On Case
"Sherlock Holmes, get off that couch and go to bed, now!" John Watson, MD, yelled at the man currently occupying the couch. Though occupying isn't quite the right word, the man, namely, Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, was sprawled on the couch in a position that rather resembles one of a sloth's. The man yelling, John Watson, is in his pyjamas and dressing gown, his hair wet from his shower and his body still soft from sleep. He stood at the doorway to the kitchen, staring at the man sprawled on the couch, anger written all over his face, he repeated once again, "Stop being a baby and go to bed!"
The man on the couch finally responded,
"Can't, John." He said, his hands clapped together under his chin, "I'm on a case." An empty box of nicotine patches lay on his stomach, his expensive silk dressing gown scrunched up underneath his lean body, and his eyes closed in concentration.
"You wouldn't have any more cases if you don't start taking care of yourself!" John said, exasperated, but he knew how this would go down, he could either have to forcibly put him in bed, which would not stop Sherlock from working on the case, or he could just let him be. Either way, the results are the same, so he picked up one of the numerous newspapers on the coffee table and made himself comfortable on his armchair. After a couple of minutes of comfortable silence, Sherlock suddenly gasped, and looked at John with his piercing eyes.
"John, let's go."
Not even questioning about where they're going, John heaved himself up and went upstairs to change.
20 minutes later, they were standing at the entrance of a mall, or should I say, blocking the entrance, for a group of giggling teenage girls had been standing behind them, waiting for them to go through impatiently for the past minute.
"Um… Sherlock?"
"Yes?"
"Could we perhaps, move out of the way?"
Sherlock, as per usual, ignored him.
"O-kay, sorry, girls." John said, as he turned his back and walked through the gaggle of teenage girls, one of whom were staring at Sherlock, her eyes wide and hungry.
"Right." John said, looking at the hungry girl.
Sherlock continued to stand and probably unintentionally block the entrance to the mall, though John could never say for sure whether Sherlock Holmes does things on purpose or not. John occupied himself by studying the people squeezing past Sherlock to get into the mall, and while he's at it, it being looking at Sherlock staring at something, bought himself coffee at a kiosk parked outside of the mall, and continued to pass the time by alternatively staring at Sherlock and the shoppers.
Finally, after an hour, Sherlock moved inside without warning, causing the old lady, who was in the process of squeezing past him, to jump and plaster herself against the wall. Sherlock did not stop to apologise, that was John's job, so he did.
Sherlock raced through the shoppers. stopping at seemingly completely arbitrary spots to investigate, pulling out his pocket magnifying glass and at one point even a tape measure, measuring between two invisible points on the wall. John dutifully followed behind Sherlock, not so close as to bump into Sherlock should he suddenly stop moving, which was quite a lot, but close enough so that Sherlock's constant murmurs seemed to be actually directed at someone, so that he would be considered less as a crazy person.
"Alright, let's go home." Sherlock finally said after a few hours, so they caught a cab, which seemed to be attracted to Sherlock like bees to honey, and went home, where Sherlock returned to his position of being sprawled out on the couch.
John, on the other hand, got ready to go to the surgery, and left, saying goodbye to Sherlock, though the message did not seem to be received, instead, the message bounced off of Sherlock, who had his eyes closed in concentration.
When John got home, he discovered an empty flat. He was not worried, for if anyone could take care of himself against London's slugs, it was Sherlock Holmes, unless he was in the mood of showing off, and displaying his smartass-ness.
After a few hours, Sherlock arrived home, with a triumphant look on his face and carrying two pizza boxes in one hand. Both the food and the look on his face brought relief to John Watson, who was certainly not waiting up for Sherlock Holmes. The look on his face means that the case is probably broken and solved, and the food meant, well, it meant that Sherlock would probably start eating again.
Fortunately for John Watson, the triumphant look did mean that he had cracked the case, unfortunately, the pizza boxes were filled with napkins.
"Um, Sherlock?" John said hesitantly, "Why do you have all those napkins? Are those used?" The doctor inside John is bristling with disgust, while the detective part, however small Sherlock may claim it to be, is jumping with excitement.
"One of those napkins contain the evidence that will convict the murderer." Sherlock said as he pulled on plastic latex gloves, and threw a pair at John, "Loot through them with me, we're looking for a napkin with a phone number on it."
So for the remainder of the night, the two flatmates sat side by side on the couch and unfolded napkin after napkin.
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