A/N: This is my first little experiment with the 221b style of drabble. I hope it isn't too bad. Platonic, actually, unless you squint really REALLY hard, so it's a bit unusual for me. :D Regardless, please review, let me know what you think, or give me suggestions for future writing projects!
Living with Sherlock
John came home from work and set the shopping down in the kitchen. Then he spotted his flatmate and sighed in exasperation. The man was sprawled out on the couch, just lying there with his absurdly long limbs dangling over the sides, and John wasn't even sure if he was breathing. The doctor knew from past experience that any attempt to rouse Sherlock would end in shouting, so he wisely stayed silent and perched on his chair in the sitting room, eyeing the detective. He was clearly deep in thought, and John watched in fascination as the man began humming a tune and wriggling his fingers in the air. What on Earth could he be thinking about? The finger movements evolved into increasingly dramatic sweeps of his arms. Seeing this, John narrowed his eyes and wondered if he ought to get either the fire extinguisher or the medical kit ready. Something interesting was clearly going on in Sherlock's brain, and while John didn't know what, with all the flailing, it was bound to be something that involved either a mad dash across half of London or an experiment with an obscene potential for explosion. John had barely finished this thought before Sherlock sprang up and announced that he had solved it, but first he needed a lighter. Fire extinguisher, then. Bugger.