If Sherlock takes his laptop one more time John is sure that he's going to put a bullet through his thick skull, just in the right place so that he looses the ability of his hands so as to render JOHN'S laptop useless to him.
These were John's thoughts as he stormed down the hallway in a huff when he discovered that his (expensive) laptop was no where to be found (again). Sherlock was out of the house, busy doing whatever it was he did when he ran off at two in the morning. John had woken up from nightmares and was planning on writing up a new case to take his mind off things but that was quite difficult when your insane flatmate has spirited away your laptop.
When he reached Sherlock's room he hesitated before pushing the door open with a creak. Inside everything as haphazardly thrown about, Sherlock's outfit from yesterday strewn upon the floor and something in murky liquid sat in the windowsill reflecting a dull light onto the rest of the room. John normally wouldn't enter Sherlock's personal area but he knew that Sherlock had no boundaries when it came to barging in on John whenever he pleased.
John's eyes raked across the room, looking for anywhere the laptop might be, ignoring the desk in the corner because he knew that Sherlock was too unorganized to actually sit at his desk while browsing on JOHN'S laptop. Crossing to the bed, John lifted up the messy covers (left unmade), looking underneath and all around before putting them back on, making up the bed without even thinking about it. As he tucked in the last corner he noticed something sticking out of the halfway shut closet door.
It's bright colors had caught his eye, since Sherlock tended to keep only dark and earth tones in his room. Curious, John walked towards the closet, pulling the door open with a loud creak. He paused, holding his breath for a moment, knowing that he was definitely in the "invading privacy" zone, seeing as he had abandoned the hunt for his laptop entirely.
Reaching down he picked up the brightly colored object, which was soft in his hands, and turned it right side up. He let out a bark of surprised laughter as he saw what was in his hands.
A stuffed parrot, missing it's right eye, stared beadily up at him. It's chest was bright yellow, it's wings and back green, it's head blue, and it's cheeks red. It was the most bizarrely out of place thing John had ever seen.
"John, what are you doing-?" Sherlock said poking his head through the door to his own bedroom but stopped short as he saw John standing there holding the ludicrously colored bird.
John jumped and spun around to face Sherlock, surprised that he hadn't even heard him come in, but then again Sherlock enjoyed creeping up on John whenever he could and he was quite good at it if he really tried, moving like some sort of ethereal creature, his feet barely even touching the ground.
Sherlock moved slowly into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, rustling the sheets that John had just put back in order, he swore the man made everything he touch immediately spring into disarray.
John held up the bird, shaking it between his thumb and middle fingers, raising his eyebrow questioningly.
Sherlock stared at it for a second before shrugging his shoulders. "Childhood plaything." He answered to the silent question.
"Why do you still have it?" John asked, allowing his amusement to sound through his voice.
Sherlock bristled, sitting up straighter and tsking his tongue. "It was my fifth birthday present from Mummy, I always really enjoyed the things she gave me."
"I just can't…imagine you with this," John said, sitting next to Sherlock on the bed, their thighs and shoulders coming together and the bed dipped inwards with the weight. "I mean, I can't picture you with any toys really. A chemistry set maybe but that's not exactly a toy."
Sherlock smirked. "I, too, was a child once John. Though some people do believe I'm some sort of scientific experiment, they are unfortunately wrong." Sherlock gave John and inquiring look, as if trying to see if John though the same thing.
"Well, it's kind of cute I suppose."
"She." Sherlock snapped and then clamped his mouth shut as if regretting what he had said.
John quirked an eyebrow at Sherlock, who breathed heavily out his nose.
John laughed. "Alright, she then. Got a name?"
"Polly." Sherlock answered in a tight voice, avoiding John's eyes.
"Not very creative."
"I was five!" Sherlock snarled defensively.
"Alright, alright."
"What were you doing in my room anyways?" Sherlock asked, John realizing that his window into Sherlock's childhood had abruptly closed.
"Looking for my laptop."
Sherlock gestured under the pile of clothes on the floor, John went over to investigate and sure enough found his laptop under Sherlock's dirty shirt.
John placed Polly in Sherlock's lap, who scowled at him and let the top heavy stuffed animal roll onto the floor. John left with his laptop, assuming that he was never to see Polly again, but two nights later when he woke up to find his laptop missing again he went on another midnight hunt to Sherlock's room, to find his laptop immediately, thanks to the little, brightly colored bird perched on top of it.