Okay, so everything wasn't spotless. But he had tidied up a bit. Purely to annoy the flatmate who almost constantly infuriated him.
He had intended it as a joke but the 'You wouldn't dare…' had challenged him, and what sort of man was he if he did not accept.
One thing he had tidied, which the thought of still made him laugh, was the skull. So that when Sherlock confronts Mrs. Hudson, there would the oh so rare expression of confusion upon that handsome face. People would pay good money to see the great detective confused, and frankly he was one of them.
He'd also tidied the cupboards, finding several pieces of battered electronic equipment here and there, and stocked the fridge.
He isn't cruel, he'd left the various papers and books where they lay. But the nicotine patches, the nicotine patches might have gone walkabout.
He's smiling like a fool when Sherlock gets home, and his grin widens at the younger man's strangled mutter of "You didn't…"
John shakes his head with a laugh and smiles sweetly. "You're the detective, go and check."
He watches as Sherlock's calm façade dissolves into frantic, hysterical madness. He watches as Sherlock disappears into the kitchen and then comes back to stare at the sofa.
"You've sorted through the cupboards, probably helpful, thank you."
Sherlock descends into silence and obviously deep thought. He throws John a mistrustful stare and stalks into his room.
There is silence, for a while, then a cry of:
"Watson! Where the devil is my skull!"
Two in a row. I am on fire! Poor Sherlock he can't be lightening quick all the time and he has just got off an aeroplane. Oh and if you don't get it read John's blog.
