October 2nd
Sherlock lifts his head, yawning widely, so widely that it brings tears to his eyes and he rethinks not going to bed early. His gaze falls on John, who's rooting around through a cardboard box that had been recently in storage.
"What are you doing...?" he questions lazily, pushing his fingers back through his hair.
"Halloween decorations," John said, pulling out a strand of what seemed to be black gauze.
"And this involves gauze how?"
"It's a strand of lights. They're on the gauze. And... gauze is traditional Halloween? I don't know. The gore and decay stuff."
Sherlock stifles another yawn, turning over on his stomach so he could better watch John in his idle holiday prepping. "If you get me a dead body, I'll hang it on the door," he comments, resting his chin on the armrest.
"Oh, I've got a skeleton... Somewhere in storage, probably. We could hang the skeleton on our flat door, probably not the front door."
"When you say 'skeleton', you mean a fake skeleton, don't you?" Sherlock intones.
"Of course. We're not hanging a real skeleton anywhere, Sherlock," John muttered. "Oh, here you go."
He hands over a piece of styrofoam, setting it on the armrest next to Sherlock's head. Sherlock lets his eyes rove over the 'decoration'- it's a fake dismembered foot on a styrofoam tray, fake blood and all. It's a cheap and terrible imitation of the real thing, Sherlock thinks.
"Lovely," he says instead, moving his head down a bit. "But I have all of this stuff in the refrigerator."
Sherlock can practically hear John's eyes rolling. "Well, it shouldn't be there," John reminds him for the umpteenth time. For the umpteenth time, Sherlock pays him no mind.
"I'm not allowing to have my dismembered feet in the fridge, but you place dismembered feet around the flat for decoration? I find this horribly unfair," he said lazily.
"That's life," John replies as he pulls out a fake bat.
"You'll frighten Mrs Hudson to death," Sherlock says, fighting a sleepy smile.
"Is it terribly cruel to hang it in the doorway?" John asks absently, looking up.
Sherlock closes his eyes. "If you have to ask me that, I think you already know the answer."
John laughs quietly and continues to rummage through the box. Sherlock drifts off with the mental picture of Mrs Hudson shrieking over the fake bat and bloody feet littering the flat.
Why use fake bloody feet when there's perfectly accessible bloody feet in the fridge? Well... sanitation? :p
