Sherlock pushed a shoe box out of his way with an annoyed grunt. He groaned and let his head fall onto the floor of John's bedroom.
The detective was lying on the floor partly under John's bed with his arms stretched out further under. He shuved boxes out of the way as he searched for something he could do an experiment on. The genius had been so bored.
Sherlock pushed some more boxes and bags out of the way then suddenly something caught his eye. A sleek black box was pushed against the wall and was previously hidden by a few bags. The box was long and thin and immediately peaked his interest. The detective frowned as he reached out to pull the box closer to him. His fingers caught easily on the hard material and he dragged it across the floor and over to him.
The sociopath shuffled out from under the bed and pulled this box with him. The genius sat cross legged with the box balanced on his knees. He lifted the dark box up and twisted it to and fro in his long fingers. The light from the window hit the box revealing some words written in shiny silver. The writing was a signature. The words were large and twirly. It said, Garfen's.
The detective wrapped his fingers over the lid of the box and tugged gently at it until it opened. The box was full of thin paper, the type used to wrap shoes in their boxes. He rested the box on his legs again and placed the lid on the floor beside him. Using his violinist fingers he gently lifted one layer of the paper away from the box, then he did another layer and another and another until there was only one layer left. Sherlock breathed in deeply as he prepared to reveal what was inside.
He lifted the last sheet of thin paper and his breath caught in his throat. There in the box lay a midnight black leather riding crop. Sherlock glanced back over his shoulder to ensure he was alone before putting his hand into the box and lifting the riding crop from its case.
He abandoned the sleek box and gripped the firm leather in his hands. He ran the twist of the leather in his palm and a smile blossomed across his lips. He didn't know that John was into all that kind of stuff. He ran the tip of the crop over his lips and breathed out deeply.
Suddenly, there was a creak on the stairs and Sherlock's head shot around to see the door. He quickly looked back down and threw the expensive riding crop into its box and rammed on the lid. He chucked it under the bed and pushed some bags back where they where to cover it.
The genius span around so he was sat with his back leaning against the bed. Just then John stepped around the door. A frown pulled down on his lips as he looked at the detective on his bedroom floor. Slight panic flashed in his eyes as he remembered what he had under his bed.
"Sherlock? What are you doing up here?" John asked cautiously.
The detective looked up from where he was peering at his nails casually, "Nothing. I was looking for you but got tired so sat down."
John frowned even more but shook his head in disbelief, "Come on, Sherlock. You've found me now. Let's go downstairs."
Sherlock stood and stretched as he walked towards the door. He followed John but just before he left the room he glanced back to the bed. He could only wonder what else was hidden under there, for now anyway.
