So... this monster story happened. Like, I was writing it and was saying to myself: "Perfect. Another small oneshot to add to my collection." And then I put it up on Microsoft Word and was overwhelmed when I saw that it equalled about forty pages. I think it's safe to say that I'm going to split this one into parts. Because all at once can be a bit overwhelming for you guys who came here for short stories. So, yeah.
AAAAAAAAnyways, I hope you enjoy. It might not be the best thing I've ever written, but writing murder mysteries is hard. Scratch that: writing in general is hard. So I always love getting feedback. There's always going to be room for improvement. :)
Kudos to Zealister for the prompt. I hope I didn't gloss over anyone else who might have recommended this to me, but just know that if you did, I appreciate it! :)
"Absolutely not," Sherlock said indignantly.
"Sherlock, it's for Mrs. Hudson. I don't want to go either, but she asked us."
"My answer remains the same."
John reached up and grabbed the taller man's shoulder, turning him around to face him.
"I need to get to my iodine sample," Sherlock said. "It's-"
"Listen to me," John said. "Mrs. Hudson practically waits on us hand-and-foot. All she's ever done for us is care for us as if we were her own children. Hell, she practically lets us live here for free."
"Not true..."
"Shut up. My point is, the least we can do is attend this party with her. She doesn't want to go alone," John said. "Now, either you go willingly, or I drag you there."
"John, the iodine-"
"I don't care. Are you going to go to the party like a mature adult should, or am I going to have to act as your mother yet again?"
Sherlock sighed.
"Fine. But I won't enjoy myself."
Suddenly, there was an overbearing stench of burning chemicals and fire in the air. Sherlock and John both wrinkled their noses and peered into the kitchen.
There on the table was a purple fire raging inside a ceramic crucible on a hot plate. Purple smoke was floating up to the ceiling.
"I tried to tell you," Sherlock said with a shrug.
John rolled his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"I don't even have the energy right now to deal with this," he sighed. "The party's tomorrow. Don't forget."
Sherlock picked up the crucible with tongs.
"I really don't care."
"Fucking child," John muttered.
~Saturday Afternoon, 15:45~
"John? Sherlock? Are you boys ready?"
"Just a minute, Mrs. Hudson!" John called down the stairs.
He finished tying his tie as he walked up to Sherlock's bedroom.
"Sherlock?" he knocked. "Sherlock are you ready? Mrs. Hudson's waiting."
God, the kitchen still smelled dreadful.
"I refuse to leave the flat looking like this," Sherlock said through the door.
"Sherlock, don't be a baby. We have to go."
John heard a groan as Sherlock stepped up to the door. Slowly, the handle turned and the door swung back open, revealing the detective clad in a nice suit and a mask resembling the head of an otter.
John snorted.
"You look great."
Sherlock frowned.
"I look utterly ridiculous."
John smirked.
"Surely you mean otterly ridiculous."
"Not funny."
"I'm bloody hilarious."
Sherlock tugged at the mask.
"Why don't you have to wear one?"
John grinned.
"I don't have one yet."
Sherlock sneered.
"Boys?" Mrs. Hudson called again.
"Come on," John said. "We'd better get going."
Reluctantly, Sherlock trudged behind John as they went downstairs.
"Ready, Mrs. H," John said.
The landlady giggled when she saw Sherlock.
"Oh you look adorable!"
Sherlock blushed and hid his hands behind his back.
Mrs. Hudson turned to John.
"Oh, John," she said, digging through her purse, "I have a mask for you."
John's smile disappeared.
"Oh, I was planning on getting one myself on the way there."
"Don't be silly. I had one for Sherlock, so of course I have one for you."
She pulled out a hedgehog mask.
"Here we are."
John sighed as he took the mask.
"Thanks."
Sherlock chuckled.
"Come now, John. Don't be prickly."
"Shut up, you," John said, elbowing Sherlock in the side.
He put the mask on and straightened his tie.
"Alright. Let's go."