Chapter 2
Watson stared into space, his knees drawn up. Next to him, Holmes lay on the floor, staring at Watson staring into space. Neither of them said anything. They hadn't for a good ten minutes. The only noise was the dog shuffling through the mess, circling repeatedly until he was comfortable enough to plop down on a pile of clothes that hadn't been washed.
"We really need to clean up this room," Watson muttered for the millionth time that day. It had been his plan since the morning, to tidy up, but thus far, he had just lounged around, as lazy as the man he constantly complained about.
"Mm," Holmes replied, shifting himself slightly.
"Most of this isn't even my mess," Watson said, frowning, looking around.
"The clothes are yours," Holmes pointed out. He turned his head. "That's your waistcoat, your shirt, your socks..." he grinned a little, shaking his head slightly against the floor. He tugged at the shirt he was wearing. "Yours."
"Shut up," Watson muttered, scratching his nose so Holmes could not see the smile forming on his own face. He leaned back on his palms. "We really have to get to work. We've been sitting like this since before noon."
Holmes shrugged, still flat on his back. "Hop to it then."
Watson stared at him. He reached down and pinched the detective in the side. Holmes jumped, letting out a half laugh, half cry, and used his feet to move himself further away, still on the floor. He rubbed the sore spot near his torso. "You're cruel to me, Watson."
"You just slithered through a sea of mess," Watson told him. "It's all in your hair."
Holmes fingered his hair. "Just dust."
"That's revolting," Watson said.
"Oh, look-" Holmes picked up something beside him. "It's one of your notes from when you refused to speak to me." He flipped it over. "Even in writing, you love to complain."
"At least I complain," Watson said, and against his better judgement, he laid down. "You whine."
"I do not."
More silence. They both stared up at the ceiling. The dog sneezed, loudly, and then went right back to sleep. Watson finally sat back up, patting Holmes on the leg. "Come on, let's get this place cleaned up."
"I'll supervise," Holmes said, making no effort to move.
"Alright." Watson shrugged, standing up. He stretched, his shirt raising just a bit, showing a glimpse of stomach. Holmes never realized such a sight would look so different from the floor.
"But if you're really too lazy to help me clean our room," Watson said, staring down at him. "Then you're probably too lazy for any activities tonight."
Holmes held his arms out. Watson smirked and grunted slightly as he pulled him to his feet. Holmes looked around as Watson dusted debris from the detective's back and hair. "So how shall we go about this, Doctor?"