As Long as I Have Ground to Step On


John Watson is really starting to get frustrated. Not only is his flatmate the most arrogant person in the world, he also is, undoubtedly, one of the messiest people to have ever walked the earth. Papers everywhere, bullet holes in the walls and bullets on the floor, body parts in the fridge and deadly chemicals on the kitchen table, you name it. What frustrates him even more is that Sherlock's room is tidy and clean, and it's almost as if Sherlock is merely willing to mess up the communal places as opposed to the places where only he, and not John, would be affected.

After tripping on what seems to be a rubber replica of a human leg, for the third time that week, John snaps. "Oh for heaven's sake! Sherlock! Would you clean up your bloody mess?"

"Why?" comes the answer from across the room, with Sherlock casually flipping through old case files.

"Why?" echoes John. "The flat is a bloody dump, Sherlock! And all of it is yours! We'll be flooded with these very soon I reckon, and then what?"

"John, please. Stop overreacting, that's a child's way to handle things. As for the mess, well, as long as I have ground to step on, I see it as no problem."

"Well I see it as a big damn problem! Seriously, it's—"

A rather flustered looking Molly peeks her head through the door to the living room, politely waiting until either man calls her in. "Hello boys. I just came to collect the finger samples… Is everything alright?" she asks, pertaining to the quarreling she's been hearing and the even-more-than-usual mess inside.

John smiles sheepishly at her, rubbing the back of his neck as he shoots one last glare at his best friend. "Oh, the fingers, yeah. I'll just go get 'em for you, aaand, well, I'd invite you in but really, this place is a dump. Want to grab a cuppa somewhere clean?" he calls from the kitchen while taking the jars of preserved fingers.

Molly chuckles. "Yeah, that'd be lovely."


John returns to a sparkling apartment, every book sorted and stacked, every file organized, every surface spotless, everything in its proper place. Even the kitchen table looks safe enough to eat on, for once. He blinks twice and rubs his eyes, still can't quite believe that this is the same flat he left. Making a mental note to ask Sherlock what made him do it, he continues on his merry way to his bedroom to change his clothes. A note on his door stops him.

I cleaned the flat. Don't ever take my pathologist out again. -SH


Note: Who doesn't like jealous/possessive!Sherlock and unknowing!Molly? For sure, not the author.