AN: I'm gonna start by saying this- the homeroom teacher I got this year is a sadist. She's been giving us so much homework I've barely had time to think about writing, much to XxKimi-chanxX's anger. But I really wanted to write this, so, History, Science, and Language assignments be damned, I'm writing this! And, surprise surprise, this time I'm not writing a Romance fic! Well, not unless you squint, anyway.
Disclaimer: The original Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, "Sherlock" belongs to BBC, and Rubik's cubes belong to… Rubik?
Not for the first time, 221b Baker Street was a complete mess. John stood in the doorway, staring disbelievingly at the jumble of books and cushions thrown around the living room, and in the middle of it, a certain consulting detective glaring at a colourful little cube.
"Wha- Sherlock!" John cried, picking up a random book, "What in God's name did you do?"
"Forget it, I give up," Sherlock said, ignoring him, "This is impossible to solve."
"What are you talking about?"
"This," Sherlock snarled, throwing the object he was holding in John's general direction. After diving rather spectacularly, John caught it.
"Is this a… Rubik's cube?"
He received only a grunt in response. Smiling softly, he turned it over in his hands.
"I used to love these when I was a kid," he said, experimentally twisting one of the sides, "I wonder if I can still solve this."
"Bet you can't," Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms. John fiddled with the cube for a few seconds before all the sides were one-coloured. Grinning broadly, he held it up for Sherlock to see.
Sherlock looked from the cube to John and back again.
"Shut up," he grumbled, flopping on the sofa.