John sifted through the piles of books and various other items. He couldn't find his hat—again. Sherlock had a well-organized mind, but his flat was extremely different. Whenever John tried to clean up a little, Sherlock would come home from working a case and declare everything messed up irreparably. Then he would proceed to scramble all of John's hard work into an unrecognizable pile of clutter.
He continued to rifle through the piles of junk. So that's where his laptop got to. Oh, and here was that old jar of jam he'd lost so long ago. John dipped his finger into the jar—Still good. He scoured the entire flat until he had a sudden thought. Cautiously, he picked his way into the kitchen and hesitantly opened the refrigerator door. His mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. In the freezer sat a bald human head. Lo and behold, there was his hat was perched on top of a bald head. He threw up his hands in frustration. This was his favorite hat.
Angrily, he knocked over piles of books on his way to his plush white chair. Scooping all the clutter up, he threw it across the room. He grabbed his laptop and powered it up impatiently. He was going to write such an article for his blog. Finally, they would know how impossible the great Sherlock Holmes was to be around. He clicked open the internet, signed into his blog and…
The doctor couldn't bring himself to write it. He let out a long sigh and held his head in his hands. Just then, a certain consulting detective barged in, throwing his coat and scarf on the coat rack before slouching into his elegant chair across from John. The doctor stared hard at his laptop, not looking at Sherlock. He, of course, did not notice this and went into detail about today's case, why it was so childish and obvious. John merely grunted, not responding or asking questions like usual. Sherlock paused, mid-sentence.
"Is something bothering you?" he asked curiously.
"Nothing," John said shortly.
"No. I can determine by your tone and posture that there is, in fact, something troubling you. This is unproductive for you as well as myself. It would be best if we were to assess the problem and continue on with our lives."
John stared at him for a moment. He forced a smile onto his face. "Have you seen my good hat lying around anywhere lately?"
"It is in the refrigerator," Sherlock said calmly.
"Yes. I know that. What I want to know is why. Why is in the refrigerator?"
"It was an experiment," the consulting detective said ever so calmly.
"What kind of bloody experiment involves hats on a dead man!" he demanded.
Sherlock was genuinely puzzled. He could solve the hardest of cases. There was no puzzle he could not solve. Sometimes, though, John was a complete mystery. He had never seen John wear that hat in the long course of their partnership, so he had assumed that it held no value. What could have possibly set the doctor off like this? Sherlock closed his eyes and entered the depths of his memory. He recalled everything John had ever said about the hat. There wasn't much to go on. His eyes snapped open suddenly.
"John, I forgot." He walked into the small kitchen and lifted the hat from the man's head. Truthfully, he hadn't needed the hat all that much. The only reason he had taken the hat was to cover the dead man's baldness. The light he was using to examine the head with reflected off the hairless, smooth surface making it hard to take down the needed measurements.
"I apologize," he said, handing the stunned doctor the hat.
The doctor was flustered. "Well, yes, thank you," he said, stumbling over the words. He would have sooner thought Lestrade a ballerina before he thought Sherlock would ever apologize for something. The consulting detective merely nodded.
"I didn't mean to cause—," Sherlock began slowly.
"It's fine, Sherlock," John interrupted.
"I didn't realize this would bother—," he started again.
"It's fine. Honestly, Sherlock."
"Well, alright," the consulting detective said, puzzled. John got up to walk away, patting Sherlock's shoulder gently as he passed.