This is just a oneshot about a bad day for John. In general. And Sherlock.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. (unfortunately... one day...)
I hope you enjoy reading this...!
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John's POV
It had started off fairly well, it being a damp, miserable Monday morning, and a Sherlock who was once again on nicotine withdrawal. In simpler words, Sherlock was grumpy and moody. Very grumpy and moody. It was one of those days when John was relieved to find the flat in one piece and none his jumpers or jam maimed by Sherlock's experiments.
Sherlock hadn't had a case in weeks, and had been ecstatic when Lestrade had called that morning about a new seemingly impossible murder that happened that morning. "John, John, hurry up! No time for breakfast, we can grab something on the way!" John thought Sherlock was much too energetic for 3am in the morning, and had said so.
Sherlock barely seemed to register that John had been talking to him, and ran past, impatiently pushing John out of the way, into the nearest bookshelf. As Sherlock busied himself with his hair, -no time for breakfast or tea, but Sherlock's hair was alright?- John painfully attempted to crawl out from underneath the heavy pile of books. As the bookshelves were crammed full of books, the shelves were always groaning and creaking under their weight, and with heavy dictionaries precariously balanced on already towering piles of books, it was a death trap.
"John, hurry up. What are you doing under there? I finally have a interesting case and you're fooling around with books?" Sherlock gave John an impatient glare, shrugging on his coat.
John gave an irritated huff, and scowled at Sherlock. "For your information, I'm not fooling around, and I wouldn't be under this if an idiotic, egotistical moron hadn't shoved out the way-" "Do hurry up John!" Sherlock called from the doorway. The irritating little #%**^^#$¥} hadn't even heard. More likely, he hadn't even been listening.
John began to pathetically claw at the floor in a futile effort to get the pile of books of his back. While he was doing that, Sherlock had already taken off in a taxi. "Sherlock, give me a hand please," John called out.
Silence.
Hadn't Sherlock heard?
"Sherlock?"
John couldn't hear anything.
Oh god, Sherlock hadn't left him here, had he...?
"Sherlock?"
No answer.
...
Yes, yes he had.
Sherlock's point of view
It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault Lestrade's incompetent forensic team were so terrible at what they did for a living. So what if he had reduced all of the new employees to tears? So what if one of the new employees had been sent to the A and E because his genitals had withdrawn into his body? It wasn't Sherlock's fault that moron had tried to flirt with him. Sherlock had made it quite clear he wasn't interested, the moron just hadn't taken heed of his warnings and threats. Warnings and threats Sherlock had been happy to follow through.
So why was everyone making such a fuss?
"Sherlock, despite what you may think, attacking a member of the police force is not acceptable. It's against the law." Lestrade said tiredly, absentmindedly sorting through the mountains of paperwork on his desk.
"I know that." Sherlock gave Lestrade a cool glare.
Lestrade looked at Sherlock in surprise. "You did? Then why did you still do it?"
"He was sexually harassing me."
...
"Oh." Lestrade didn't seem to know what to say.
"Sir, you can't believe that, can you? The freak is obviously lying." Anderson sneered from door jamb.
Lestrade sighed. "Anderson, don't start-"
"And how would you know, Anderson? You weren't even there, and by the look of your shoes and trousers, you were and Sally were obviously very busy in the broom closet." Sherlock gave Anderson a cordial smile.
"Wha-wha! Y-you're lying, freak! How would you would know that?" Anderson stammered nervously.
"Elementary. Your trousers are crinkled around the knees, with dust around the back, your shoes are scuffed around the heels and toe, indicating you were in a small area which was not carpeted nor had wallpapered or painted walls. You have broom bristles on the back of your jumper, dust in your hair, and white blemishes on your trousers. Oh, and your fly's open." Sherlock smirked at Anderson.
"W-what! Sir, don't believe him, the freak's lying!" Anderson said, hastily doing up his fly, blushing.
"Anderson... It's not exactly hygienic to do that in a broom closet of all things... And while you are on duty as well... I'm not impressed..." Lestrade gave Anderson a disappointed look, before dismissing him and turning to Sherlock.
"Would you like to press charges?"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I don't see the necessity. However, you'd better give him some guards at the hospital."
"Guards? Whatever for Sherlock?" Asked Lestrade incredulously.
"When Mycroft finds out, it won't be pretty." Sherlock said, as if it explained everything. Well, to him it did.
"You said 'when' not 'if'." Lestrade said cautiously.
"Congratulations. Your external auditory canals, tympanic membranes, tympanic cavitys, malleus, incus's, Eustachian tubes, cochleas, cochlear nerves, semicircular canals and vestibular nerves are working normally and well." Sherlock drawled.
"My what?" Lestrade stared at Sherlock, unsure if he'd just been insulted.
Sherlock sighed. "Your auditory system." When Lestrade continued looking at him as if Sherlock was mad, Sherlock elaborated. "Your ears."
