don't know. It's a change from being a criminal ass-kicker."
"Ass-kicker?"
"I'm not going to give you rational reasons, Sherlock," he said, "I'm going for a walk in the park. You're more than welcome to join me." John started to put his shirt back on.
"Ok, ok!" replied Sherlock, "Fine. It could make an interesting monologue – 'Sherlock Holmes on Monotony.'"
"Good," said John, "Now put your clothes on."
Half an hour later, they were dressed and ready and another half hour later, they were in the park.
"Just look at it, Sherlock," exclaimed John, "breath in the fresh air, take in the sounds and smells."
"I'd much prefer the scent of smell of cigarettes to any of your twittering birds and blossoming trees," grumbled Sherlock.
"Ok, what is it now?" replied John.
"John, for the past thirty two minutes, you have done nothing but describe the trees, the grass, and every other member of flora and fauna imaginable. You have a gift for observation, clearly. But the truth is, you have failed to make some very elementary deductions."
"Such as?" replied John.
"Firstly, the men's lavs are not closed. True, the gate was shut but the door down the steps was open. My own estimation would be a drug deal."
"How do you know it's a drug deal?" asked John, astonished.
"My dealer recommends it. Secondly, whilst we were sitting on the park bench about twelve minutes ago, that kindly old gentleman with the cute little 'poochiepie' as you so described it, made an intimate study of the contents of your jacket pocket and following that, made off with your mobile, having judged your wallet to be too meagre in value to steal. Thirdly, we have been holding hands for ten minutes now and you have failed to undertake the appropriate action."
"And what is that?" asked John.
"Come now," replied Sherlock, "You can't expect me to tell you everything."
"Well, what am I going to do about my wallet?" exclaimed John.
"I told you," replied Sherlock, "He didn't take the wallet – it was too cheap. I wouldn't worry about the mobile. It'll turn up sooner or later."
John looked down at the ground. "Of course, I can let go, if you want me to," added Sherlock in a quiet voice. A firm squeeze of his hand told him to be silent. They walked for a few more minutes, when they came to a turn in the path.
"Come on, it's this way back to the flat," John said.
"No, no," said Sherlock, "Let's go this way."
"That'll take us to the other end of the street, Sherlock!" complained John.
"Don't worry, we can always walk back round," replied Sherlock. They walked on until they saw the exit gate. Suddenly, the old man with the dog passed in front of them, and, with a flick of his foot, Sherlock tripped him, catching the flying mobile as he fell. "Not yours," he added and took John's hand as he stepped over the groaning man. "Take better care of it next time," said Sherlock, handing the phone to John. John took it in his left hand and Sherlock, gripping his right, said, "You know, John, if you like, we could do this again tomorrow."
"Yeah," replied John smiling, "Maybe we could." They walked off, both smiling contentedly as John's left hand reached with the mobile to his jacket pocket and let the phone slip down easily and unknowingly, down, past it, onto the grass.