AN: I was scrolling the internet and when I came across this... well, let's just say I made a strange noise in public...I just had to write about it immediately! Sadly I couldn't find the picture again that gave me the idea :( Just know that it wasn't my idea first. Just type into Google "Sherlock funny curlers" and it should be the first thing that comes up. I hope you can forgive my unprofessionalism :P
I did update this recently, so if this is your second time reading my story, it will be a bit different to before-I hope it's an improvement!
Now on with the story!
Late Night Rituals
John barrelled through the door of Baker Street, climbing the stairs two at a time. It was late and he had been coming back from a night out with Stamford when he heard the news. What he and Sherlock did for a living was insane, dangerous, bat crap crazy, and… it was exactly what John lived for. Lestrade had texted him since Sherlock was too damn lazy to look at his own phone himself. It was Moriarty. He was back in business and his henchman had taken a working chocolate factory (bat crap crazy, right?) hostage. Their only demand: Sherlock Holmes.
Panting hard, John charged through the flat, calling out Sherlock's name. He saw his phone lying on the couch; he must have not realized it'd gone off, John thought. He searched every room and stopped, noticing there was music playing. He heard the sound of a violin flitting out from Sherlock's shut bedroom door. John burst through into the room and saw something he would not have ever expected to see.
"Sherlock! There's a case! It's Mor-"
Sherlock was sitting in his chair facing the mirror fixed on the wall. His head whipped around and stared at John with wide eyes. He clearly wasn't expecting to be interrupted. The classical music coming from a gramophone (where did he get that? John thought) finished with gentle flourish and the flat became filled with a stunned silence. The traffic outside hushed into nothing. John didn't say anything but a blush crept up his neck and to his cheeks. His eyes didn't leave Sherlock, whom had visibly paled.
Sherlock had his arms reached up to his head and was wrapping purple curlers into his ebony hair. There were already two on the side of his head and was just starting on the third in his fringe. He didn't move a muscle, arms tense and back ram-rod straight. John didn't know what to do. He was completely at a loss for words.
They stared at each other for several minutes. Neither of them moved a muscle- Sherlock still had his hands in his hair and John's hand was still on the doorknob. Neither knew quite what to do. Eventually John backed out silently, shutting the door behind him. Sherlock sighed and relaxed, applying the curlers into his hair once more. John walked into the kitchen still speechless. He had completely forgotten about Lestrade and Moriarty and fancied a cuppa'. It was only as he was sitting in his chair with a cup of tea his shoulders began to shake.
Sherlock Holmes curled his hair…with purple curlers. Sherlock-bloody-Holmes, the man who didn't even bother to shower while on a case curled his hair. John idly wondered whether Mycroft did the same.
John narrowly avoided spilling tea all over himself as his laughter racked his body. His ribs and stomach began cramping and he gasped, struggling to breathe.
"Oh, Shut up!" he heard Sherlock yell heatedly. John laughed even harder and began stamping his feet in mirth. He stopped laughing, however, when he unwisely spilt scolding hot tea all over himself.
He started up again though, when Sherlock strolled into the living room with a head full of curlers wrapped up in a purple cotton sheet.
AN: I hope you enjoyed this! Don't forget to review!
