A/N Another Tumblr crack fic. Need I say anything else? Probably. Set sometime in series 1 before The Great Game but after episode 2.
John was in the habit of checking his text messages before going back to 221B. Sometimes he didn't have any and sometimes he had thirty. It all depended on how bored the lanky consulting detective got without him there. And if he noticed John wasn't in the flat. Sometimes, (the worst times) John had only one message. He dreaded these days most of all because these days meant Sherlock wasn't bored and he wasn't on a case.
Today was one of those days.
-Don't panic, but there's a body on the couch. -SH
John read the message, took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. He shook himself and looked back down at his phone. Maybe he was hallucinating?
-Don't panic, but there's a body on the couch. -SH
No such luck.
John pursed his lips and considered his options. He could text Sherlock for more information, he could flee to Sarah's or he could just go home and get it all over with.
-Did you put it there? John texted back. If he was going to walk into some sort of horror movie with zombies it would probably be better to know beforehand.
His mobile pinged almost instantly.
-Where else would it have come from? -SH
John sighed. Then a horrible thought occurred to him. He felt guilty for even thinking it, but what if Sherlock had killed someone?
No. He wouldn't entertain that idea.
Sherlock would never intentionally kill anyone. However, he could have been so rude that someone with a health problem could have had their heart explode.
"John? I'm going to lock up. Could you maybe finish your paperwork tomorrow?" Sarah had poked her head in his office. John looked up at her and her face changed to chagrined. "Oh, is it your flatmate again? What has he done now?"
John looked up and sighed. "I don't know. I'm wondering if I want to."
Sarah half smiled and cocked her head. "Maybe you could grab some dinner and delay the-"
He shook his head and interrupted her. "No. I'll probably be charged with accessory after the fact or something."
"That bad?"
"I don't know." John stood and squared his shoulders. "Next time?"
Sarah agreed but he could tell she was upset. Frankly he was surprised she was even entertaining the idea of another date. Sherlock had probably effectively cock blocked him for the next month (if not longer).
John texted Sherlock on the ride home. -Is there anything I need to pick up? Do we have milk? He was fairly certain that whatever state the flat was in he'd need tea to cope.
-Of course we have milk. -SH
John rolled his eyes. -Do we have safe, drinkable milk that hasn't been subject to any experiments?
His mobile pinged again. -Yes to the first two. -SH
-I'm on my way home now. I'll be stopping at the market on the way. Do we need anything else?
The ping came so quickly John knew Sherlock was typing while waiting for John's text. - A sturdy tarp, a sealable container big enough to hold a head and at least thirty triple A batteries. -SH
John read the text twice before banging his head against the window. Repeatedly.
-You better not have ruined the couch. He replied.
When he walked up the front steps to 221B he considered leaving the "groceries" at the foot of the stairs and hiding in Mrs. Hudson's flat but he dismissed the idea almost immediately. Whatever Sherlock had gotten himself into it would be less likely to... (ooze? Oh, god.) ...decompose (urgh) if John was present.
"Oh, good. John, help me pry out this filling, would you?"
It wasn't the worst greeting John had come home to. ("For god's sake, John! Don't step on them!" Would always hold a special place in his heart.) He made sure to enter the kitchen instead of going through the living room and thus past the couch. He also kept his head turned so he wouldn't look at what was sure to be a poorly hacked off head while he opened the fridge to put the milk away. Unfortunately said head was already in the fridge and it seemed to be missing all its teeth, judging by the sight caused by the way the mouth was awkwardly hanging open. On the plus side the man had been dead for at least twenty-four hours and been refrigerated during most of that time so he'd come from Molly. John just closed his eyes and put the milk on the top shelf, moving the contaminated milk next to the body part that should be more alarming than it was. "You couldn't wait until I made it home with the Tupperware?"
"I'd already put it in. I figured the container would come in handy for next time." Sherlock looked up and tilted his head.
"Right." John set the bags holding Sherlock's requests on the floor next to the madman. "You never replied to my text." When there was no response other than a glance at a mobile and a frown John continued. "So, is the sofa ruined?"
Sherlock tossed the mobile at John. "Of course not."
John looked at the mobile and seeing a blank screen walked into the living room to plug the device in. There was a (rather ingenious really) complicated mishmash of tarps, plastic and rope holding what John assumed was the (remainder of the) body (and various secretions) on the couch. "You know Mrs. Hudson is going to throw a fit about all the (new) holes in the walls and ceiling."
Sherlock snorted. "Are you going to help me with this or not?"
John went back into the kitchen. "Well, since you asked so nicely it's the least I can do."
While Sherlock pried (what looked like solid gold) fillings out of teeth John held still in a set of pliers John realized the trouble Sherlock had gone through for him. John decided to thank him so it happened again. "Thanks for not leaving the body in the bath tub this time."
Sherlock started and blinked up at him before returning to the task. "Of course. I know you like to bathe after work." After a short pause he ruined what was a strangely sweet moment by adding: "Are you going to shower before your shift tomorrow? There's not enough room to hygienically de-bone him anywhere else and Mrs. Hudson said I couldn't use her tub.