A.N; Hi everyone! This is my first Sherlock fanfiction. EVER. So please don't flame me too much for any inconsistencies! I just had this idea ruminating in my head for a while… and while it's not my best work or anything, I am happy with my attempt at writing Sherlock and John. I hope I implied a little JohnLock here. I'm seriously hopeless with fluff… But anyways, enjoy! :D

Oh, and I don't own any of the characters or anything to do with Sherlock. I am just a fan. With a strange imagination.

Case of the Missing Violin

It was a quiet morning in at 221B Baker Street. John had just come back from yet another eventful trip to the convenience store with nothing to show for it except a bad temper. The veteran sighed as his eyes registered the god-awful mess that was his living room. Their living room. John sighed, crouching down to pick up a stray petri dish from the floor. Blanching at the golden-green specimen in the confines of the plastic casing, he carefully placed Sherlock's on-going experiment onto the small dining table and made his way towards the seemingly pensive man on the couch.

"Sherlock, could you please explain to me exactly why you thought it was necessary to trash the entire flat while I was out?" The seated man made not attempt to acknowledge John's presence. Instead, he continued to sit completely still in his meditative position, hands clasped before his lips in what seemed to be some kind of prayer to the deities residing in his 'mind palace'. Ruffling his short blonde hair in frustration, John took a deep breath to calm down before attempting to rouse the consulting detective from his egotistic coma.

However, before John could speak, Sherlock's eyes sprung open. His cold, blue eyes immediately zoned in on his flat mate.

"Where is it?" John resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Sherlock's authoritative baritone. Crossing his arms, John stared squarely into the detective's intimidating gaze.

"Where's what?"

Sherlock pursed his lips, raking his hands through his black curls. They sprung back into place, slightly dishevelled. John adjusted his feet, waiting for his friend to elaborate.

"My violin. I've already questioned Mrs. Hudson on its whereabouts and she certainly has no clue. Other than her, you are the only one who has full access to the flat. You had risen before me, being the veteran you are, and you had ample time to remove my violin from its place next to the couch near the window where I had last placed it. And you, being the only person other than Mrs. Hudson who would grow tired of the dynamics of my thinking process, would be the only person with motive to hide it away from me. It's quite obvious and mundane actually. Not even a 2 on the scale. "He held his hand out towards John. "So, where is it?"

John opened and closed his mouth a number of times before managing to splutter out a few words at the man lounging on the couch before him.

"You're mad. You have absolutely lost it Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock stood up, towering over John. He fixed his coldest glare on his only friend.

"I need to think. Now." John shrugged, not knowing what he could possibly be able to do about his friend's missing instrument.

John's eyes lingered over the piles of paper strewn unceremoniously all over the floor of the living room, not to mention all of Sherlock's questionable experiments. The pungent smell of chemicals and dirt pervaded the air.

"You could try cleaning up. Maybe you'll find it then." Sherlock scoffed, throwing himself back down on the couch dramatically.

"Clean up? That is hardly the problem at hand." John turned away from Sherlock, it being his turn to scoff at the man-child behind him.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Sherlock Holmes, you clean up your mess this instant," John's eyes widened as his mouth spouted out the words- "only then will I return your violin." Extremely satisfied with his stroke of genius, John waltzed out of the messy flat with his chin in the air, shoulder back. He felt like he could take on the world. Grinning to himself, suddenly in a great mood, he decided he could go for another facedown with the evil grocery store automated teller from hell.

An hour later, John marched happily towards his favourite café for some refreshing coffee. Placing his conquests (his shopping bags) down on a chair beside him, he fished around in his pocket for his mobile phone. He raised his eyebrows at the notification screen that greeted him.

12 new messages.

9:17 am: 'Come to 221B immediately. –SH'

9:21 am: 'I refuse to be blackmailed into domestic duties. –SH'

9:23 am: 'I found your diary. –SH'

9:32 am: 'Your life is bland and boring. –SH'

9:37 am: 'Bring back a lamb's heart from the butcher. –SH'

9:45 am: 'Where are you? –SH'

9:49 am: 'I'm bored. –SH'

9:51 am: 'John dear, please do hurry back! Sherlock's shooting up my walls again. :( - Mrs. Hudson xoxo'

9:56 am: 'Mate, you tell Sherlock to stop harassing me for cases. I'll call for him when I need him. Cheers! –Greg'

10:01 am: 'Lestrade is insufferable. Where are you now? – SH'

10:07 am: 'You should have been back by now. –SH'

10: 12 am: 'I found the leftovers from last week's chines takeout. –SH'

John sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. At least there was evidence that Sherlock was actually cleaning something. He was probably planning on running an experiment on the rancid lump of fungus and mould John imagined to have once been a meal.

