Tea From Every Orifice

"Sherlock, where is my mobile?" John marched into the living room just as Sherlock, sitting, swept up his feet and rested them on the chair opposite, under the table. His fingers tap-danced on the keyboard of John's laptop, fast as James Devine and his eyes were at half-mast- disinterested with the content on the screen. "Sherlock. Sherlock!" John barked, brandishing the phone replica.

"I never understood musophobia. Rats and mice are as common as pigeons and I don't know about you, but I've never seen a Londoner squealing manically down the streets because of a Columbidae. Then again, any fear is foolish. I believe the amygdala should be explored in more depth, to save the peculiar lutraphobes and aulophobes of this world."

John blinked, incredulous throughout Sherlock's mumbled maunder. He almost dropped the plastic bag- with three tins of Heinz tomato soup, green-top milk and a Kit-Kat- but thought against it in his wearied vexation. Instead, he-

"Don't throw that mobile at me, John. I'll catch it and you'll be even mo-" The phone bumped proudly against Sherlock's feline-high cheekbone and landed in his lap.

"Soup?" John offered, somewhat joyously, as he strode into the kitchen. Sherlock pursed his lips, put the mobile on the table and prodded the back of his lower left incisor tooth.

"Oh, you want me to partake in the soup that inspired a homophobic controversy now?" Sherlock muttered, logging into the email specific for any correspondence from Lestrade. The imagined cry of John calling out his name in rapture echoed in his mind and he confused himself with the reaction that sped through his body. In half a mili-second, though, he had batted the fantasy away but the smirk still played on his lips like a mischievous child. He deliberated for a second as he wondered whether he should delete the texts that enlightened him...

"What was that?"

"Nothing, John, nothing. So, I presume you're occupied for the night, then? With Jessica?" Sherlock probed the mobile in his trouser pocket. He slipped it out and quickly deleted both texts pertaining to last night.

Silence. Then, storming back into the room without a second thought for his tomato and basil soup,

"Right, give me my phone, Sherlock. That's one step too-" John stopped speaking just in time to catch his mobile. Sherlock had swivelled in his seat at the same time. He leant forward and pressed his palms together, pointing at John with them.

"Must've switched them by accident."

"Likely."

"Ah, so you do have some faith in-"

"Sarcasm."

Sherlock made a silent 'ah' with his mouth and looked back on the email he had opened. He leaned back in his chair, stretched out and folded his limber legs and undid the top button of his shirt, still profile to the laptop. There was a definite pause that lasted no more than a second, an ephemeral intake of breath from John before he raced into a rant.

"No. Before you even ask, no. I will not sneak into the backstage of the Palladium. I will not drive you to the burlesque show in Brixton. I will not lend you a hand in Henley and I will not be your interpreter for whatever heist you're planning on the deaf-mute charity in Pimlico."

"John, we've cracked those cases before. I'm not about to ask you to-"

"You are about to ask me to do something of that ilk. So- negative. Absolutely not. By no means. Never, nix, no way, nein-"

"Before you reel off the entire listing of 'no' from the thesaurus, let me get my words out at least. I was going to say... have a good time. And don't let it boil over."

"Oh... well, I'll be kind to her. She didn't do anything wrong-"

"Not the squaw, John, the soup."

"Huh?" John glanced behind him and saw the angry soup protesting. "Oh!"

As John saved his slighted soup, Sherlock sighed and considered the email.

'Sherlock. Missing builder from construction site. Female builder. Last seen Tuesday. Slovenian immigrant, n.o. Cvetco Androjna . Any leads; clues; ideas; inklings... something, anything. Slovenian ambassador worried. Lestrade.'

"John, what day is it today?"

"It's on the corner of the-" John was about to repeat a sentence he'd said near a hundred times before he shook his head and sat in the armchair, bowl in hand. "Friday." He blew off the steam.

"Ah, never mind- it says so here in the corner of the screen. Hmm..." Speedily, Sherlock wrote a bullet-point response.

'Obv. question all on site. Investigate nearest airport. Check for anything precious stolen from safe on site...'

He swerved his fingers round on the laptop touchpad and the mouse obeyed, leading him to Facebook. Hacking nonchalantly into John's account, he typed in the missing woman's name. Two results appeared. One of a slightly tanned, overly-made up brunette in a striped vest that displayed two firm but fake assets.

The other had

"A tight smile; pony-tail straining the skin around her bony ears; cheekbones lunging out of the photograph; eyes: wide and army-green, pupils dilated. A quick hunt through the photo gallery confirms recent acute nasal septum perforation..."

"Drug addict..." John mused, in dazed harmony with Sherlock.

A few seconds later- dodging under the social network's safety guard- Sherlock discovered the latter's account had recently been deactivated but that Cvetco had signed back in within the retrial period yesterday noon. Scanning the lady's contacts and breaching all manner of human rights by scrutinising her 'Wall', Sherlock returned to the reply and typed six more words:

'Track dog named Alphonz. Devil's Dandruff. SH.'

That done, Sherlock browsed the BBC news website, checked the weather, noted the sudden influx of advertisements concerning Japanese food all over the web and then closed the laptop.

John watched as Sherlock strained his neck to the right and clamped a hand over the curve of neck that joined with his shoulder.

"Ache?" he asked.

"Slight," Sherlock bit the word out as if with disgust, quietly. John narrowed his eyes and almost glared at the back of Sherlock.

"You did that yesterday, too. Before I left."

"Maybe I slept funny."

"You haven't slept in a week. And don't use colloquialisms."

"The back support on this chair is abominable."

"It was bought specially for-"

"John, it's fine," Sherlock interrupted, but he sounded distracted. John was too busy slurping the last of his soup to see Sherlock peek out of the window. A second later, he shot up and almost leapt into the kitchen.

"Idea for an experiment?"

"Nope. We-" Sherlock paused, smiling when the doorbell rang within his estimation- "have company. I'll make the tea."

"Why so chipper? And you can't make tea," John said, making his way downstairs.

"John, if I could pour tea from every orifice in my body just to make this more enjoyable, I would," Sherlock whispered to himself, gleefully. He spun on his heel and fell back against the kitchen counter, closing his eyes and biting his lower lip as he heard John's voice from downstairs:

"Jessica! What are you doing here? I mean, um... I was going to-"

"You texted me to bring that jumper back around...? You said Sherlock was in."

Hope you enjoyed! Reviews would of course be splendid, I welcome all feedback so please don't hold back! If you do, never mind- have an helium-balloon deerstalker on your way out : )