Sherlock let out an all-inclusive, huff. He had solved Lestrade's latest attempt at a case two days ago and the wall was completely and utterly,
"Dull."
After the last fiasco with a gun, John no longer allowed him to have one unless he was A) out of the flat, or B) on an investigation. As neither was the case, John had held onto it claiming it was for the safety of Mrs. Hudson's walls. Not that Sherlock couldn't get the gun if he wanted to. But John trusted him so here he sat, his mind falling into feeble, quiet entropy.
Sherlock glanced forlornly at the door. John had left some time ago (twenty-seven minutes, twelve seconds to be exact) to get milk and had not returned yet.
Probably had another row with the chip and PIN machine, thought Sherlock, amused. Hit with a sudden bout of nervous energy, Sherlock leaped from his prone position on the couch and grabbed the impaled Cluedo board from the mantle. John and I can play. I'll set it up so we can start when he returns.
As Sherlock was positioning the pieces, Doctor John Hamish Watson walked through the door, once again empty handed. At Sherlock's suggestive look he said:
"Bloody machine. ...Cluedo? Sherlock! We. Are not. Playing. That game. Especially not if you're-"
"Bored!"
AN: TADA! My first Sherlock fic!
This was a 221B Challenge. 221 words, with the last word starting with the letter "b." The first thing I've written in a long time that was too long and I had to trim down, instead of the opposite.
Also, my fingers hate typing. During the process of taking this story from brain, to post-its (didn't have anything bigger), to posted, my BETA (who was watching me as I typed this, noticed i spelled "trusted" as "trysted" and after pointing it out, immediately hit her head on the wall. Several times.