Bored

John was typing feverishly, IM-ing his latest girlfriend, Mary. It seemed to be going well – the relationship, not the conversation, though the conversation was leaning in a good direction – as he'd been dating her for about three weeks now. Most girls left a few days in, after meeting Sherlock for the first time. Mary, however, seemed to find the detective entertaining rather than insulting.

The Flatmate Hurdle had been successfully jumped.

That was when a barely audible moan issued from the front room. A few more followed, each one louder than the last.

John leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the kitchen table momentarily, then sat back up and resumed typing. Not this time.

"Bored..."

John shook his head. Nope.

"Bored..."

If possible, John typed even faster.

"BORED..."

John fondly read a reply, savouring each of Mary's well-chosen words.

"I'M BORED, JOHN."

"Shut up!"

"GIVE ME YOUR GUN."

"No!"

"I'LL FETCH THE CIGARETTES FROM UNDER THE SKULL."

"No, you won't! I've moved them!"

"I'LL BUY MORE."

"No one will sell you any, remember?"

A grumbled curse was the only reply, followed by a few alarming crashes and bangs.

"You're not going to find them, Sherlock!"

"YES I WILL."

"I've put them down the toilet!"

"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU."

John slapped his palms on the table. "Of course not," he muttered.

"I HEARD THAT, JOHN."

"Of course you did!"

More alarming sounds. This time it was paper.

"THIS WAS A TERRIBLE IDEA."

John scoffed. "It was your idea!"

"A HORRIBLE IDEA. COLD TURKEY WAS A HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE, BIT-NOT-GOOD IDEA."

"Quit wailing, Sherlock!"

"BUT I'M BORED. I REQUIRE MENTAL STIMULATION."

"Conduct an experiment, then!"

"I'M OUT OF BODY PARTS."

"Use the frozen chicken!"

A wordless howl filled the flat.

John rolled his eyes. "Is that really necessary?"

"YES."

John was typing again. "Well...go see if Molly's got anything for you."

"SHE'S NOT ANSWERING MY TEXTS."

"Then go down yourself!"

"THAT INVOLVES GOING OUTSIDE."

"So?"

"I DON'T WANT TO GET DRESSED."

"Are you prancing about in a sheet again? 'Like a fairy'?" John mocked.

A long, pregnant pause followed. Then came the sound of a body flopping on the sofa.

"...bored..."