Howdy :) I am sooo sorry for not updating! No excuse really so I won't bother.
The usual...I don't own *wails*
Here you go...
He arrived home at 9.30pm after a long train journey to King's Cross. He had expected the worst; severed body parts, horrific smells and ruined wallpaper. However, once through the threshold, John was welcomed by the smell of bacon, the sound of oil, sizzling in the pan and of all things….music. Not a violin, but the radio. Slow, deep and soulful. He turned the corner at the top of the stairs, went through the living room and stood at the opening into the kitchen.
His flatmate was stood, leaning over the hob, his unruly hair flopping to cover his eyes. He turned round and locked his eyes on John.
'I didn't here you come in,' he said phlegmatically.
'Really?'
'No. I did.'
Silence followed. Neither of them could think of what to say, not even Sherlock. John glanced around the room trying to fins something to spark a conversation. Then his eyes landed on a box of oats by the microwave.
'By the way,' he began 'Have you seen my cream jumper?'
Sherlock froze, even though he was practically in that state already. His eyes darted to the bookcase and back to John.
'Where is it.' It was more of an order than a question. When he received no reply, John walked back into the living room…and to the bookcase; he'd learnt a lot whilst living with Sherlock.
There, tucked in between the bookcase and the alcove wall was a jumper, the colour of porridge and not unlike in texture. He held it up. Sherlock stared. He'd never been found out. Nor had he been so unsure of himself. Ever.
That was when John unzipped his bulky coat to reveal a purple shirt, lying against his broad chest. He took it out slowly, as if he may injure it, and tossed it onto his armchair with the two mangled and draped together.
Each man took a step forward, but yet again, Sherlock froze. John however, continued surely until he was in front of Sherlock.
Dun dun DUUUUUUUN! Suggestions for an ending would be nice :) Reviews are a *must*
Love.