Mrs. Hudson gingerly climbed up the stairs with a tray of tea. Her back ached and her hip was making peculiar crunching sounds as she reached the top. Time for some "herbal soothers", she promised herself. Mrs. Hudson leaned back against the wall near the door to catch her breath, and was suddenly standing very still and quietly.
"I can't do anything of use with you in that position, John."
"You're squishing me, no, stop moving for a second," he replied.
"Come on, John, put your head down just a little, there," she heard Sherlock command.
"Ouch! Sherlock, that hurt! Give me a moment," said John, sounding a bit shaken.
"Well maybe if you put one arm down for support?" Sherlock asked. "Are we going to do this or not?"
"Yes, yes," said John, more enthusiastically. He drew in a deep breath. Mrs. Hudson cringed and stifled a giggle. Her arms were starting to ache, holding the tray, but obviously she couldn't go inside, and her hip was definitely not up to going down the stairs so soon.
"Just move your hands, there, almost got it…" Sherlock said, slightly out of breath. "John, that's it…"
"Sherlock, I have serious doubts about it fitting in there," said John, concerned.
"John, I'm sure it'll fit, just hold still and I'll—"
"I'll just go get something slippery, maybe the butter—"
Mrs. Hudson was laughing so hard that she dropped her tray. The tray went crashing to the floor and there was the sound of pounding footsteps racing towards the door.
"Hudders—"
"Mrs. Hudson, are you alright?"
Mrs. Hudson blinked. Sherlock was wearing a tight button down shirt, tailored trousers, and his shoes. She blinked again, in disbelief. John was wearing a stripy sweater and jeans in sock feet.
"What are you boys up to?" she asked.
"Trying to assemble a ridiculously complicated Ikea Chair of Doom which John was intent on purchasing. I deduce that the writer of the instructions was a bored middle aged man with a poor grasp on English, and that the editors were probably well in the bottle when they approved this rubbish."
"Sherlock is pissed off because he can't figure it out," scoffed John, "and I keep saying we either need to oil the pegs or shave them down, probably shave them down…"
Mrs. Hudson kept laughing. It was all too funny. Her boys assembling furniture together was almost queerer than their having sex. "Now I really need some herbal soothers," she said to the world at large, ignoring Sherlock's studied look and John's quizzical frown.
Little did she know, they would be having sex later, at around two o clock in the morning, when they finally fit the Chair of Doom together.
A/N I'm sorry I haven't been updating my fics recently, I've been tied up with all sorts of obstacles to writing (serious illness, school, a combination of the two). Hope you enjoyed!