Disclaimer: Still don't own Sherlock.
John was going home after getting groceries at Tesco's. He was curious as to why Sherlock had told him to get so much instant tapioca, but figured that it was a good thing he was at least going to eat something. Sherlock wasn't home when he got in, but Mrs. Hudson had said she was making biscuits so he didn't wonder too much. John just put away the food and raided Mrs. Hudson's biscuits, which were very tasty. He had just settled down to a book he had been reading and a biscuit when the door banged open. "Did you get what I asked for?" John could hear Sherlock's voice, even though he hadn't looked up yet. "Yep." "Good," his flatmate muttered and went into the kitchen.
When in the kitchen, Sherlock opened the brown paper bag he had with him. He pulled out a hand and a liver from it, and placed them on the counter. "Where did you put the tapioca?" he called. "Cupboard," was the reply. He opened the cupboard, got out one of the boxes of instant tapioca, and set about making some. After making a batch, he put on his safety goggles, grabbed his blowtorch and set to work.
John was almost done with a chapter when he started to notice the smell. It at first smelled like yummy tapioca. Then burning tapioca. Then burning flesh. Then burning flesh mixed with burning tapioca. At this point there was smoke coming from the kitchen. "Sherlock, you alright?" John asked. He went into the kitchen-not a great idea in retrospect. Sherlock had his shirt collar over his nose and safety goggles on his eyes as he blowtorched a human hand coated in tapioca. John could only think of one thing to say as he coughed from the fumes.
"What the bloody hell, Sherlock?"
Sherlock glanced up, then continued focusing his attention on… on whatever that was. In five minutes, apparently it was finished, as he turned off the blowtorch and set it down. He then sat down, and proceeded to poke, prod, stretch, and snap the dessert-encrusted hand, writing everything down in that journal of his-the one with bloody handprints. John sighed, gave up, and walked away. He really needed some fresh air after that horrible smell.
Poor, poor John…
Prompts always welcome!