"I'm back! Got the milk!" I shouted as I came through the front door of 221B Baker Street. No reply. What was Sherlock doing? I quickly came to the conclusion he was probably in the kitchen conducting another of his odd experiments in just that sheet that he spends days in sometimes. This thought brought a smile to my face as I rushed up the stairs to our apartments main floor. As I turned the corner I expected to see Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to his microscope.
But he wasn't. He was sat on the couch. With a gun. I sighed.
"BORED!" Sherlock stated as he aimed at the smiling face on the wall of our living room. I was momentarily stunned by the sound of the shot and then I remembered that this was Sherlock Holmes I was looking at and that this was perfectly normal behaviour. "If you're bored, go out and solve a case!" I said popping the milk in the fridge. I knew the answer, of course, before he said it, "There aren't any good ones! Nothing I would waste my time on anyway... I'd rather shoot a wall than find a child's lost glow-in-the-dark rabbit!" The great master of deduction was sulking.
I may not have been right about what exactly he was doing. But I was right about what he was wearing. Just that sheet. His hair still mussed up from the night before. A lovely pouty upper lip. A thought suddenly struck me, "Are you wearing any pants?" I asked, again sure of the answer. I swear sometimes I must just ask him questions to hear that amazingly seductive voice of his. And no, before you say it, I'm not gay! It's just Sherlock. It's different. If I was to ever be with a man, it would have to be Sherlock, but I'm pretty sure he's assexual as far as anything goes... "You know the answer to that John, yet you still ask... every single time." Sherlock said. He then mumbled something completely incohernent. "What was that, Sherlock?"
"I said, you ask that question so often that if I was to walk around the house butt-naked, you'd probably still ask it."
"Hah! I doubt that. I think I would notice you weren't wearing anything, give me some credit, Shirley!" I knew he hated when I called him Shirley. I grinned to myself.
He humphed and simply said, "Maybe I'll have to make an experiment out of it..."
I said nothing. Of course, in my head, I was screaming for him.