It began too early, as was the custom when living with the likes of Sherlock Holmes. Violin screeching was not new to him, but it still sounded horrible, especially at five in the morning. He sighed and got up, no use trying to sleep when the detective obviously needed something to entertain his mind.
Sherlock was lying sprawled on the floor rug with the violin on his stomach and the bow beside him. When he saw his flatmate walking into the room he uttered a single, two-syllable word: "Bored."
John looked at him and nodded, "Good morning to you too,"
He went to the kitchen, which was actually, for once, clean. Or at least there were no signs of experiments, which was a nice change. He noticed Sherlock getting up from the floor before he filled the water boiler. Then he looked in the cabinets for the tea and… he just could not find it. Exasperated, he looked at his flatmate who was now lying on the sofa.
"Sherlock," he started, "why are we out of tea. I know, for a fact, we had more than enough yesterday, so why are we out?"
"You must have miscalculated the amount. Normal people tend to always miscalculate things like that."
John shook his head, feeling the beginning of a headache. Too early, noisy flatmate, and on top of that, no tea. And he had been so sure that they had at least two unopened boxes last night, so what had happened with them?
He decided to take another look in the cabinets. No tea, but the rubbish had been taken out.
He looked at Sherlock again, and cleared his throat. Sherlock sighed dramatically, and sat up.
"Okay, maybe there was an experiment. I wanted to see if tea could be used as explosives."
Before John could say more, Sherlock's phone buzzed. And Sherlock looked at him, expectantly. This was going to be a long day.
Lestrade had sent him pictures from a case, but they were apparently boring and easily solved. The ex-wife was the murderer, jealousy the motif.
"Did you really experiment on my tea?" John asked, looking at the consulting detective who was now lying on his chair, robe all over and shirt slightly rolled up. John himself had at least taken the time to get dressed.
"Bored," Sherlock said again.
An hour later, after watching some sort of early morning programme on the telly, the detective got dressed and went out.
Sherlock was back before nine, and bringing tea.
John looked at him, utterly confused. Had Sherlock done the shopping?
Apparently it was so. Bread and jam was accompanying the tea and, he had even gotten milk. His flatmate had strange antics, strange quirks and he was at least border lining crazy, but sometimes he did thoughtful things like this, and John was done for.
Then Sherlock proceeded to even make him tea, and John accepted. It was all fine. Although, Sherlock had never actually made him tea before.
"Did you…?" he asked, looking at the other man.
Sherlock sighed, and nodded, actually blushing. Or perhaps that was only the light.
"I, erm, I tried to make tea the way you like it, but I couldn't get it right at first so I had to make several cups before I managed to and then I had to remake it again and again until perfection," he explained quickly.
Yes, John decided, he was definitely flustered. The doctor grinned at him reassuringly.
"It's really good."
"Really?" Sherlock looked at him for reassurance.
"Yes." Whatever weirdness his dark-haired flatmate would get up to today was okay. It was not going to bother him. After all, the man had spent the entire night perfecting his skills at making tea just for him. And if that was not dedication, then what was?
