DOMESTICITY
Breakfast
In which the doctor does not play footsies
Why Watson had agreed to this madness, he himself did not know. He took a sip of his too-sweet Earl Gray and glared at the toast like it had offended his mother.
Holmes had never liked the elderly Mrs. Watson – it seemed neither of the Watson women sat well with him – so he picked the toast off Watson's plate and finished in three hearty bites.
"Holmes!"
"Don't throw a fuss, Watson," said the detective around a mouthful of his own toast, "Your shoulders are stiff and your expression quite off-putting. You weren't going to eat it anyway." He added as if it were an afterthought.
"That is a disgusting habit."
"What?"
"Eating with your mouth open. And eating off another's plate."
"You never complained about my methods before." The detective had the nerve to pout.
Watson huffed and grabbed the morning paper from beside the pitcher of orange juice. He shook it open and held it front of his face.
"My dear Watson, do your talents know no end?"
The paper shifted a little but no doctor came in view.
"Reading the paper upside down – most fascinating little trick. Did Mary teach it to – oof! Watson, did you just –?!"
"Whatever are you on about now, Holmes?"
"– kick me. You, sir – Oof! Watson!"
The doctor seemed too absorbed in his upside down morning paper to care.
So Holmes did what any other man would have done. He kicked Watson back, hard – "Ow, my shin!" – and then suddenly became very interested in his hard-boiled egg. That is until a shoe-clad foot hit him between the legs. "Watson!"
"Was something the matter, old chap?"
Holmes gasped and wheezed and gasped some more.
"Oh, get over it, Holmes. It isn't like there was much to hurt anyway."
5 minutes later...
Mrs. Hudson had been in the employment of one Mr. Sherlock Holmes for three years and for all that he thought her a simpleton (and one out to smother him in his sleep), she'd long become accustomed to his antics. When she walked into the room and an expensive look vase flew in her direction, she merely ducked and made herself busy clearing the table. Her employer was crouching under said table, his unshaven face covered with more breakfast than he'd probably eaten. Beside him lay the comatose form of a dog, its stomach covered in strips of bacon.
"Mr. Holmes," said the woman rather blandly, piling the dishes, "What have you done to the poor creature now?"
"You cruel man!" yelped someone from behind an upturned armchair in one corner of the room. "Leave the dog out of this!"
"Good morning, Doctor Watson," said Mrs. Hudson to the armchair.
"How do you do, good lady?" came the reply.
"Stop fraternizing with the enemy!" hissed Holmes, tugging at the woman's skirt, "Tell me...do we have a large vat of toxins in the kitchen? It must be this big and deep enough to submerge a man of Dr. Watson's build?"
She didn't respond.
The detective lit his pipe and spit out a fried tomato before taking a puff. "Hm, well, I suppose a frying pan will have to do instead. Fetch me one quickly."
"Nice seeing you again, doctor," said Mrs. Hudson, taking the plates and making her way to the door.
"The same to you, madam."
"Send my greetings to the Mrs. Watson, would you?"
"With great pleasure. Good day."
Mrs. Hudson nodded in the direction of the arm chair and left the room, just missing the egg her employer had thrown at her.
Breakfast was always an interesting affair on 221B Baker Street.
Yes it's all a bit cracky but these two are just too much fun. And I had to use that Harry Potter quote in there – cookies if you can guess which one I'm referring to. There might be semi-serious stuff in later drabbles. Maybe.