Hey again! Thank you for my review: The souless ones, well, anything with Sherlock is a chore! And my followers! Lorna2304 and YJFangirl!
And here's another chapter. Please review XD
"Wait. Before you do anything you might later regret, one question, let me ask one question. Are you really going to keep that?" - Sherlock Holmes, The Empty Hearse
The Christmas Jumpers (Or "Sherlock Goes Loopy and Molly Feeds Her Cats")
Molly Hooper had just finished feeding her cats – Charlie and Lola – when her phone rang.
She dried her hands on the dishcloth by the sink, patted Lola on the head as she walked by, and then walked into the living room, picking the phone up and holding it to her ear.
"Hello?" She asked, brushing a little cat hair off the sofa before taking a seat. The last thing she wanted was to walk into work on Monday with cat hair all over her jeans.
"Molly, was Sherlock acting a little odd when he came to the morgue yesterday?" John asked quickly. Molly's first intonation was one of surprise – as she wasn't used to John calling her at all, but then she shook herself (what would Sherlock think?) and replied as calmly as she could.
"Well…" She trailed off, thinking back to the day before. "He was wearing his coat indoors, again, and he made me make the coffee, again… No, not really John. Why do you ask? Has he done anything strange?"
As Molly was feeding cats and drinking tea, John was standing in the middle of Regent Street, watching Sherlock beadily as he shopped in New Look. So far, his flatmate had picked up a total of six Christmas jumpers, holding each one up to himself in the mirror every time. "No, nothing." John said quickly, forcing himself to look away from where Sherlock was now chatting – chatting – to a shop assistant. "Nothing at all, forget I bothered you Molly."
He bid her farewell, and absent-mindedly a 'Merry Christmas' (a month John, a full month to go), before slipping the phone into his pocket and looking both ways before crossing the street.
"Isn't it lovely John?" Sherlock asked, as he walked out of New Look with a bulging bag and to where John was waiting. "The atmosphere, the decorations, look! The nice girl in the shop recommended that I buy this!"
Sherlock picked a jumper out of the bag and held it up to himself, just long enough for John to read the words on it. His eyes bulged out of his head, and he felt himself colouring as Sherlock put it back in the plastic bag again. "Um… Sherlock?" He asked unsurely, looking anywhere but at his friend.
"You're blushing John, and it's minus two point eight degrees. Either you're suffering from a minor blood deficiency which is causing your blood to rise to the surface or you're too warm." Sherlock said briskly. Then he looked his friend up and down, then strode forward and began to try and yank John's jumper off.
"Wha- OW! Stop that, that hurts- SHERLOCK!" John yelled, trying to push Sherlock away from him with as much strength as he possessed. It might have worked, had there not been a few inches of thick woollen fabric pulled over his eyes, and he had to attempt to see through his hands and the sense of touch. He felt Sherlock's nose, his lips, his chin and his neck before he managed to find Sherlock's shoulders and push, as hard as he could.
"Bloody hell!" He yelled again, pulling his jumper back on again. "Sherlock, what the bloody hell was that for?"
"You were too hot, I was attempting to help you by removing your jumper." Sherlock explained, as if he was talking to a five year-old.
John pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a few deep breaths. There was no point in going into custody over a jumper, he told himself sternly, before he forced himself to look Sherlock in the eye again.
"Sherlock, I was not too hot, I was embarrassed." Now John felt like he was talking to a five year-old. And he could feel his face heating again. Great. "That jumper, well… It's a little…"
"John, it is a jumper, in fact it is a Christmas jumper, and something you are habitually obsessed with." Sherlock stated, his brow furrowing. "What is wrong with it?"
John took another deep breath, before letting it out in a puff of warm air. "It says 'I'm On The Naughty List'." He said simply, willing his face to go back to its normal colour.
"So?" Sherlock looked more affronted than anything now. "Children send Christmas lists to an imaginary man in a white beard and a red coat and hat every year, and as you continually refer to me as a child I thought I should buy it."
"Um…" John face palmed, and then shook his head. "No, no, I refuse to have this conversation with you Sherlock. Call your Mother-" Sherlock pulled a face. "Or Molly-" Sherlock shook his head quickly. "Or Mycroft-"
"Certainly not Mycroft!" Sherlock said, his eyes wide. "It's his fault, you know John! Now, come on! Back to the flat! Taxi?"
A black London cab pulled up to the curb, and Sherlock climbed in. John dithered a little, and then climbed in too. Maybe he could hope that it was just Christmas spirit that was making Sherlock so… Loopy?
But living with the World's only consulting detective meant that nothing could ever be simple. So John sent a quick text, to all of his contacts (Greg, Molly, Mrs Hudson and Mycroft).
Sherlock's gone mad. Meet at the flat. – JW