It was an ordinary day in London. Ordinary for John and Sherlock, that is. John had been out for a few hours while Sherlock was at home working through the facts of a case in his head. John had decided to leave the flat for a while since he knew Sherlock could be silent for hours when he got to this stage.
Little did John know that when he returned to Baker Street he was going to be, quite literally, swept off his feet.
John bound up the stairs and no sooner did he come through the doorway was he greeted by Sherlock's voice, which rang with tones of both urgency and excitement.
"John!" the detective exclaimed as he leapt from his chair and hurried over to where John was standing, lifting up the smaller man and then spinning around. John's legs swung out from the momentum, but his torso was held tightly to Sherlock's.
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, confused out of his mind. He tried to find words that might elicit an explanation, but his shock got the better of him and he simply let out a muffled grunt. Sherlock finally put him down after a few spins, which were enough for John to stagger when he was left to stand on his own again.
"What the bloody hell was that for?" John demanded once he regained his balance.
"A case," Sherlock replied frankly. "The murderer picked up the victim and spun her around to cause disorientation in order to make it easier to kill her. I wanted to test the severity of the effects."
"A warning would have been nice. I'd barely walked in the door!"
"That would have defeated the purpose, John. I had to be spontaneous."
"Yeah, OK, then are you happy with your findings, or do I have to stand here like an idiot while you observe me?"
"You've been sufficient."
Having gotten an answer he could live with, John disappeared into the kitchen to put on some tea. Sherlock smiled to himself as he returned to his chair, satisfied with his accomplishment and trying to preserve the feeling in his memory. It wasn't for a case.