"Sir," a smiling old lady approached John with a tray of two coffees, "Have a nice day dearie!" Grinning, John held the tray and stood with his shopping bags, ready to head back to the flat.

John entered the flat, not expecting too much to be done. However he was blown away by how much messier it had gotten in his absence. Mouth agape, he placed down the coffee tray on a relatively clean surface and made his way towards a scrambling Sherlock.

"What in hell are you doing?" Sherlock stood to his full height abruptly and turned to look at John, a bemused expression on his face.

"Did you not ask me to clean up?" John nodded dumbly.

"Yes… but this is hardly clean!" The taller man rolled his eyes and tuned his attention back to the piles of paper littered before him.

"I'm not well practiced in this area. As long as I can find my things, there is no need to clean anything. It's just a waste of my time and brain power." He raked a hand through his dishevelled curls, frustrated. "This whole process takes too long." He looked up at John who stood over him, observing his 'cleaning'. "Honestly John, what is the use of having a flat mate when he can't even clean up after himself and others?" John nodded in disbelief. He figured it would be easier for him to just nod along and agree with the sociopath rather than arguing.

"Yeah, what good are you." Sherlock looked up, his eyebrows arched.

"I meant you." John nodded and turned towards the coffee tray he carried in earlier. He needed a pick-me-up. And he needed it sooner rather than later. Especially if he wanted to finish cleaning the flat along with an extremely unhelpful Sherlock before it got dark.

"Sure man. Whatever you say."

"John, look! I see the floor! I believe I am making some progress." Sherlock wiped sweat off his brow, a terribly smug look of victory plastered all over his face. John let out yet another sigh for probably the thousandth time that day.

At the rate Sherlock was cleaning, they would be finished in two weeks rather than John's initial estimation of five hours. Nevertheless, John plastered on a tired smile and urged Sherlock to continue.

"Good job mate, you'll have your violin back in no time."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the mention of his violin. With a determined spark in his blue eyes, he immediately dove back into the filth he was working on sorting out.

All was well for at least three hours. The flat was beginning to look somewhat tidy and Sherlock had been quietly dusting off all the flat surfaces he could see. That in itself was nothing short of a miracle. John smiled like a proud father as he took time off doing the laundry to watch Sherlock in a rare scene of domesticity.

John quickly snapped a photo on his mobile- Anderson and Donovan would absolutely love this.

The peace was disrupted suddenly as John's mobile began to wail like a siren. Jumping out of his self-induced stupor, John hastily answered the call.

"Uh, hello?"

"… hi John." John frowned at the mousy female voice on the other end of the line. Sherlock stopped what he was doing and shot John a curious look.

"Molly?" Sherlock's features morphed into a slightly distasteful frown. John glared at his friend's insensitivity directed at the poor doctor and positively cooed into the phone. "What can I do for you?"

Molly cleared her throat over the phone, resulting in a loud crackle of static passing into John's ear. Wincing, he held the phone a few centimetres away from his ear.

"I found Sherlock's violin in my morgue…" John's mouth fell open in disbelief as he registered the meaning of her unsure words.

"Are you sure?" The slight sound of clothes ruffling met his ears. "Molly, I can't see you."

"Oh- um, right! Yes I'm sure. He came to the morgue two nights ago after the kidnapping case to do some kind of experiment." She giggled into the phone like a school girl. "He said he needed to think so he came to me." The giggling subsided as her voice took on a slightly sadder tone. "But then he told me that he preferred to be alone and then proceeded to play his violin as he started at his petri dishes." She sighed, forlorn in every way possible.

"Right. Okay, we'll be over in an hour to pick it up." Molly's voice raised an octave as she replied back.

"Really? Okay then, I'll be expecting you!" And with that, the line went dead. John slowly removed the mobile from his ear and shoved it back into his pocket- all the while staring at an annoyed Sherlock who had resumed his cleaning.

"Molly Hooper has my violin." John nodded.

"I forgot all about it." Sherlock growled in frustration. "How could I just forget about it?" He turned to John abruptly, seizing his shorter friend by the shoulders. "HOW?!"

John gulped and shrugged his shoulders, thrusting his arm out at the remaining mess in the flat. There wasn't much left to clean.

"I don't know mate, but since you've gotten through the bulk of the cleaning I think it would be best to finish the job." He looked up at the taller man with hopeful eyes. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to the small mess he had previously been attending to.

"It does have its therapeutic benefits so I'll agree to it this time." John grinned at Sherlock's back before turning to finish the laundry.

At least the flat was clean now.

