johnlock oneshots

The bath

I was sipping my tea in my chair when I felt a bit peckish. I stood up and went to the kitchen to make dinner.
Sherlock locked himself in the bathroom one hour ago, saying that he needed to take the blood of his latest enemy out of his hair and rambling about how hard it would be, so I wouldn't count on his help.
I opened the fridge and felt a shiver of disgust crossing my body from head to toes. A severed limb. Must be an arm or a leg, I don't wanna know. Anyway, I just focused on the lower half of the fridge, my part of the fridge, with actual food in it, and grabbed some broccolis, Parmesan cheese and heavy cream.
I steamed the broccolis and cooked the pastas. I was mixing the vegetables with the cheese and the cream when I heard a weird splashing noise. I stopped mixing and listened. There was water noises coming from the bathroom. My eyes opened wide when I realised what it could be. If he locked himself in his mind palace, London could be completey flooded before he realised something is wrong.  
I turned the fire off and ran toward the bathroom. Water was leaking under the door toward the stairs. I banged on the wood, calling my flat mate: "Sherlock, close the water! Now! You're flooding everything again! Sherlock!"
No one answered me and the water didn't stop. I sighed and shook the doorknob. Locked, of course. Seeing the water was oozing more and more under the door, I decided to kick it open.

I took some speed and threw my shoulder onto the wooden panel, and luckily broke it in my first try. I entered in the room, my socks drenched with the soapy water. "Sherlock!"  I yelled my friend's name to  shake him out of his mind palace, but he didn't even looked up. The detective was sitting in the overflowing bathtub, his fingers joined under his chin, a plastic duck floating next to him.

I made my way toward the bathtub, reaching over my flatmate for the tap, turning it closed. Just at that moment, a loud shrill pierced the air. Sherlock snapped out of his mind palace, and I remembered I was making lunch just a few minutes before. I ran back to the kitchen and I looked at the stove. I was certain I turned it off, but as I watched closer, I saw I turned the button on the wrong side and all the pastas in the saucepan were burnt. I sighed as I put them into the trash after turning the fire alarm off. At least I saved the sauce that was in the mixer.

Sherlock joined me as I put two plates of the pastas on the table. He sat on the chair in front of me and took the fork, eating a mouthful from the plate. "It is truely delicious John."

He didn't say anything more, but he ate all the food in his plate, which was his very own way to apologise about his behaviour. After the dinner, he cleaned the kitchen and I saw he mopped all the water off the floor. I smiled. He should have been very sorry to do all of this, what he would never have done usally.

I joined him in the living room, where the soundtrack of the Lord of the Rings was beginning. Sherlock was waiting on the couch, an apologise look on his face. I grinned and joined my friend on the sofa.

Two months later, the bath was overflowing again.