Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock
THIS IS JUST THE PROLOGUE; ACTUAL CHAPTERS WILL BE LONGER
It wasn't a special day or anything when it happened. Neither was it the result of one of Sherlock's ridiculous experiments. It was, purely and simply, the combination of a slippery rug, a tired John Watson, and some outrageously bad luck.
It was all rather embarrassing, actually.
John Watson woke to the sound of his alarm clock having a fit. A very loud, violent fit. And he knew exactly who to blame.
"Sherlock!" he snarled out forcefully through his pillows. "One day I am going to find a way to change that bloody alarm clock back to normal and then you-"
"John!" gasped Mrs Hudson from the kitchen, affronted at the doctor's words, "That is not an appropriate way to be speaking and besides," she continued, glaring at John as he stumbled guiltily down the stairs, "he's not here."
"Not here?" John repeated, scrunching his face up in confusion. Sherlock was always here in the morning, just like he always got John to make him a coffee.
"Mmhm," Mrs Hudson hummed smugly, "he went out with that brother of his earlier this morning. Looked right unhappy about it too, I for one think it must be something quite dreadful if Sherlock was willing to go with him. You know how they-"
"Yes, Mrs Hudson, are you telling me that Sherlock left the flat with Mycroft?" Mrs Hudson nodded happily, enjoying the opportunity for gossip. John was so flabbergasted that he completely forgot about the slippery rug at the base of the stairs and, leaning just that slight bit backwards as he stepped on it, his weight pushed the rug forwards and he fell, quite inelegantly, back onto the staircase, smashing his head onto the edge of one of the steps.
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