"Sherlock + Syringe Can Mean Anything"
"It isn't what it looks like, John," Sherlock said, from where she was reclining on the couch, left arm resting on her legs, and right arm holding a syringe about an inch from piercing the pale skin.
"What does it look like, then?" John asked, eyes straying from his lover's steady hand to the coffee table, apparently devoid of illicit substances, with only the empty packet from the syringe, an empty vial, and an envelope with 'St. Bart's' scrawled on the front.
"Surely you are aware that the most accurate way to test for pregnancy is through a blood test?" she said, and John collapsed into his armchair, staring at his girlfriend, and wondering if this was the right time to propose.
My first three-sentence fic. I couldn't resist.