Nail Polish

~Epilogue~

Debeautified

The following day at 221b consisted of accomplishing one thing: debeautifying Sherlock Holmes.

His blood-stained skin-tight clothes were the first things to go, having been unceremoniously shed and dropped into the bin upon arrival. Hair gel and makeup both were washed away during that morning's shower. Their unapplied kin were disposed of soon after, having simply been chucked out the open window, much to the dismay of several unfortunate pedestrians below.

After the resulting kerfuffle had been dealt with, a full sweep of the flat was conducted for any magazines, how-to books, or websites that addressed the issues of style and beauty. Shortly thereafter, another search took place upon the finding of a stray mascara wand that had escaped their notice. One could never be too careful.

Finally, after a quick cup of tea, Sherlock had sat down at the kitchen table to deal with his nails. Despite any picking, scraping, or rubbing, the red coating stubbornly refused to budge. In a frenzy, he sent John out to purchase a bottle of nail polish remover. Meanwhile, to calm his nerves, he set to work on a piece of very important correspondence.

Just as he sealed the envelope, John returned, looking rather harried, and clutching a rustling plastic bag. Angrily he slammed it down on the table, rattling a Bunsen burner that smoldered pungently by Sherlock's elbow.

"Chip and Pin issues?" he asked as he scribbled down an address.

"However did you guess?" muttered John acidically. When the detective opened his mouth to spout some inane bits of evidence, the doctor exclaimed,

"I was being sarcastic!"

"Of course. Now put this letter out for the post." Knowing it was pointless to argue, John simply did as he was bade to do. That is, until he saw the address.

"For Mycroft?"

"Yes," said Sherlock, uncapping the nail polish remover. "It's a thank you card. He did organize my… extraction after all, as you've insisted on reminding me, oh… fifteen times now." Utterly nonplussed, the doctor strove valiantly to come to terms with the situation.

"A thank you card… for Mycroft!"

"Yes, that's what I said," Sherlock grumbled impatiently, blotting solemnly at his nails with a chemical-soaked cotton swab.

"You feeling okay?"Never under normal circumstances would Sherlock do something so… kind. Perhaps that whack on the head he took was more severe than he originally suspected…

"Perfectly fine. You made sure of that when you patched me up last night," the detective responded. In the paranoid doctor segment of his mind, John was positive that his friend's eerily calm demeanor masked some kind of shock. Or concussion symptoms. Or delirium. Or all three!

"Are you sure?" he crept forward like one trying to approach a spooked horse, with the intention of… What did he intend? To truss Sherlock up in a straightjacket and ship him off to the loony bin, maybe?

"Before you make inquiries as to the state of my mental health, I'll have you know that the card has been liberally sprinkled with itching powder. It's wonderful stuff; Mycroft won't be able to sit still for a week, at least." He lobbed the used cotton swab in John's direction, hitting him lightly on the head. "Now, pop along won't you, the post will be collected any minute now." John considered the seemingly innocent envelope, his taste for mischief warring with his conscience.

"I shouldn't let you send this…" he said slowly.

"But…?" prompted the detective as he set to work with another swab.

"But it would be a laugh to see prim and proper Mycroft squirm for once in his life."

"I knew you'd see things my way," Sherlock beamed. "Everyone does eventually." Mischief had one out.

"Sherlock, you are the devil incarnate!" deadpanned John with mock disapproval.

"Then what does that make you?" the detective retaliated with a glimmer of mirth in his eye.

"Hopelessly sinful, and it's all your fault!" with that, John turned on his heel, and marched from the room.

~SH~

A few minutes later, all was peaceful and quiet. The itchy letter had been sent, the flat debeautified, and the case closed. John sat down with a freshly made cup of tea and a new crossword, eager to just relax a while. Leaning back against his flag-embossed pillow, pen in hand, he set to work on the first column. Life was good.

Then, as if on cue, a thunderous sound issued from the kitchen, a crackling rush of air accompanied by a yelp from Sherlock. It made John lurch in his seat, slopping tea down his front, and scrawling a great accidental line across his puzzle. Once he had steadied himself, he shouted,

"What happened Sherlock?" And couldn't it have waited another thirty minutes!

A storm of dry coughing answered him, along with some billowing curtains of smoke.

"Are you alright?" concerned, John sprang from his seat, and hurried into the kitchen. Sherlock sat at the table, clutching the charred remains of a cotton swab. Streaks of ash stained his face, and his curls were blasted back from his forehead. Stray sparks still scattered across the tabletop. The Bunsen burner that once smoldered so innocently was now ablaze, undoubtedly the source of this destruction.

"Yes," hacked Sherlock. "But I was able to discover first-hand why one is supposed to keep nail polish remover away from open flames."

"You didn't do it on purpose… did you?"

"Of course I didn't," the detective wheezed, brushing a glowing ember from his knee. "I'm a sociopath, not a pyromaniac. I just knocked it over!"

"Okay," John drawled, not entirely convinced. "I still wouldn't put it past you to do something of that sort." With a hoarse sigh, Sherlock blew him off, mournfully surveying the scorched kitchen.

"Whether I would do it or not doesn't matter. I can guarantee you that either way, Mrs. Hudson is not going to like it!" The day must have been written as a comedy of errors: as soon as the words left Sherlock's lips, Mrs. Hudson's voice trilled from downstairs.

"Boys? I think I smell something burning. Are you two alright? I'm coming up to check." The 'boys' exchanged an agonized glance. It seems they now had a good deal of explaining to do…

~The End~

A/N: That's all, folks! Thanks for reading, reviewing, watching, favoriting, everything! Without your motivation and support, this story wouldn't be here. I love you all, and don't forget to review!