A big thank you to Echoes In The Darkness, who provided me with the prompt: "john gets mad at sherlock because theres a head in the fridge and then finds the humourus side". I know that it should have been written in the Sherlock universe, but I like to add my own twist where and as I can. As a result, I have decided to see how the above prompt might unfold in the book-verse. Extra thanks go to the usual suspects for their services as sounding boards and betas. Where would I be without my friends BallyK and Ems?

Word count: 404 words.

A crash from the larder. A scream. The two sounds almost reaching the ears of the detective and doctor at the same instant, making it almost impossible to discern which started or ended first.

Holmes did not even twitch. He was suffering a black mood and was sprawled lifelessly upon the sofa.

Watson, on the other hand, was on his feet in an instant. He tore downstairs to see what the matter was, bringing with him his loaded revolver. The sound of his gentle, placating tones, along with the sound of one woman's yells and the cries of another's anguish, could be heard through the sitting room door, which had been left ajar in his haste.

Holmes gave a slight shiver in response to the resulting draught but gave no further indication that he had noticed anything amiss.

The slow footsteps of the doctor sounded upon the stairs. The door opened slowly.

"There is a head. In the larder."

The detective's eyes opened slowly and he met the stern, angry gaze of his companion. "Yes indeed. I put it there."

Watson closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The larder is a place for keeping food fresh Holmes. It should be kept free of contaminants. It is not a morgue Holmes!"

"Really Watson, I do believe that I should know the difference," said he with a slight smile. "Were that not the case, I should not have washed the head so carefully."

"But Holmes-!"

He gave a sigh and stretched. "Did you examine the head in question?"

The doctor admitted that he had been rather preoccupied with placating the angry Mrs. Hudson and attempting to soothe the distraught servant that had made the discovery.

The detective smiled. "Then go and do so. You shall find that no harm has been done to our housekeeper's larder."

With a resigned sigh, Watson again left the room and descended the stairs. He was gone for some time.

"It is wax," he announced when he did return.

His companion gave another little smile and turned his gaze upon him. "Of course it is wax! Why else would I have put it there? It was becoming a little soft in my bedroom and, as the larder is cooler, I thought it wise to leave it there."

Watson resumed his chair and started to laugh helplessly.

Holmes could not help but join him.