"John tilt the couch to your right," Sherlock grumbled.
"It's not going to work, it won't fit either way," John replied.
"Yes it will, trust me. I have already calculated the height and width of the door frame, and the couch can fit through."
John tilted the couch to the right and backed up slowly into the wooden floored entranceway of his and Mary's brand new six million pounds house. Sherlock barely fit through the doorway (his head was about an inch away from the top of the doorframe). They carried the white flower patterned couch into the living room that was already stacked full of packaged boxes, and set the couch in the middle of the room on the zig zagged rug.
"Well, I think that's all," John sighed, "Thank you for your help, Sherlock."
Sherlock glided gracefully to the multi-paneled window and looked outside onto the quiet, empty street that John now lived on.
"Are you sure you actually want to live here?," Sherlock chuckled.
"Wh- what's wrong with where I live?," John questioned.
"It's so normal," he complained, "You live on Maple Street."
"So?"
"It's such an ordinary street name."
"Good thing you won't be living here," smiled Mary as she came into the room with a giant cardboard box, "I don't think I could listen to you complain all day."
Sherlock smiled. Had it been anyone else, he might have been offended, but Mary always had the kind of personality where you could not help but smile or laugh every time she made a snarky remark.
"Well, I can't say I wouldn't complain, and if that's all I really need to get back to Baker Street," he said as he walked toward the door.
"Oh wait- Sherlock!," exclaimed John said as he pulled out a yellow envelope.
"What is this?"
"We uh- we're having a house warming party this Saturday. It's a pool party," replied John.
"Oh, um, okay"
"You can make it right?," John asked sincerely.
Sherlock looked into John's eyes, and saw hints of eagerness in them. 'This must be important to him'
"Uh, yes! I'm sure I can clear my schedule."
"Good," said John as he strolled over to the door and opened the door.
When Sherlock arrived back at his flat, at precisely 8:03 pm, Mrs. Hudson was dusting his skull, and he could smell fresh baked lasagna in the kitchen. Unfortunately, he wasn't in the mood for lasagna nor was he hungry, so he crept silently into his bedroom and flopped quite ungraciously onto his bed. 'What have I gotten myself into? What was I thinking? I can't go to a pool party!'
