Righto, well...Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! I'm glad you're all excited about this story. I hope you will stick around to read more.
Once again, just a note to say, I don't own boo.
Right, this chapter:
Sloth
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Sloth: n. /slôTH/ 1. Reluctance to work or make an effort; laziness.
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John had not seen or heard from his flatmate since they had returned home just five hours before. Slightly worried, he made his way down the stairs from his bedroom, and down the hall to Sherlock's door. It was open, and John walked through to find the odd genius face down on his bed.
"Sherlock? Are you okay?" He asked. The only response was a low grunt of indifference, muffled by the soft pillows under his head.
"Okay, well I'm just going to pop out for a bit." he said, hoping this might evoke some reply or witty retort from his friend. Nothing. So, the doctor tried once more.
"Um, right. Do you need anything while I'm out? Milk, tea? Another bag of toes?" he uttered sarcastically. Again, no reply was made by the detective. John rolled his eyes, before mumbling a goodbye and leaving. It had taken Sherlock a solid fifteen minutes to decide to actually turn over. His hair flopped to one side, and cover one of his barely open eyes. He looked over at the poster, still waiting to take its place on his wall. With a sigh, the indignant man decided that, while he was hopelessly bored, he didn't much want to do something as tedious as hanging a picture. Another fifteen minutes, and Sherlock had successfully motivated himself to move from his bedroom...to the sofa.
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That's where John found him three hours later. Thinking nothing of the behavior, he set about putting away the groceries. He returned to the living room, and looked over to his friend.
"Sherlock, are you sure you're alright? You sure you're not sick or something?" John asked.
"Bored." Came the reply. His voice was stoic, but hardly insistent.
"Well, Lestrade did phone me. He's got a case for us." he answered with a shrug.
"No."
"I'm sorry? 'No'? You just said you were bored. Why would you -" John was cut off by Sherlock, who had taken off into a rant.
"Yes, but that hardly means I want to take a probably-pointless case to remedy my boredom. Plus, it would mean giving up the perfectly comfortable position I've made for myself on the sofa." Sherlock sighed as he ended his case, leaving a gaping John to glare at him. A moment of pause, and he finally moved into action.
"Okay, this is ridiculous. Get up." John hauled his friend to a standing position, and forced him out of his dressing gown.
"Go change. We're needed at Bart's." He lightly shoved the grumbling man down the hall toward his room.
"Ugh, fine." Sherlock groaned, before trudging down the hall and slamming the door shut. John sighed in frustration, before getting the rest of their things ready. Ten minutes later, Sherlock emerged from his room. John had expected the usual suit and tailor cut shirt to be in place. What he saw instead, was his childish flatmate, clad in a gray tee and jeans. His feet wore the usual dress shoes, and John thought it was only because Sherlock had, in fact, no other shoes to speak of. He rolled his eyes at the utter sight, before tossing the overgrown frat boy his coat.
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When they arrived, Sherlock immediately went, not for the morgue, but the lab. John had chased him down moments later, to find him sitting on a stool.
"Oh, come on! You've got to be joking." John huffed out. He stomped over and took Sherlock's arm at the bend of his elbow. When they finally made it to the morgue, Lestrade was already more than annoyed with the detective.
"Really, Sherlock? You can't take five minutes to at least act intrigued?" Greg sighed as he received a curt 'no'. They had taken five minutes to more or less force Sherlock into doing anything with the case. Five minutes later, he had stopped his whining deductions, solving the case. Lestrade left, after muttering a sardonic 'thanks'. John took a moment to breathe, telling his flatmate he was having a late lunch with Mary, since they were already at the hospital.
"Whatever." Came the adolescent response. After several second of debate, Sherlock made his way back to the lab. He sat, or rather, slouched comfortably on one of the metal stools. His head dropped back, leaving his curls in disarray. He could hear the distinct footfalls of an approaching pathologist, followed by the lab door swinging open and closed again.
"Oh, hello Sherlock." Molly said with a tone of surprise. Sherlock's only retort was a low hum of acknowledgment. Molly set down her stack of books, and walked to his side.
"Are you okay?" She asked quietly, her tone similar to that day years ago.
"Why?"
"Well, you're not doing anything. And you're in...street clothes. I didn't even think you owned street clothes." Molly answered, chuckling a bit at the end of her thought.
"I wasn't compelled to put on my regular attire. Too much stuff to be done." He sighed. He heard her soft 'oh', and finally looked over at her. Molly wore a soft, sympathetic smile on her face. As if to say, 'I understand'. He appreciated that about her. No unnecessary questions, no stupid remarks. Just sweetness. Several minutes had passed while Sherlock listened to Molly as she quietly worked. Finally, John walked into the room.
"There you are. I'm done now, if you're ready." He stated, before spotting the small woman across the way.
"Oh, hey Molly. Hope he wasn't too much of a git." John laughed out. Molly smiled a bit, and shook her head. The two watched as the consulting detective stood and walked out, without a word. Molly grabbed John's shoulder before he strayed too far away.
"Is he alright? He just sat here the entire time. I asked if he was okay, he just mentioned being bored." Molly's voice gave away her concern. John sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
"I have no clue, Molly. He does seem a bit off, yea? Well, maybe I can convince him to sleep, then." john said with a hopeful voice. He bid her farewell, before going after his slightly odd friend.
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When they returned to Baker Street, Sherlock immediately kicked his shoes off, and flung his coat on the rack. He then proceeded to dump his own body onto the sofa.
"Sherlock?" John began to ask, when he was silenced by a slightly aggressive detective.
"Sh, John. I want to take a nap." He snapped slightly, before violently rolling into the side of the couch cushions. John tossed his hands up in defeat, before storming up to his room.
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Well, there you have it. Can anyone guess what's coming next? Lol, I bet you can, but all the same, leave me a note or review and tell me what you think. Thank you loves! See you next time!