"Oh."
...
"Is is possible that Mycroft won't find out?" Lestrade asked hopefully.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"Alright then..." Lestrade sighed and started rifling through the piles of paperwork, looking for his phone. "I'll let some guys from the other departments take care of it. Thank you, Sherlock. Now we'll be able to get that guy locked up."
Sherlock just gave him a disdainful look and said; "All the thanks I need are that you only contact me when you get a halfway decent case. That was pathetic." Sherlock turned and swept out of Lestrade's office, his blue Belstaff coat flaring out dramatically behind him.
Lestrade sighed and took a large gulp of his coffee. He made a face at it, shuddering as he swallowed. The coffee had gone cold. As if the regulations coffee wasn't bad enough when it was hot. However, he had mountains of paperwork to do and badly needed that caffeine rush. Lestrade glared at the offending paperwork and picked up his pen.
Sherlock's POV
John was upset. Sherlock didn't know why though. He'd come back, and John was on his laptop, typing a little harder than neccesary. That may have been an understatement, he thought, as he watched John do a wonderful example of a 'keyboard smash'. How did he know that? Of all the useless things to remember... Delete.
I opened the fridge. It was practically empty. Not good news when I need to consume something.
Mouldy bacon. Orange. Apple. Half a stick of celery. Egg. A mouldy loaf. Butter. There seemed to be a lack of something. Oh, and they'd ran out of milk.
"John! John, we need milk."
John cotuinued smashing at his laptop. How terribly rude of him.
"John. Didn't you hear me? We need milk." There was no response what so ever.
Sherlock sighed. "John?" John didn't react.
"Curious," Sherlock mumbled to himself, "You can obviously hear me, but you're not responding. You are ignoring me...? Ah, yes. That is the most logical answer. But why...?"
"Why?" John whipped around, glaring at Sherlock. "Why?"
"Yes John. It appears your external auditory canals, tympanic membranes, tympanic cavitys, malleus, incus's, Eustachian tubes, cochleas, cochlear nerves, semicircular canals and vestibular nerves are working normally and well." Sherlock drawled. He had the feeling he'd said this before.
"My what?"
"Your ears. Technically , it's your hearing system. Really John, from you I expected better. You are a doctor after all." Sherlock smirked.
John glared at Sherlock. "You're a real prat you know that. Thanks so much for leaving me behind today.
What sort of friends leaves their friend behind, and dosen't even help? You want me to get the milk? Forget it! You never help out, you always leave disgusting experiments around, you're always obnoxious and rude!" John shouted, hurling a cushion at Sherlock's face. He glared at Sherlock when he caught it.
"John... I don't understand." Sherlock was confused.
"Oh, forget it. I'm going out." John got up and pulled on his coat.
"""""""""
Sherlock sighed. He still didn't know why John was mad. Perhaps he should get John a gift to cheer him up. But what should he get him? A book? A carton of milk? A cat? A tea bag? A mug? A lifetime supply of milk? Actually, the last one sounded good. It was plausible. But how to get a life time supply of milk...? Sherlock sighed, and walked towards the bus stop. Buying a carton of milk is easier. As Sherlock waited for the bus, he looked at the adverts on the sides of the bus stop. One of them had a picture of a pink cow on. It said: Milk Maid Farm is closing down. Our special, Milk Maid cows have no where to go. If you think you could look after our Milk Maid cows, please call 01234 88994, for futher details. If you buy a Milk Maid cow, it will be a loving companion for years to come, and provide a wonderful lifetime supply of Milk Maid cow milk. So call today!
Sherlock smiled.
Perfect.
))^^((())
John Watson's POV
He felt bad about cold shouldering Sherlock all day, no matter how much the prat deseved it. He'd gone out and brought a pint of milk and Chinese. He'd forgive the prat. After all, Sherlock had brought back some light to his gloomy old life. Sherlock had brought back that ray of hope. After being discharged for medical reasons, John had given up. He'd not known what to do. He was plagued with nightmares every night, and for him, it had seemed hopeless. There was nothing left for him. But when Sherlock had come storming into his life, with his obnoxious ways... Everything had gotten better.
John walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He put away the milk and laid the takeaway out on the table. Whistling a merry tune, he turned around to pour the boiling water into the teapot when- he came face to face with a rather large, pink cow. No, not Mrs Turner from next door, snooping again, an actual cow.
John froze. For several seconds there was silence. Until-
MOOO!
John snapped.
"SHERLOCK HOLMES! WHY IS A BLOODY COW IN THE KITCHEN?!"
0lknj09098
Reviews would be very much appreciated, as does constructive criticism.
if you like reading stories about john having a bad day, or a sherlock being kidnapped and a john to the rescue, please take a look at one of my fanfic on my Profile Page, called Kidnapped-A bit not good-Who's to the rescue?
Thank you for reading, and I hoped you enjoyed it!
Anita Yamaha Xx