The day started pleasantly enough, as far as Sherlock was concerned, he just couldn't pin-point the exact moment it all started to fall apart. Well, Sherlock supposed, he could. He just couldn't understand why it fell apart.
Sherlock and John had spent a very enjoyable day, in Sherlock's opinion, chasing a particularly wanted criminal all over London. They hadn't stopped for lunch or even a cup of tea. John had grown increasingly quiet as the day got longer.
Finally, the bad guy was handed over to Lestrade, with minimal sarcastic comments from Sherlock on New Scotland Yard's deplorable inability to catch their own criminals. Sherlock had cheerful pontificated on the general inadequacies of the police in the cab on the way home. John had even laughed softly at some of his comments. It was when they got home that things went wrong.
John had gone straight to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. "Sherlock,"
"Mmm hmmm?"
"We're out of tea. You're supposed to tell me if we're out of tea."
"I did tell you!" Sherlock's tone was faintly indignant.
"When?"
"Last night, about 11."
"I went to bed at 10.30!"
Sherlock sniffed, "It's not my fault you don't listen."
The cupboard door slammed shut, causing Sherlock to jump.
"Jesus Christ! Is it too much to ask for some fucking consideration around here? Strike that, yes it fucking is. Only person in this flat who appears to matter is Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Brat!"
Sherlock stared wide-eyed as John stomped across the living room and threw himself on the sofa. John rolled on his side, presenting his backside to the world in general, and Sherlock in particular.
Sherlock was perplexed. "John?" His voice was tentative.
His only reply was a barely audible grump from the sofa. He wandered over and stood behind John. Sherlock reached out to poke John in the back.
"Don't even think about it!" The growl came from amongst the cushions.
Puzzled, Sherlock backed up and headed out the door. Mrs Hudson would know what to do!
Sherlock raced down the stairs to their landlady's flat. She came out in response to his repeated hammering on her door. "What is it, Sherlock?"
"There is something wrong with John."
"Is he sick?"
"I don't know." Sherlock turned puppy dog eyes on Mrs Hudson. "Can you have a look at him, please?"
"I'm your landlady, dear, not a doctor."
"I know, but you know people and… I don't." Mrs Hudson could see what that admission had cost Sherlock.
"All right dear."
Sherlock followed Mrs Hudson back up the stairs to 221B. Whatever was wrong with John, he was sure she could fix it.
Martha Hudson looked with amusement at the sight before her. She turned her amused gaze on Sherlock. "There's nothing wrong, Sherlock. John is sulking. You should have recognized the symptoms." Mrs Hudson could barely keep the laughter out of her voice.
Sherlock was taken aback. "Sulking? But John doesn't sulk. Make him stop it!"
"And how do you propose I do that?"
"I don't know! There must be some way."
"Well, when my late son used to sulk I found a smart whack on the bottom with a wooden spoon helped."
Sherlock noticed that John's spine stiffened. "Could you do that?" he asked hopefully, eager to get his friend back and be rid of this strange creature on the sofa.
Mrs Hudson chuckled. "I could. But just remember one thing… the next time you sulk the wooden spoon will come out again."
Sherlock stared at her, aghast. "That's not fair!"
"Neither is asking me to spank John."
"I didn't ask that!" Sherlock protested. Mrs Hudson merely raised an eyebrow. "All right, maybe I did," Sherlock grudgingly admitted. "But how do I get John to stop sulking?"
"Maybe do something nice for him? Like going and buying the tea you used but didn't replace."
Sherlock gave Mrs Hudson a blank look for a moment, then grinned. "Something nice. Yes. Tea. Yes. That's it. Thank you, Mrs Hudson." He kissed her cheek, grabbed his coat and scarf and ran down the steps.
Mrs Hudson walked across to the sofa and patted John's shoulder. "Come along dear, I'll make you a nice cup of tea."
John rolled over and sat up. He grinned up at their landlady. "What would you have done if Sherlock had insisted you use the wooden spoon?" he asked curiously.
Mrs Hudson's eyes held a wicked sparkle, "Tested it on him first." John giggled as Mrs Hudson went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, then trotted downstairs to fetch some of her own teabags.
SUPERMARKET
Sherlock grabbed a basket as he dashed through the doors. He followed the directions to the aisle with the tea and coffee, and then stopped in confusion. There was so much tea. What brand did they use, he wondered. Sherlock had never taken any notice of the packaging. He could be in trouble here. Thoughtfully he scanned the shelves. It was evening, so buying English Breakfast tea was probably not a good idea. Or he could buy it for breakfast, and buy something else for now. Yes, that would do it. Sherlock grabbed two different packets of teabags from the shelves and tossed them into the basket. Then he turned back, and grabbed a packet of the interestingly named Lapsang Souchong. Maybe it would taste as interesting as it sounded.
Right, that was tea, now for the milk. He dashed frantically to the other end of the shop. If Sherlock had thought that there was a lot of tea available, he was totally bewildered by the riches of the dairy department. Full cream, half cream, full fat, no fat, low fat, goat's milk, soy milk, rice milk. How the hell did they make milk out of rice anyway? Sherlock was sure that if he looked hard enough there would be a carton of ferret's milk in there somewhere.
