John walked up the steps to 221B and began to unlock the front door. He had just gone out for a short stroll. The sun was shining, which was a rare thing to behold lately, and John wanted to take advantage of it. Sherlock insisted on staying inside and thinking about God knows what, so John left.
As John walked in, he was met with Mrs. Hudson who had her shirt over her mouth and nose. John looked at her confused and slightly concerned. Then he understood. A putrid smell filled the air and made John gag. He quickly lifted his own jacket up over his nose.
"What the bloody hell is that awful smell?" John asked, his voice muffled through the jacket.
"I don't know. Sherlock is doing something upstairs. Help fan the air out would you?" John opened the door wide, grabbed a magazine from Mrs. Hudson and fanned the air out. Passersby would linger for a small moment wondering what they could be doing; but the second they caught hold of the smell, the rushed past holding their noses.
"I'll go see what the hell he's up to." John handed her back the magazine and she continued to fan. He walked up the stairs noticing the smell getting stronger and stronger the closer he got. He slowly opened the door to their flat. A small thin line of smoke lingered close to the ceiling. John gaged and almost threw up at the now overwhelming, foul air. John stumbled in. He was shocked as Sherlock popped up from around the corner with a gas mask over his face and gloves on his hands. He waved.
"What ARE you doing?!" John yelled through his jacket. "What is the disgusting smell?!" Sherlock responded, but the mask made his voice so muffled John couldn't hear. "What?" John said. Sherlock motioned for him to come to the kitchen. John followed Sherlock around the corner and to the table.
There on the table laid what looked to be several pieces on charred, blackened bacon. Sherlock picked one up, and it practically disintegrated in his gloved hand.
"You were trying to cook?" John added a rag to his face from one of the drawers. Sherlock said something again, but John still was unable to hear. "For God's sake Sherlock, I can't hear you!" He shouted impatiently. Sherlock lifted the mask from his face. His nose wrinkled and his eyes began to water, but he tried not to show that the smell affected him.
"I had the most intriguing idea last night. I was occupied with my wrinkled shirt, and the idea just came to me. So I went to the morgue and took some samples from a few extremely old people, and came back as soon as I could to carry out the experiment." Sherlock touched another charred meat stick and it cracked.
"So what the hell are you burning?" John asked impatiently. Sherlock reached down and picked up an iron. John shook his head. "Oh God. You didn't."
"I wanted to see if wrinkles on a person could simply be ironed out. I must say the conclusion is rather disappointing." Sherlock looked down at the charred pieces of flesh.