John stared inside the fridge with astonishment.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes, John?"
"There's no head in the fridge."
...
"Sherlock?"
"What, John?"
"The fingers are gone from the egg holder."
...
"Sher-"
"John, please cease repeating the obvious. This experiment needs the utmost attention." John glared at his roommate from his spot in front of the refrigerator. "And please close the refrigerator. It wastes electricity."
"Well excuse me for being surprised." John replied hotly, shutting the door with a huff. "It usually takes you weeks just to get rid of the tiniest thing, and everything in there that isn't edible is gone." He padded into the living room, taking his normal seat in the armchair with his laptop. He'd been writing about their latest case- one involving a widow, two cats, and a coffeemaker for some reason- when he'd been feeling peckish, and went to the fridge to see if they had anything. He was still feeling peckish, but he'd be damned if he got up again.
The two of them worked in silence, the keys on John's laptop slowly clicking and the forceps Sherlock was using gently tapping the glass of the microscope at points. Occasionally there'd be a noise of annoyance from Sherlock or a hum of thought from John. As he was finishing the last paragraph and publishing it, John realised something and turned in his seat, staring curiously at Sherlock. The man noticed, and finished the current trial for his experiment- something involving bees and flying, or something- and turned towards John, a brow raised.
"What?"
"Why did you?"
"Why did I-what, John? Why did I what?" Sherlock asked, annoyed.
"Clean out the fridge. You never clean it out."
"Oh, you're still hung up on that? It doesn't matter, John, go back to your little blog." John narrowed his eyes, suspicious, and leaned closer. If he looked at Sherlock very, veerry close, he could see a tinge of... pink? Was the consulting detective really blushing?
"Something happened, didn't it? Something happened and you rushed to clean out the fridge! What happened?" John exclaimed, wiggling a little in his seat. Just what made the immovable brat of a detective actually tidy the flat for once? They still had newspapers from last month lying around, for god's sake!
"Does it really matter Jo-"
"Yes it matters, I want to know what managed to cause this feat-"
"John-"
"Come on-"
"It was Ms. Hudson!" Sherlock shouted, slamming his forceps onto the counter. His face was red, and he refused to look at John. John himself blinked in surprise.
"...She finally looked in and saw the head with the maggots, didn't she? I kept telling you to cover it with something."
"John!"