"John!"
Sherlock went inside the flat, looking for his friend.
"John!" he repeated, "Lestrade phoned me. There is a new-"
His attention was caught by the note on the fridge.
Roses are red
Lilies are white
There's another severed head on the fridge
Get that bloody thing out of my sight!
Sherlock couldn't help but smile. He took a pad of sticky notes and wrote a note of his own.
Really, John? A poem?
He went out again.
You're no fun, Sherlock.
Very well then.
Roses are not always red
Flowers are irrelevant
The head stays in the fridge
It's for an experiment
It's a nice try Sherlock
But it's like rhyming lemon and lime
Your poem wouldn't have sucked
If you had used words that rhyme
I honestly don't give a hoot
When someone uses citrus fruit
Your poems suck
And you're a sore loser
I'll give you my life savings
If you stop trotting around in your underwear
You surely like to point out the irrelevant
It's starting to hurt my face
Go get dressed now John
Lestrade gave me another case
You can definitely solve it alone
Or for me you can just wait
I can't go with you tonight
I've got a date
"A date?" Sherlock called out from the kitchen.
"Yes. With Sarah. We're together again, remember?"
Sherlock frowned. He must have deleted it.
Violets are blue
And so am I
You chose Sarah over me
And I don't know why
I did not choose Sarah over you
I can't believe you're jealous
If I wasn't so touched
I would find this hilarious
You find my pain hilarious
So I'll just do this alone
I was born alone, I'd die alone
Alone, alone, alone
Don't guilt-trip me, you git.
I'm not making you feel guilty
I'll just be on my way
If I die tonight
Don't throw my experiments away
You bastard, don't you dare die on me
It doesn't matter where or when
If you get yourself killed
I will hunt you down and kill you again
You're being illogical again
But it doesn't matter
Come along, John!
You'll get your sex later
I damn well hope the sex you're talking about won't come from you.
It doesn't matter.
"That. Was. Crazy."
Sherlock and John were doubling up in laughter when they went up the stairs back to their flat. They were trying to catch a serial killer in the act and to do so, they had to dress in women's clothes. After they had handcuffed the suspect, Lestrade found them making sexy poses to make each other laugh. The poor detective inspector almost looked like he was about to vomit.
"I'm going to shower first," Sherlock said.
After he showered, he found another note on the fridge.
Roses are red
The head's still in the fridge
If you don't throw this out
I will throw you off a bridge
Aren't you tired of poems and leaving notes on the fridge when in fact we're in the same room?
I will never get tired of poetry
Just humor me, mate
What can I do, I'm an old romantic
Haters gonna hate
You did not just use that phrase.
Haters gonna hate?
Yes.
Haters gonna hate.
Waiters gonna wait.
Maters gonna mate.
Tomatoes gonna tomate.
Potatoes gonna potate.
Those are not even words.
Roses are red
The Winchesters wear plaid
Sherlock Holmes is a grumpy old man
No wonder you don't get laid
First, haven't I told you about the roses? Second, guns don't wear plaid. In fact, they don't wear anything at all. Third, I am not grumpy, you are just annoying. Lastly, how can you be sure that I don't get laid?
Guns? I wasn't talking ab Never mind. Oh, so you have gotten laid.
Not really.
Ha. :)
What's the smile for?
It wasn't a smile. It was a mocking face. I'm mocking you.
I'm so sorry, Sherlock. Please give me back my gun.
You know, John, unlike you, I spend all of my time and energy doing things that actually matter.
Sex matters. It's a way of showing people you love them.
I love Mrs. Hudson. You don't see me having sex with her.
Bad mental image. Anyway, you know that's not what I meant.
I'm running out of sticky notes.
"Sherlock," John said for about the fifth time. "Sherlock, we need to talk."
The detective just continued ignoring him and staring up at the ceiling, thinking, John supposed.
"It's about Sarah," John continued anyway, "She asked me to move in with her."
At that, Sherlock stirred.
"And what did you say?"
"I said I'd think about it. What do you think?"
"I think the killer is the one with the limp."
"What? No, what do you think about this? About me moving in with Sarah?"
"You told her you'd think about it. Why are you asking me what I think?"
"I just want to know what you feel about it, that's all."
There was a long silence.
"I don't feel," Sherlock said after a while.
John just nodded. "All right, then." And he went to his room.
When John came out of his room 20 minutes later, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. There was another note, however, on the fridge.
Roses may not always be red
I don't really care about any flower
What I do care about is that you do not leave
Don't go, John; stay with me forever
Idiot. You still suck at poetry.
Dinner tonight? :)
