Title: stripes, zebra or otherwise
Character/Pairing: Sherlock Holmes, Joan Watson
Genre: Gen, humour, domestic
Rating: G
Wordcount: 312
On average it takes sixty-five seconds from the moment Joan steps into the brownstone to reach her bedroom, assuming that she isn't delayed by a detour to the kitchen and doesn't check in on him, and ten seconds to ten minutes for her to notice any books or materials he has placed within it for her edification. Today Joan notices the addition in fifteen seconds and, half a minute later and a total of a minute and fifty seconds after walking through the door, she appears at the sitting room entrance.
"Neon zebra stripe socks Sherlock, really?" He should have anticipated that she would bring them down with her, but Joan's aim is getting better and they land squarely in his lap.
"We lose, on average, one sock per fortnight to the washing machine. Since we both abhor wearing mixed socks, thus condemning the odd ones to either be used as blackjacks or soft projectiles in our martial practise sessions, I got some new ones to make up for the ones lost since you moved in." Half of that she already knows; he'd asked if the bean- and rice-filled socks were an acceptable substitute for tennis balls two weeks ago.
"You haven't complained about the stripy ones though," he points out, idly stripping the socks of their packaging and rolling them up.
"They're normal stripes. Not neon pink zebra ones," Joan says, catching them easily enough when he aims at her and idly tossing them from hand to hand for a moment.
"If you want, you may swap the objectionable pairs for some of the striped ones I got for myself."
He probably deserves the face full of sock, since Joan has shown no appreciation for more ostentatiously coloured clothing, but he's pleased to confirm his estimate that it takes twenty-five seconds for Joan to reach his bedroom from the sitting room.