John had a date.
Finally, some time away from the dead bodies, chemical explosions, criminals and general Sherlock-ness that he had to put up with on a daily basis. Georgia was nice, pretty and normal. Plus, she had a great set of legs, which didn't hurt.
Their date was going well - he had taken her to an Italian restaurant a few minutes from the flat. Slowly, he slid his hand over hers. Georgia smiled and turned her hand so that their fingers tangled.
'Georgia, I-' BZZZT! John phone buzzed as a text came in. 'Sorry.' Pulling out his phone and cursing whoever had interrupted his date, John read the message.
NEED YOU. COME TO FLAT IMMEDIATELY - SH.
I'm on a date, Sherlock.
He pocketed his phone and smiled at his date. Her hair was a deep chocolate colour and her eyes were electric as she smiled back at him - like a cat's, they were a rare shade of hazel that glowed and sparked in the low light, luminous under the dark fall of her fringe.
'It's okay.'
'Thanks, it's just-' BZZZT! He took a deep breath and Georgia narrowed her eyes at him.
COME TO THE FLAT IMMEDIATELY - SH.
I can't. I'm on a date Sherlock.
'Who is it?' There was an edge to her voice now.
'My flatmate.' Was all he could think to say because usually, any other attempt to explain almost always resulted in his date breaking up with him.
'Your flatmate?'
'Yeah, he's-' BZZZT! BZZZT! BZZZT! Three texts came in, one after another.
I NEED YOUR HELP - SH.
IT'S IMPORTANT - SH.
I'LL USE YOUR HORRENDOUS JUMPERS IN MY NEXT EXPERIMENT - SH.
That did it.
'Look, Georgia, I'm sorry but I need to go.' John stood up and began putting on his jacket. It was this momentary distraction that preventing him from seeing the slap coming.
Crack.
His cheek stung and now the entire restaurant was staring at them.
'Fine. Just...don't call me.' the dark-haired woman stormed out of the restaurant and disappeared into the crowds and the lights of London at night. Embarrassed and more than a little angry at his wayward flatmate, John slapped some money down on the table and followed his former date out the door.
Ten minutes later, he was stomping up the stairs towards 221B Baker Street.
'Really, Sherlock? I was on a date!' The dark-haired genius was hunched over a laptop - John's laptop, to be precise.
'I needed you. It was important.' He didn't even raise his eyes from the screen.
'I had a date! With a hot girl!'
'Yes, we've covered that. Anyway, she wasn't looking for a relationship, I could tell by-'
'Why did you need me?' John really didn't have the time or patience to listen to Sherlock Holmes at his most obnoxious.
'I needed a second opinion.'
'You needed a second opinion.' Now the blue-eyed detective looked up.
'Really, John? Is your brain running slower than usual? Where would you say this mud came from?' Turning the laptop round, he showed John a picture of a pair of shoes, their soles caked with a dark, crumbly mud. Momentarily taken aback by the change in subject, he blinked and leaned forward to get a better look.
'Uhhh...River mud?'
'Spectacularly unobservant, as usual, but essentially correct. It's Thames river mud to be exact, you can tell by the tiny fragments of animal bone. The skeletons of animals wash up on the banks of the Thames near Swan Lane. Now,' he stood up abruptly, 'I've got to see a man about a dog.' Sherlock pulled on his coat and knotted his customary blue scarf around his neck.
'What? You made me leave my date to ask about mud?'
'Again, we've covered this.' the detective looked at his flatmate with an expression that could only be called pity. 'Why don't you just go back to your date?'
'Because she told me to not to call her again, but not before slapping me, in front of the entire restaurant, Sherlock!'
'Don't be so dramatic, John.' he rolled his eyes and John resisted the very familiar urge to punch him. 'She wasn't going to-'
'I DON'T CARE! All I wanted was a couple of hours away from...' he waved his hands in Sherlock's general direction, 'This! You and your cases and your general insanity but funnily enough, none of my dates seem to last very long because you ruin them all!'
'Well, next time choose someone who isn't so easily deterred. Now, I have to go, as I said, I need to see a man about a dog.' And with that, the detective swept from the room, slamming the door behind him. The faint remonstrations of Mrs Hudson echoed up the stairs.
Swearing under his breath, John strode over to the fridge to find something to eat. He hadn't even finished his starter when his date went wrong.
That being said, there usually had to be food in the fridge to be able to cook something. It seemed that Sherlock had needed more space for his experiments because both the fridge and the freezer were full of body parts and all the food was in the bin.
'For GOD sake Sherlock!' the ex-soldier slammed the fridge door and heard something rattle. That would be the eyeballs.
Wait. At what point in his life did he ever imagine himself saying that?
Never. He never expected to have to deal with eyeballs in the fridge or toes in the microwave.
Really, why did he put up with Sherlock Holmes?