A Study In Luck

One

Fortunately, Unfortunately.

Hi guys,

This story was written as collaboration between myself, and a most estimable fellow, my best friend, Mazha Da Badger AKA (.net/u/2919158/Person_without_a_FF_N_account). Hope you enjoy, and remember we own nothing! ;),

Fisheh and Fiyah XOXOXOOXOXOXOXOXOXOOX

'Sherlock!'

'Nrmmphh...'

'Get Up!'

'Flerrrgghh...'

'The house is on fire!'

'Tell me about it tomorrowww, Johnn...'

John had a brainwave.

'You've got a case!'

'WHOOPEE! WHERE? WHO?' Sherlock was up and dancing like an enchanted truncheon. 'WHAT WAS THE MURDER WEAPON?'

John smirked and went to forage for milk.

'Oh...' Sherlock groaned and went over to the table. 'What's for breakfast?'

'Just cereal, I'm afraid'.

'How dismal..'

'We don't have any bread, because someone refused to go shopping.'

Sherlock merely grunted, as if intelligible words weren't worth wasting on John. He seated himself, and began eating cornflakes out of the packet.

'Sherlock! Save some for me!' said John, hastily retrieving the packet.

'Errr... that stuff is disgusting, John, how long's it been in the cupboard?'

John glanced at the best before date, his eyebrows raised.

'I deduce from your facial expression that it belonged to the tenants before us'.

'Quite so... I might just go over to Sarah's for breakfast.'

'What? And leave me here with half a packet of mouldy cornflakes and less than a quarter of a carton of milk, I don't think so!'

John gave up on that conversation and began pouring water from kettle into two mugs.

'I have to go to St. Bart's today, pick up some results.'

'Oh, so you do have something to do when I'm out'.

'Not really, just clearing up a few lose ends.'

'Then you'll go shopping?'

'NO!'

'Sherlock, if you put it off one more time, we'll be eating fluff and toenail clippings'.

'I wouldn't mind'.

'Yes, you would Sherlock, our current quoter of food consists of those cornflakes, that milk, and a bendy carrot that smells a bit-'

'All right, all right, I'll go shopping!'

John smiled in silent victory. 'I'll write you a list, shall I?'

Sherlock wasn't listening, he was examining yesterday's edition of the paper for ''orrible' murders.

Sherlock shrugged his coat on and pulled the scarf ends through their loop. John had all ready gone out, leaving (or rather planting) a piece of crumpled notebook paper in Sherlock's coat pocket. Sherlock dug it out grudgingly, read it and snorted at the contents.

'Pah! Liver! We won't be getting any of that!'

Sherlock went about a hundred yards with the list before disposing of it in the litter bin at the end of Baker Street.

After going to retrieve a trolley, Sherlock made for the automatic doors. They took their time, opening only a millisecond before the detective reached them. He hesitated only a moment, and after dissolving the wince from his face, Sherlock proceded.

Sherlock started well, by procuring a loaf of bread and some marmalade (John's favourite). He bought coleslaw, mint sauce, a chicken, some cheese and a romcom. But then he spotted a carousel by the cereal, sporting a large number of ballerina dolls with unnaturally large eyes.

'What,' said Sherlock to himself, picking one up by the leg, 'is this?'

'Thinking of buying that, Sherlock?'

The consulting detective almost jumped. Almost. He put down the doll.

'Mycroft?'

'The very same.'

'Come to spy on me shopping, now are we? Aren't there any dictators to assassinate this week?'

Mycroft examined his nails, as compliant as a rock.

Silence, as the younger brother put Wheetos and a packet of peanuts into the trolley. After a few aisles, Mycroft succumbed and leaned over Sherlock's shoulder.

'What are you buying?' With an interest thinly veiled by casualness.

'A four pack of baked beans! And stop peering over my shoulder like an overgrown penguin, its disturbing!' Sherlock bolted into the next aisle, wielding his trolley like a battering ram, nearly knocking over a stand of fairy cakes. He paused briefly to swipe a six-pack of apple pies from a shelf, aware that Mycroft paced calmly, but creepily after him.

The older brother twirled his umbrella, discovering Sherlock with his head bent low pretending to be interested in a stack of tarts.

'You hate Cherry Bakewells', Mycroft's voice muttered close to his ear.

The consulting detective hummed distractedly, 'Like one that on a lonesome road, Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows a frightful fiend, Doth close behind him tread. Hmm? Well I've changed.'

Sherlock hauled in some pasta sauce and headed for the toilet roll aisle.

'Is this yours?' Mycroft said producing John's list.

'No.' Said Sherlock without looking.

'It's in John's handwriting.'

'I didn't agree with it. Wait! You've been fishing around in bins looking for my rubbish?' Sherlock snorted.

'I make it my business to know what you get up to.'

'You must be desperate.'

'I could say the same to you, you would never go shopping if you didn't have others things to excuse you.'

It started raining outside, small hard drops that pummelled the pavement like falling gravel stones.

'This really has been my day', said Sherlock, loading food onto a conveyor belt, his voice spiked with sarcasm.

'That's forty-eight pounds seventy-eight, love'.

Sherlock tutted in his usual way at the (in his opinion) extortionate prices and got out his wallet. The only thing in it was a large hole.

'I'll pay', said a voice that was becoming increasingly annoying.

Now, normally, Sherlock would never let Mycroft pay, but when he imagined the consequences of his not bringing any shopping, he sullenly agreed.

Outside, the rain was increasing in strength, plastering Sherlock's hair to his face.

'You could come and stand under my umbrella', suggested Mycroft.

'I have no need of it', said Sherlock icily, and pulled up the collar of his coat.

At that moment a taxi drew up, and Mycroft shook out the water in his umbrella and stepped in. 'Fare ye well, my dear..' He looked Sherlock up and down. 'Saturated brother.' He finished and the cab bore him away, splashing Sherlock's bottom half, making it as wet as the top.

The detective stomped wordlessly off.

'Hi! How did you get on?' John took the bags from his flatmate, and started putting them away.

Sherlock remained silent.

'Bad day?'

'You could say that.'

'What happened?'

'O hmm, where to start? Well first off this morning I had a breakfast of cornflakes that looked like they had just starred in a zombie movie, then Mycroft started stalking me in the supermarket, I lost all my money! And then - O this is the icing on the cake really! - He paid for it! And on top of that it started raining!'

'Aww, unlucky'.

'Pah! Luck!' Sherlock scowled. He drew today's edition of The Times from a shopping bag, and settled down in his chair, knocking over a full cellar of salt in the process.