A/N: I'd like to tell you I have some super excuse for not uploading this chapter sooner, because I've had it written for almost a month and half-written since the I uploaded the first chapter. I really am sorry, but I have another chapter in mind that I'll try to upload by the end of the month as I am leaving soon to go and stay in Texas for a week. I'm sure I'll be uploading more once I get my brain together during the school year. Once again, I'm really sorry. *hangs head in shame*.
No clothes. Sherlock had no clothes. How on earth had that happened? It's not like he had a small amount of them.
But alas, everything was dirty. And he was not going to a crime scene in his pajamas or dirty clothes.
Mrs. Hudson was out doing the shopping and John was at work. No one to help him. Fine. He was a genius after all, he could figure out a washer and drier himself.
He gathered up everything that could fit into his arms and dumped them into the washing machine. Sherlock fiddled with the knobs, heavy load? Probably. Cold water or hot? Hmm... Cold.
He set all of the other ones until he was satisfied. How much soap was he supposed to put in? He honestly had no idea, so he dumped about half the box in. At least they'd be clean.
The detective hit start and left to sit down on the couch, pulling John's computer from beneath it and sending a few emails.
"Hey Sherlock." John entered the flat and scrunched his face in confusion. "What's that noise?"
"Don't be daft, I'm doing laundry," he scoffed.
John went into the laundry room and almost slipped on the soap pouring out the top and landing the floor.
"How much soap did you use?" he yelled.
"Not sure. Maybe four or five cups."
John wiped up the excess soup and gathered the bubbles in his hands, washing them down the drain. He came back into the living room.
"You should have phoned," he laughed.
"Oh," Sherlock said with disappointment. "Did I do it wrong?"
John kissed the pouting Sherlock on the cheek. "Yep."
