"Grim weather we're having," John remarked from the window.
Sherlock lazily dragged the bow across his violin, the resulting screech unpleasant. "Really? I hadn't noticed," he drawled.
John turned and looked at him. "Really? Sherlock Holmes? Not noticing something?" he said teasingly.
Sherlock looked at him with disdain. He pointed the bow at him. "I only take notice of what I need to notice, you know that. Anyway, I'm not in the mood," he said, sounding slightly hurt.
He scraped the bow across the violin strings again. John winced.
"Well, frankly, I'm a little bit relieved at the lack of murders lately. After that business with the talking head, I needed a bit of a break. And you know, some people are actually happy when unexplainable murders aren't happening all over the place," John said.
"Astounding, isn't it?" Sherlock muttered.
John slumped into a chair. "Well, I'm sure someone will get killed soon," he said, his voice sarcastically cheerful.
Sherlock looked up at him. "You think?" he said eagerly.
John rolled his eyes and opened the paper. "Just keep wishing away, Sherlock. I'm sure something will turn up."
John was in the middle of an article on the wool industry when a drop of water landed in the middle of his paper. He turned the paper over, the drop soaking the front page and blurring the words.
Sherlock was holding a glass of water, his fingers wet.
"Really, Sherlock?" John said.
"I'm bored. I do these things when I'm bored," Sherlock said. "You know that."
"Better that than the gun," John grumbled.
Sherlock's eyes widened. "Speaking of…"
"No," John interrupted. "I've hidden it."
Sherlock looked at him. "And you think that with my incredible deductive skills and powers of observation, I wouldn't be able to find it?" he asked incredulously.
John shrugged. "You tell me."
As Sherlock got up to prove his friend wrong, John cleared his throat. "But Sherlock," he said, "before you start your most likely incredibly short Case of the Hidden Gun that Isn't Yours, I read that there was a rather interesting murder near here. A girl was found beaten to death. Not interesting in and of itself, but she was found with four beans in her hand. Rather odd, if you ask me."
Sherlock stopped, his face suddenly breaking out in a grin.
"Thought as much," John said, folding the paper. "I'll get the coats."