Sherlock was immensely bored.
There had been no cases for the past two weeks; nothing that wasn't easily solved that is. They had all been simple, too easy. So many mistakes and clues left behind. It was maddening. Detective Inspector Lestrade was certainly happy having Sherlock out of his hair and with so many simple cases; his job was easier than ever.
Mrs Hudson had at least sympathized with him, the first week she kept him company and made him tea while John was at his shifts at the clinic. When the second week rolled around though, she had to be off to her sisters for a visit, leaving Sherlock alone during the day and in total agony.
Being alone of course was not the problem; it was the shear amount of nothing to do. He only had two current experiments; one requiring very little observation, the other, none for the time being. There was nothing to read or research upon, whether for a case or otherwise, and there was certainly nothing on television.
All he was left to do was lie in his dressing gown, fingers steepled, and await John's return with the shopping.
John had, of course, no sympathy for Sherlock; he was enjoying his time off, or at least acted like it, Sherlock could see the restlessness start to grow in him after the first week. Either way, he entertained the idea that this was good for Sherlock; time off.
In the silence of the flat and Sherlock thinking of how incredibly not good it was, the thumping of John coming up the stairs could easily be heard. There was a small pause where John had to shuffle things around in his arms to get a free hand to open the door, and then he was inside. Taking a short look around the room before his eyes landed on Sherlock, and then commencing to roll, he went off to the kitchen.
"I suppose it was silly of me to think you might actually help me for once." John remarked, jokingly, after setting down his larger than usual haul from the store. Sherlock did get up once everything was set down; deciding to inspect what had been bought.
John appeared to be taking advantage of the unusual amount of space in the fridge. How he thought he was going to eat all of this was unknown, seeing as Sherlock was almost certainly not going to contribute. It was a considerable amount of food, though, Sherlock noticed, something seemed to be missing.
"Milk." Sherlock mumbled standing over the kitchen table, half watching John put up the various groceries.
"Hmm? What was that?" John took a momentary pause to look back at Sherlock from over his shoulder before turning back round.
"You seemed to have forgotten the milk again." Sherlock's eyes rose from the table up to John's. He knew he would be annoyed; he always was.
John stopped trying to find a place in the cabinet for the canned soups, lowering his reaching hands and coming of the balls of his feet. He just stood for a moment and then sighed. "I'll go back out after I finish putting these things up, okay, Sherlock?"
Sherlock was confused; John normally swore quickly and then went back to what he was doing when the missing milk was pointed out and seemingly dismissing it, but the milk always appeared with John the next day after his clinic hours.
Never, though, had John gotten upset. He was still turned away, but he was just standing, one hand resting on the counter, the other still lightly holding the can of soup. It would have been obvious to anyone that he was upset over this, which was part of the reason Sherlock was confused; the other part being, 'Why would he be upset over milk?'
After another short sigh, John went back to trying to find a place for the soup cans. Sherlock took this as a good sign and commented "You don't have to do that, it's not the first time you've forgotten, you can just do what you always do and pick it up tomorrow."
"Fine. Whatever. "John replied, going slightly stiff and starting to shuffle things in the cabinet more hurriedly. Sherlock spied a spot perfect for the cans and, knowing John could never reach, walked over quickly and held out his hand.
John only gave him a quick glance before returning his glare to the cabinet and giving a short "What?"
"I'll put the cans on the top shelf seeing as you can't reach." Sherlock explained, flexing his fingers for emphasis.
John stopped abruptly and turned to Sherlock, brow furrowed. "Fine. Do it yourself, seeing as I'm clearly no help." He slapped the can into Sherlock's hand and turned, stomping to his room, slamming the door.
Sherlock just looked off after him before tuning and stowing all the cans in their rightful place on the shelf. 'Milk and soup. What strange things to get upset over.'
The whole scene earlier with Sherlock had been much more dramatic than he had wanted or intended, but he certainly couldn't change it now. It had been about twenty minutes of him sitting in his room, his anger seeping away after the first five.
The whole thing had been foolish and immature. What silly things for him to get so upset over; milk and soup. It had been the fourth time for him to forget the milk since coming here though, and while it was silly, he couldn't help that it grated on his nerves more every time.
It may have been because it made him feel his age, or because he always felt foolish in front of Sherlock, or it could have just been that it meant he couldn't have cereal in the morning as he was accustomed.
It didn't matter what the reasoning behind it was; he had snapped at Sherlock and thought he may not care or even have noticed, John felt like he owed him an apology.
He was prepared to get up from his chair when there was a light buzzing from his dresser. Getting up he picked up his phone to find a text waiting for him
Case. No time to get you. –SH
John considered not replying, figuring it wouldn't matter anyway, but he still felt responsible for earlier and thought he might as well be courteous.
Should I catch up with you? –JW
The buzzing came quickly with his reply.
No need. –SH
John decided to take this as Sherlock giving him space and simply not wanting or needing him.
He set his phone back down and went downstairs to make himself some tea and prepare for a long night of alone time.
Only about thirty minutes after he had settled with his mug in hand, John heard someone dashing up the stairs. He would have been startled if he had time, but Sherlock came rushing through the doorway and took a quick turn into the kitchen. John got up just in time to see him stowing away something in the fridge.
"What are you doing home? What about that case of yours?" John took a long sip of his tea, now gone cold.
"Six at best. Lestrade made it sound much more interesting than it turned out to be." Sherlock replied. He went back into the main room, taking off his scarf and coat as he went and hanging them on their respectful hooks.
John set down his empty mug in the sink and walked over to the fridge, opening it cautiously in case the experiment was especially gruesome.
Though what he found was far better. Not an experiment at all, but, right there on the top shelf tucked in the back, was four pints of milk.
A smile crept on John's face but he tried to sound casual as he said "Sherlock? Did you buy milk?"
Sherlock looked over from where he was perched in his chair, already back in his dressing gown and staring at the television in disgust "Hmm? Oh, yes. It was on the way back from Scotland Yard and I figured I'd save you the trouble."
John's smile widened as he shut the refrigerator door and recalled that, in the ten blocks between their flat and Scotland Yard, there was not one Tesco's.