"Keep the change," John Watson told the cab driver and picked up the couple of grocery bags he had brought back with him.
"Thanks, mister." The cab pulled off. John looked up towards their flat's windows. The curtains were drawn and the windows shut tight.
John rolled his eyes and sighed. "I told him to leave the windows open…"
Dr. Watson hobbled towards the apartment door. He struggled to balance the groceries while trying to grab his keys. John leaned up against the door as he tried to unlock it. Just then, the door swung wide open. John fell flat on his face, the groceries falling everywhere.
"Damn it all!" John swore and stood up to give the person who caused this a piece of his mind.
"Oh, John! I'm so sorry!" Mrs. Hudson stuttered and bent over to help pick up the scattered groceries.
"Mrs. Hudson…" John murmured, regretting the thoughts he had prepared in the three second window. "I'm sorry-"
"I'm the one apologizing, dear. I just- well, I heard the cab pull up and Sherlock-"
"Sherlock closed all the windows and won't let anyone in, right?" John finished Mrs. Hudson's sentence.
"Yes," she replied. "How did you know?"
"I saw the closed windows on my way in," John answered, putting the last of the strewn groceries back into the bag. "I'll go see what's going on."
"Thank you, John. I don't know how I'd handle him without you here."
"Sherlock?" John finally managed to push the door to 221B open. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"
There was only a groan in reply from the couch. John heaved the groceries into the kitchen and set them onto the counter. He let out a heavy sigh as he glared at the mess on the kitchen table.
"Do you purposefully not do anything I ask you to do?" John called. "I asked you to keep all the windows open. You closed them and drew the curtains. It's a beautiful autumn day, and it's getting too stuffy in here."
Another groan from the living room. John wandered in and stood by his chair, glaring at the pile of blankets Sherlock was hiding under.
"I asked you to clear off the kitchen table, too, Sherlock. We have nowhere to eat with your crap cluttering the-"
"It's science, John," Sherlock replied hoarsely.
"Sherlock… are you sick?"
"No-" Sherlock was interrupted by torrential coughing. John kept himself from chuckling.
"You're sick."
"I'm not sick!" Sherlock managed to reply in-between sniffles. "I just have-mild fall allergies. I'll be fine-" More coughing. John rolled his eyes and sat beside the pile.
"I'm sure you will be," he smiled, unable to help himself. Sherlock poked his head out from the pile of warm blankets and scowled.
"Would you like some tea for your throat?" John asked, still smiling. After a hesitating glare, Sherlock nodded.
John strode to the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove. Sherlock Holmes. Who would have guessed he has allergies?
Different kind of idea for a story. Hoping it's a good one?