John glared at the metal spring which was wounded around the potentially life-threatening hammer held inches away from snapping at his soon-to-be prized snack.
The doctor glared at the menacing contraption and back at the flannel-wrapped Holmes.
Why was John calling Sherlock by his surname again? Well, the doctor blames both the mouse trap and Holmes' vast mind palace of selfishness. How was it his fault; normal people don't leave such dangerous hazards on the kitchen table, let alone in the kitchen itself.
Oh wait, of course that's why.
Because Sherlock is not a normal human being and likes to condemn his own mistakes onto his flatmate who was currently (risking his life) trying snatch that little piece of cheese off the mousetrap.
Sometimes John really hates Sherlock, but his own stubbornness gets the better of him and the adrenaline is already coursing through his veins making the latter oblivious.
The retired army doctor waited for the right moment to jump at his cheese(not Sherlock's) because the lazy-arsed detective did not seem to care whether John would get injured. The consulting detective remarked that all men would die one day. Before the soldier got out to punch the git, Sherlock said that he would be very disappointed if his Boswell(er, Blogger) left him all alone.
Sherlock remained hunched over the napkin with a piece of graphite in hand and continued to ignore the doctor, so John decided to grab the food anyway.
It was a marathon and John was going for the grand prize, the golden medal(cheese). The doctor was 15 metres away, 10 metres, and now 5. Before John could reach the (d*mned fourth chaos em-, er I mean) cheese, the doctor did the strangest belly flop to avoid being caught by the sudden intruders that entered the room. The one who just spoke seemed very agitated and was tapping his umbrella as he spoke, oh wait that would be Mycroft.
"Are you sure he was last seen here?" Mycroft asked once again to the DI.
Sherlock's head was already perked up and his brain ready to soak up the whole conversation. John was grumbling to himself, because Sherlock was going to be a git and enter his mind palace and didn't even have the decency to let John borrow the flannel once. Freezing in the flat was not a real option at the moment, especially if you're naked.
Should John take a risk and teach his egoistic flatmate a lesson? Would Lestrade or Mycroft ever hear the consulting duo?
John stalked over to the genius and smacked his flatmate right across the head, earning a yelp that silence their two visitors across the room.
Mycroft Holmes immediately shut his mouth up when he hard a distinct squeak echo across the room. It seemed to have came from beneath the good doctor's chair.
"Did you hear that too?" Lestrade glanced quizzically at the British Government.
The British Government nodded his head, then both authorities began to advance on the sound range before they were suddenly interrupted by Mrs Hudson's (inconvenient) banging of the door. The detective inspector accidentally tripped at the loud sound and landed in a heap on the floor.
The landlady quickly apologized for her sudden intrusion.
"It's okay Ms Hudson, you just scared me that's all," Lestrade slowly sat up and dusted his trousers. In reality his bum was feeling rather injured, the Detective Inspector grimaced as he stood up. Mycroft turned to the small lady and asked if she had seen or heard any strange noises not long after the explosion.
Ms Hudson shook her head just as Mycroft saw something move at the corner of his eye.
The older Holmes swiftly dropped to his knees and looked under the chair expecting to see something of interest, but he saw nothing beneath the poor piece of furniture. Lestrade had also seen Mycroft do that and did the same.
"Mr Holmes, you don't suppose that you think they are under this floor?"
"Lestrade, you may call me Mycroft. Mrs Hudson I believe that you may have some mice crawling around your floors, I will call over someone to take care of that for you. As of Sherlock..." Mycroft Holmes stood up and contemplated about the whereabouts of his younger brother and his companion.
Lestrade understood that it was rather late and finding both the detective and the doctor at this hour was rather impossible.
As both icons of authority exited the flat, the British Government looked back up at the upstairs window in suspicion and parted ways.
Out of all curiosity, the consulting detective peeked his head out once more after hearing the voices dissipate; of all things it was getting late.
"John, I need to find the antidote."
"You think?" A huff replied.
"Clearly we both can't bear the feeling of overwhelming idiocy."
Brunet scrambled beneath the abused flannel and waited patiently until he heard the soft snores from his flatmate, the dust settled quietly also.