The Last Straw

"Have you ever read The Lost World?" John was sitting on the sofa, which was- surprisingly- vacated, as Sherlock was doing some strange experiment in the kitchen. It looked to John as if his friend was dissecting random body parts that he had convinced Molly to get for him. But, of course, he didn't look too hard. He had learned his lesson early on to keep his eyes focused on his book and nothing else. After all the parts that Sherlock had "borrowed," John wouldn't have been surprised to find that half of St. Bart's morgue had taken its turn in the (admittedly terrifying) fridge.

"No," Sherlock replied, holding up a strangely-colored organ for inspection, "I usually stay away from romanticized fiction."

"It's not romanticized! It's completely realistic!"

"Yes, but you believe that your blog is quality prose." He set the organ back in a large metal bowl. "I don't think I'll be trusting your literary judgment in the near future. What is this Lost World about, anyway?"

"It's about a group of people who discover a plateau in South America where dinosaurs are still alive."

The detective's eyebrows shot up. "And you call that realistic?"

"Well, it's like what you always say. 'When you've ruled out the improbable, whatever remains, even if it's impossible, has to be true."

"I can't even imagine a worse slaughter of my own words. They're currently weeping because of the horrid mess and terrible use you've made of them." He prodded another body part with a suspicious-looking scalpel.

"Well, then your words just need to toughen up. They really need to take things less personally."

"If you think dinosaurs are realistic, you should really read more of my extensive library."

Setting his book down, the doctor crossed his arms. "And hear about every gory detail of every crime ever committed in the history of the universe? I think I'll stick to my fiction, thanks. Anyway, I think you'd actually like the book. The main character, Challenger, reminds me a lot of you."

"How so?" Deeming the random organ suitable for experimentation, the detective began to dissect it. "Is he an intelligent man surrounded by idiots who try to make him read worthless literature?"

"He thinks so. Well, except for the literature part. He's a scientist, like you, and he's also extremely prideful and insults everyone he meets. I think you two would get along."

"He sounds like a decent person."

"He's also the one who believes in dinosaurs."

"Well, when you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true."

"I just said that!" John threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "And you said I was wrong!"

"No, you misquoted me and said that you eliminate the improbable. Never eliminate the improbable, only the impossible. If the only thing left is impossible, you've done something wrong. Really, John, I can see why you're not a scientist, if you think that you can eliminate something simply on the basis of its being improbable."

"I never claimed to be a scientist. However, you fancy yourself to be a literature critic when all you read are historical accounts of crimes."

"Yes, I think you're right for once, John."

"You don't even- wait. I'm right?"

"Yes, do keep up. I can't call myself a literature critic, since I read your blog, and it's caused my standard for writing to drop considerably."

"Oh, would you just shut up about my blog? I've had enough of your complaining! It's time for you to write a post."

"No. I have better things to do with my time."

"What? Like pulling apart some person's… What is that, anyway? A liver?"

"Kidney. And it's an experiment!"

"An experiment that can wait until you write a blog post."

"I have nothing to write. You've already monopolized all the more interesting cases."

"What about the one with the… texts… and the… code?"

"That was articulate."

"You do realize that, by refusing to write something, you're admitting defeat because you realize I'm a better writer than you."

Sherlock just stomped over to the sofa, grabbed John's laptop with a snarl, and started typing furiously. "There," he proclaimed after only a minute, "it's finished. I don't see how you make such a chore out of something so simple."

"You cannot be done already. Let me see that!" John snatched back his laptop. "Let's see… 'It was a childishly simple case, really. Our client, a recently-married man with a stressful desk job (as was evident from the moment he walked in the room), came to us saying that he had been getting strange texts. He showed them to me, and it was easy enough to decipher what they said (seeing as e is the most common letter, then t, a, and so on, and then I simply had to fit them into words that made sense). They were a message stating…' Sherlock! That's not a story; that's just a solution!"

"Exactly, seeing as this isn't a story. It so happens to be an accurate account of a case, which is rare for you, I know. It takes away all the worthless fluff and summarizes the case nicely."

"But it- I'm sorry, did the word 'fluff' just come out of your pompous mouth?"

"Did the word 'pompous' just come out of yours? I'm allowed to make use of my extensive vocabulary, John. The word 'fluff' fit your writing style perfectly."

"I'm honored." The doctor just rolled his eyes and handed Sherlock the laptop again. "Start over. This is rubbish."

"What? Why?"

"Because it has to be interesting, Sherlock. This is barely even prose!"

"Neither are your normal blog posts…" This earned the detective a whack on the head with a nearby pillow. "It's the truth!"

"Then prove it. Write something better than I can." Seeing his friend beginning to type again, he added, "And make it interesting!"

"Not a problem."

Apparently, it wasn't quite as easy as Sherlock expected. However, after a couple of hours, several false starts, and countless arguments, he showed John the finished product.

"I think you've gotten it, Sherlock."

"Gotten it? Please. You make it sound as if you've actually taught me something."

"I did teach you something."

"Enlighten me."

"I taught you that writing isn't as easy as it looks."

"Oh, just post it already!"

"Admit it; it was rather hard," the doctor smirked.

"It was only hard because you made me start over seven times!"

"All for the sake of quality, Sherlock. We wouldn't want to disappoint your readers with romanticized prose, now would we?" He logged onto his blog, uploaded the file, and hit post. "Here goes nothing. I hope you're satisfied with your work."

"Of course I'm satisfied with it! There was nothing wrong with it the other six times, either!"

"Whatever you say…"

JWJWJW

Teacher: For your assignment, I want you to write in Doyle's style.

Me: SCORE!

And this is what happened. It will probably be a two or threeshot, depending on where I take this. One thing's for sure: you WILL get to see what Sherlock wrote. Hope you enjoy!

~JillianWatson1058

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