Sherlock barged into the morgue with a fabulous flourish whilst John jogged to keep up with his long strides. Spinning an unsuspecting trainee pathologist out of the way, Sherlock seized Molly Hooper by the shoulders and bore down at her soul through her scared brown eyes.

"Where is it?" Molly raised a shaking finger towards a cabinet in the corner of her morgue.

"In your cabinet. I… tried to call you about it but… you never answered." Sherlock's eyes narrowed down on the mousy pathologist as he retrieved his mobile from his pocket. His eyes scanned the screen as he let out a sigh.

Indeed, there were three missed calls from Molly Hooper, as well as two new incoming text messages; one from John and the other from Mycroft.

5:12 pm: 'Tut-tut-tut, aren't you a little too old to be misplacing your possessions all over London Sherlock?- Mycroft'

6:09 pm: 'And this is why it's important for you to actually answer your phone. –John'

Sherlock rolled his eyes, extremely annoyed at his best friend and arch enemy/ older brother. He was definitely going to tell Mummy about this at the next family reunion.

"Your calls usually encompass romantic sentiments that I would much rather not waste my time on putting up with. Therefore I tend to refuse your calls on a regular basis." A look of hurt cut across Molly's red face. "Do not feel that I am insulting you too badly, you do know deep down that I am toning it down because you are the only tolerable pathologist in London. Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, how about you go and get me those samples I asked you to test for me three days ago?" Sherlock flashed the heated young woman an unabashed grin and immediately turned to look at John who was yet again gaping at the tactless Sherlock Holmes.

Ignoring John's look of shock, the consulting detective approached the cabinet where his violin was held. Yanking it from the cabinet's confines he let out a sigh of relief. His violin was safe. He frowned as a snivelling Molly brushed past him and out of the morgue. He didn't have time to deal with the tears of an overly hormonal woman.

"Sherlock… you should apologise to her. You really do say the worst things to her whenever she tries to do something nice for you." John shuffled towards the older man and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Sherlock looked over at his friend, tilting his head slightly to the side, pondering over John's words briefly before making eye contact.

"Is that what a normal person would do?" John smiled, nodding at his friend.

"Yes. That's exactly what a normal person would do!" Sherlock nodded, turning away from John, deep in thought. John furrowed his eyebrows at what he saw as a distressed reaction from Sherlock.

John wondered if adhering to social codes was really such a distressing task for his friend when he heard some unexpected.

"I'm sorry." John whirled around, looking for any signs of the mousy pathologist in the room. She was no where to be seen. Sighing, John turned to Sherlock with his arms crossed in front of him.

He looked at Sherlock's back in what he hoped was a stern expression.

"Sherlock, if you were practicing your apology to Molly, then I've got to say that it was quite a pathetic attempt at civility if you ask me." Turning around, Sherlock shook his head and cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact with the veteran. John raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"I was apologising to you. Blaming you for the misplacement of my violin; it wasn't one of my finest moments. I assure you it will not happen again." John smiled as realisation struck him. Reaching around Sherlock to pat his back, John managed to let out a soft laugh.

"Not to worry, I'm just glad you actually cleaned the flat." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the mention of domestic duties.

"That was quite manipulative of you Dr. Watson. I didn't know you had it in you." The shorter of the two men grinned and clapped Sherlock on the back.

"I learn from the best." The sound of shuffling footsteps interrupted their light-hearted conversation as Molly placed Sherlock's samples onto a work bench and offered a small smile before turning towards her own desk. John glared pointedly at Sherlock.

"This is so tedious. Dr. Hooper?" Molly turned around, blushing at Sherlock's slightly respectful use of her title.

"Yes Sherlock?" She reached up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Sherlock grinned as he stepped closer. She gulped at the intensity of his stare.

"I apologise for hurting your feelings." He nod towards her curtly, destroying all of Molly's romantic fantasies as Sherlock immediately swept around and made his way towards an exasperated John. "I'll check those samples out tomorrow morning, so you can go put them away for now thanks. John, I believe we have a toilet to scrub clean in our flat." John gawked openly at the excited sparkle in Sherlock's eyes. The veteran's eyes shot back towards the forgotten violin on the bench next to Sherlock's samples.

Grinning, he followed Sherlock out of the morgue- simultaneously sending a text message to a confused Molly Hooper.

6:45 pm: 'Keep the violin safe for Sherlock. He'll need it once he's run out of things to clean.- John'

Chuckling at the irony of the situation, John jogged towards a slightly impatient Sherlock Holmes who had immediately started to delve into the benefits of using extra strength bleach in the toilet rather than regular toilet cleaner as soon as the cab took off from the curb.

At least the flat would be clean from now onwards.

Tell me what you think with a review! :D