Boredom: Being tired or weary from a dull, repetitious or uninteresting occurrence.
"Tea?"
"Mmph."
"...Should I take that as a 'yes'?"
"Mmph."
John sighed as he shut his laptop and put it on the table before making his way to the kitchen. He flicked the kettle on and retrieved two cups from the cupboard. They had literally been home for half an hour before Sherlock proclaimed his boredom. John had been expecting it, and had dearly hoped Lestrade or another client would walk through the door as soon as they'd sat down. Alas, it was not to be, and Sherlock was now lying face down on the sofa in his blue silk dressing gown. For the past ten minutes John had tried to wheedle Sherlock into conversation, but the only responses he got – if he got one – were mono-syllable ones.
Once the kettle had boiled, John poured the hot water into the two cups and trudged back into the living room. Moving over to the sofa, he held out one of the cups to Sherlock's back.
"Sherlock."
"Mmph?"
"Tea. Now."
Sherlock groaned before flipping on his back and reluctantly taking the cup. John made his way back to his chair and settled in it, sighing in relief now that he was finally able to relax. His relief was short-lived, however, when one consulting detective spoke up.
"Check my website for cases."
"Do it yourself." John answered, sipping at his drink.
"Mmph. Dull. Look in the newspaper."
"Again, do it yourself."
Sherlock sighed heavily as he got up, placing the untouched tea on the coffee table and began to pace.
"John?"
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"I'm bored."
"I gathered. Why don't you ask Lestrade if he needs any guidance on a case?"
"If it was anything that would interest me, he would have come here himself."
"Well, I'm sorry Sherlock, but you are going to have to think of something yourself."
Sherlock sighed again. "I need a stimulant." he muttered to himself. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he looked up at John, with almost a pleading expression. John caught his eye, and frowned.
"What?" he asked suspiciously.
"I need them, John." Sherlock whined.
John continued to frown, but realisation suddenly hit him and he quickly stood up, facing Sherlock.
"No Sherlock." he said firmly. "We've been through this."
"John, you don't understand. My mind–"
"–will continue to deteriorate if you keep using them. It's for your own good, and I don't care what you say to me, you can't have them."
"John." Beat. "Listen to me. You cannot even begin to understand what is and isn't good for me, and I don't care what you say to me, because when I find them, and I will, I shall smoke every single day for the rest of my life." Sherlock's eyes had clouded over with frustration as he advanced on John, making sure the doctor felt intimidated by him. John, however, stood his ground.
"Sherlock." Beat. "You listen to me. You will not find them, and even if you do, there is no way in Hell I am going to allow you to use them, and you will have to fight me every single day for the rest of your life if you're that determined. So stop pretending to be all manipulative, because it's not working. If you're going to be like this, then I suggest you go and sulk in your room." Honestly, it was like he was scolding a child. Sherlock stared at him, attempting to stare the smaller man down, but John held the gaze and waited for Sherlock to move. After what must have been at least five minutes, Sherlock stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him.
Make that teenager, John thought to himself as he moved the two cups of cold tea to the kitchen. Abruptly, his phone pinged and he moved over to it. When he read the new message, he rolled his eyes, hearing the condescending tone in the text.
Nicely handled, John – MH
Quickly, he typed back a reply.
Right, because you could have done that better? – JW
Feeling a little bit better with himself, though knowing that getting into an argument with Mycroft was futile, he made his way downstairs and onto Baker Street, forming a mental shopping list in his head as he walked to the store.
Upon returning to 221B, John paused outside the living room door, listening to the scuffle coming from inside. Sighing, he placed the shopping bags on the table before heading over to the living room to watch the treasure hunt that was occurring. Sherlock was tipping the room back to front in order to find the small carton that he so desired. The books were strewn over the floor from being thrown from the bookshelf, the sofa was half-way in the living room from being pulled back from the wall, and even the skull was now watching the scene upside down.
"Sherlock." John said, but either the detective didn't hear him, or was just ignoring him. John suspected the latter.
"Sherlock." he raised his voice a bit, but Sherlock continued to ransack the place.
"Sherlock!" Finally, he stopped, but only to shoot John a murderous look.
"John, please." The doctor knew he was getting desperate, but they had agreed, and John really didn't want to get on the wrong side of Mycroft.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I–"
Sherlock scoffed loudly, cutting him off. "Don't apologise when there's something you can do about it... I'll only have one." he added, almost as an after-thought.
"No, I'm not going to change my mind." Sherlock continued to glare at him, so he decided to change the subject.
"Tea?" Sherlock sighed and flopped down onto the sofa, not bothering to clear the mess in the living room. Soon John had a new cup on the coffee table next to Sherlock as he sat down once again. He was just about to take a sip, when there was a sharp knock at the door. Sherlock rolled over and looked across at John.
"Expecting anyone?"
"No, you?" Sherlock shook his head.
Both men smiled; John from the relief of not having to put up with Sherlock's dark moods, and Sherlock because he finally had something to look forward to. The pair looked at each other and spoke simultaneously.
"Client."