Sherlock lounged oh the threadbare sofa staring at the chipped ceiling. He couldn't stand it. The long lonely never-ending boredom. He needed substance. He needed excitement. He needed a gun. Curse John for hiding it. John wasn't bored. Sarah and he were going to the cinema in five minutes. In fact John was so happy he was singing quietly to himself.
"I hold on for one more drink, before I think, this has been…"
"That's not how it goes." Sherlock barked randomly.
"What?"
"That's not how that song goes."
"And how would you know that?"
Sherlock sat up and shook his head making his inky curls dance around his pale angled face.
"Haven't you seen my IPod playlist?"
"Nope. But I'm pretty sure that is how it goes."
"No. It doesn't."
"Yeah. That is how it goes."
"No way."
"God. Look. I will show you." John growled angrily, booting up his laptop. He typed furiously into YouTube and clicked on a lyric video.
"I hold on so nervously, to me and my drink. I wish it was cooling me."
Sherlock's smirked as John shut down the computer. He glanced at the clock.
"Oh crap. I'm late. You bastard! I'll get you later." The good doctor cursed and ran from the room, leaving his jacket behind. Only when he was sure his flatmate was outside the door did he drop the coat out of the window. It landed squarely on John's head.
"This isn't over Holmes! I knew you wanted to make me late!" he inelegantly flailed for a cab. Sherlock popped his head back inside the flat, still grinning.
He wasn't bored now.