After several minutes of careful perusal, Sherlock selected one low fat and one full cream. He wished he could remember John's preferred brands. It was so boring that he hadn't bothered storing it in his mind palace. Perhaps he may need to create a special room for groceries, if John was going to continue to sulk on a regular basis.
Milk sorted, Sherlock wandered back to where the biscuits were arranged. This would be easier because they both liked the same biscuits. A packet of Jaffa cakes and a packet of chocolate coated HobNobs went into the basket.
Sherlock headed to the checkout, pausing briefly by the beer aisle. Sherlock didn't care for it, but John was fond of the occasional beer. A present of beer should end the sulk, even if the tea didn't. Now here was a problem. Sherlock had no idea at all what sort of beer John drank. John mostly did his drinking at the pub with Lestrade. Sherlock grabbed three six-packs of different types of beer. There must be one of them that John would like, Sherlock thought hopefully.
Another brief pause elicited the information that a popular brand of chocolate was on special. Several blocks of the chocolate went into the basket, then Sherlock headed for the checkout and then back home.
BAKER STREET
Sherlock struggled to exit the taxi whilst juggling his truly enormous mound of groceries. His eye had been caught by an artful display of baked beans right beside the checkout. He was regretting his folly as the damn things weighed a ton. Sherlock sighed, no wonder John complained about having to do all the shopping. This was becoming an increasingly more hateful experience with every passing moment.
"Need a hand, little brother?"
"Not from you," Sherlock replied rudely.
Mycroft shook his head and smiled. "Manners, Sherlock, please."
Sherlock sniffed. "What do you want, Mycroft?"
"Oh nothing much, I just came to give you this." He handed a small plastic bag to Sherlock. Sherlock opened it cautiously. It contained a small packet of teabags and a bottle of milk." He glared at his brother.
Mycroft's smile broadened a little. "Our good doctor's preferred brands, brother mine." He turned to leave, "Do congratulate John on his impressive little tantrum. It was most entertaining." Mycroft strolled away swinging his umbrella.
Sherlock sighed and gathered up the groceries. He felt miserable, the tea and milk Mycroft had given him were not any of the brands he had bought. John was going to be disappointed in him. He hated disappointing John.
Wearily, Sherlock dragged the bags upstairs. John heard him coming and opened the door. He looked at the bags that Sherlock dumped unhappily on the table. "What's all this?"
"I didn't know what brands to get, so I got several choices," Sherlock muttered.
John rummaged around in the bags and let out a delighted squeak. "Lapsang Souchong! My favourite!"
Sherlock shot him a puzzled look. "But that wasn't in the bag that Mycroft gave me."
John quirked an eyebrow, "Mycroft?"
"He was waiting for me downstairs, with that bag." Sherlock indicated the smallest of the bags. John picked it up. "Mycroft said they were your preferred brands." Sherlock's voice sounded a little sulky.
John opened the bag and began to laugh.
"What? What is it?" Sherlock hated being left out.
John grinned, "Your brother is an idiot."
"I know that, but how can you tell that from a packet of teabags and a bottle of milk?"
"Mycroft has probably never had to budget in his life. I buy these brands because they are the cheapest, not because I really like them."
"Oh!" Sherlock was speechless.
John continued to scramble through the bags. "Oh! You got beer! Indian takeaway for dinner, then. Beer goes well with Indian food." He grinned at Sherlock. "Will you join me in a beer with dinner, we can toast the idiocy of Mycroft."
Sherlock grinned at his friend's excitement over a few groceries. "What happened to your sulk?"
"Ended after you walked out the door and Mrs Hudson made me a cuppa with her teabags. I'm a different man with a cup of tea in me."
Sherlock tilted his head, absorbing this information. "Does the brand of tea make a difference?"
"Make a difference to what?" John was stacking cans of baked beans on the table with a fond smile on his face. Trust Sherlock to go out for teabags and milk and come home with half the supermarket.
"The type of man you are." Sherlock's grin was mischievous.
"Don't know. Never really thought about it."
"Good thing I bought three different types of tea. Maybe with experimentation we can find a John Watson who doesn't sulk."
"That's easy Sherlock, any sort of tea will do that."
"Mmmm. Perhaps. I think this calls for an in-depth study. I'll need to make another trip to the supermarket tomorrow. For more research material, you understand."
John laughed and reached for the takeaway menu. "Whatever makes you happy, Sherlock."
One thing was certain, with Sherlock experimenting they were unlikely to run out of tea anytime soon.
Author's Note: This one came about from comments on a photo of John - in black coat, scarf and leather gloves getting in touch with his inner Sherlock, prompting the thought what if John started sulking like Sherlock does? The result of that speculation you have just read. Thank you. :)
I owe special thanks to Rebecca for her input on English supermarkets, and to Andrea - my wonderful beta reader.