The Case of the Runaway Bladder
It was a calm, quiet morning in the flat of 221B Baker street; something to be cherished before it was swallowed once again in the drama of the London crime world. Sherlock and John had just finished a case, there were no experiments cluttering up the flat, and the kettle was hot and ready. John sipped his tea-black-and picked up the morning paper. "Anchovy Murderer hooked by Sherlock Holmes and his Blogger"read the front page. John no longer took the time to grimace at the headlines.
As is to be expected after a few generous cups of tea, John keenly felt the urge to urinate. He got up out of his chair and made his way to the small bathroom. He turned the doorknob and leaned, but no push came from his shove. It was locked; he hadn't even heard Sherlock get up. He normally announced his presence ostentatiously with violin music or an experiment gone wrong(though they rarely did, he conceded).
Slightly worried, John tapped on the door calling, "Sherlock?" There was a sudden crash and thump of movement on the other side that made him jump back slightly. "Are you all right in there?"
"Yes." Came the sharp response in a frustrated tone. The next second, the door was open and Sherlock, clad only in his white sheet, was striding past John with no indication of stopping.
"What were you doing in there?" John asked, amused by Sherlock's appearance and sudden though not uncharacteristic moodiness.
The tall man turned around quickly, fixing john with an icy look. "Why don't you deduce that, John. I'm sure even that's not out of your ability," He sniffed. Contempt; what did he feel the need to defend?
The doctor just shook his head, "Alright Sherlock, tea's in the pot." He continued into the bathroom, and did his business. He must have been distracted or off his game though, when he spotted a small puddle on the floor beside the toilet. He wiped it up quickly with a tissue, but froze before tossing it in the bin, spotting something. John's jaw opened slightly wider as the gears whirred in his head. It was an adult diaper. Used. John took a few seconds more to absorb that. Was this Sherlock's?
He collected himself before leaving the loo, getting his thoughts into order and his expression into what he hoped was a casual one.
He sat back down across from Sherlock, who was drinking his tea (two sugars) eyes down towards the newspaper on the table. John cleared his throat. Sherlock didn't look up, and continued sipping his tea delicately.
"Erm," John started rather lamely. This situation had no other way to be than awkward. "I... there was..." He sighed at himself. Sherlock was all but ignoring him. He decided to just spit it out before he could think about what he was saying. "There was an adult diaper in the toilet bin." No response; the dark curls stayed un-bounced and tilted down towards the paper.
"Sherlock." John stated, firmer. "Why was there an adult diaper in our bathroom?"
"For a case." The answer was drawled out absently as though it were the most stunningly obvious thing in the world. John just stared at him for a second, and spluttered a laugh, spraying tea across the table.
"For a case?" He repeated, incredulous. "It's used. It's a used, adult, diaper." He enunciated each word. "Please tell me you didn't take it off some elderly murder victim." John nearly dissolved into giggles at the thought.
"Don't be ridiculous John," He said curtly, cutting him off with his biting tone. "I simply re-created an event to ensure that I was not chasing a futile lead. I need a satisfactory amount of information to get me interested in a case, I do nothing less than a 5 you remember."
John just stared at him some more, eyes narrowing. He couldn't possibly mean..."So, you tested it out then, did you?"
Sherlock's immediate acknowledgement of the statement was an almost imperceptible reddening of the neck. He stood up with his nose in the air, eyeing John and attempting a smile that was more of a scowl. "Given the facts..." He trailed off as he retreated to his room, John's laughter following close behind.