"You've got to get this head out of the fridge, Sherlock!" John called from the kitchen, exasperated.
"No."
"Sorry...what?"
"I said no. That head is staying in the fridge."
John sighed and leaned against the counter. "Please, Sherlock. It's making the flat smell weird."
"No it isn't."
John closed his eyes and inhaled. "It is, Sherlock. What do you even need it for?"
"It's an experiment, John, how many times do I have to tell you?"
"What is it an experiment for, though?"
Sherlock stayed on the sofa, eyes fixated on something no-one else could see.
"Well?" John asked, slightly impatiently. Sherlock leapt up and strode into the kitchen.
"Fine. The head isn't an experiment. But it's my head, and I like it. So the head stays." Sherlock grabbed the decomposing cranium from the fridge, and cradled it like a baby.
"It's a head, Sherlock!" John stared at the lanky man hugging his disembodied head with such determination. If John wasn't so annoyed, it would've been humorous.
"Can you keep it somewhere else though? Please?"
"But John..." Sherlock moaned. He sounded like a child having a tantrum. "If I keep it anywhere else we'll get flies, and I know how much that annoyed you with the hand."
He was right. The hand was absolutely vile. John had to throw it out of the window whilst Sherlock was out.
"Fine, fine. But keep it away from my cheese!"
Two weeks later, Sherlock was just entering the flat. Something was different. The flat smelled clean and fresh. Instinctively, Sherlock charged up the stairs.
"John!" He roared. "What have you done with my head!"
Sherlock flung open the door to the front room, to find John sitting quite calmly in his armchair.
"I did warn you to keep it away from my cheese."
"IT WASN'T ANYWHERE NEAR YOUR CHEESE!"
"Sherlock, it was sitting right on top of it, oozing some delicious looking fluids." John replied sarcastically.
Sherlock threw himself onto the sofa, having what John referred to as a Sherlock tantrum. A Sherlock tantrum could last for days, and was best avoided at all costs.
"Here." John dropped a freezer box at Sherlock's feet. Still refusing to speak, Sherlock leaned down slowly and opened it.
"My head!" Sherlock cried, grinning at the scalp that was just visible under the ice.
"Now keep it in that box, Sherlock. And leave the fridge for food. Okay?"
Sherlock nodded absent-mindedly, still gazing wistfully at his decapitated head.
The next morning, John was preparing some toast for his breakfast. Opening the fridge, and smiling at the utter lack of bodily juices. He grabbed the butter and the jam, and moved back over to the counter. Ten seconds later there was a crash as something hit the floor, followed by John bellowing up to Sherlock's room.
"Why the HELL is there a FOOT in the butter?"