The Baker street regulars

Shoot the smiley

Bang!

That one sound didn't convey too much to me. I was downstairs with Mrs. Hudson. I had abandoned my usual haunt a.k.a the sitting room because Sherlock had been throwing a temper tantrum. We had had no case for the past two days and that had really set him off. Despite the small time frame, Sherlock was exceptionally restless this time because he didn't have anything to occupy himself with. He had made it quite clear that he 'wasn't in the mood to experiment' which left him precious little alternatives. Which brings us back to the question in hand.

"Mrs. Hudson, did you hear something?" I questioned.

Mrs. Hudson was doing dishes while I was seated on the dining table. "No, dearie. I have to tell you though, I'm getting old. I keep imagining things.... Like gunshots for instance."

I wrinkled my forehead. "Funny. I heard the same thing. And if I might say it, my senses are quite in order."

"Whatever you say," said Mrs.Hudson going back to her dishes. And then we heard it again. Bang!

"It isn't just my ears is it?" said Mrs. Hudson.

"No," I said getting up from my chair, "I think I'd better take a look upstairs."

I could hear a series of rapidly fired shots as I ascended the staircase. That wakes up a horde of fears inside me. Maybe someone was getting shot, namely Sherlock. Maybe the artillery had taken a liking to our sitting room and had decided to adopt it as a sort of practice area. It could be either judging by the number of rounds fired....

"Sherlock!" I exclaimed as I threw open the door. An odd sight greeted me.

I could see a couple of patches on Sherlock's arm which made me groan internally. But what really stumped me was that Sherlock was holding a gun aimed at the wall. On the wall, someone (obviously Sherlock) had drawn a crude yellow smiley with spray paint. The can of spray paint lay near the base of the wall. We had acquired it on one of our previous cases and it should, by all rights, belong in the evidence room. But apparently both of us had forgotten to return it to Lestrade and it looked like Sherlock had just put it to use on the wall. The smiley's face was pockmarked with bullet holes as if it had got a bad case of the measles. Sherlock glanced at me and then fired at the wall once more. Bang!

"Will you stop that?" I exclaimed.

"Or what?" he said, fingering the trigger again.

"Sherlock, someone's going to call the police."

Bang! "Good thing, I'm running out of bullets." he said.

I was about to attempt to pry the gun from his hands when Mrs. Hudson came up behind me. "What's going on here--" And then she stopped her sentence short when she noticed the carnage on the wall. "My wallpaper!"

Sherlock looked at her and threw the gun to me. "I'm done here."

Mrs. Hudson was barely preventing herself from having fits. "This is going on your rent, dears," she exclaimed and then she walked out of the room.

"Now what?" I said, somewhat angry.

"We fix this mess," said Sherlock lazily.

"Can we?" I said hopefully.

Sherlock went up to the wall and ran his fingers over the bullet holes with a flourish. "Nope."

"Sherlock!" I said exasperated.

"There's nothing that can be done, John. Take a shot at it if you want. You might as well do it since the wall's already peppered. Go on, it feels good."

A momentary irrationality seizes me and I take a potshot at the smiley. It hits it on the forehead with a loud bang and a satisfying crunch as the plaster breaks.

"How was it?" inquired Sherlock.

"Surprisingly good," I said.

Our doorbell rang and Mrs. Hudson opened the door. She appeared to talk to the visitor for a few minutes before I heard footsteps on the stairs. "Who is it?" I wondered aloud.

"Looks like one of your predictions just came true," said Sherlock.

I wasn't surprised when I saw Lestrade enter. "I just got a report. Gunshots in a usually peaceful residential area. My mind jumped to you two and it seems like I'm not that wrong."

"We're sorry for the trouble--" I began when Sherlock cut in. "Well, case closed for you. You can go now."

"I'm interested," said Lestrade scrutinizing the smiley, "Who are we shooting?"

"The meaninglessness of human life," said Sherlock with a shrug, "Want a shot?"

"Don't mind if I do. I've been having a rough day," said Lestrade. To my surprise, he took out his own gun and shot the smiley once. Unfortunately, Sally Donovan and a few other officers chose that precise moment to enter.

"All clear?" said Donovan, looking at Lestrade as if he had lost his senses. Lestrade adjusted his coat. "I should say so."

"Culprit's dead. You can go now," said Sherlock.

"That is not so," said Donovan with the sole purpose of annoying Sherlock, even though she knew the whole thing was a hoax, "We cannot leave until we are sure the perpetrator is incapacitated and safely contained--"

"--No human being.... Or any other entity can survive nearly eighteen shots to the head. Just leave," countered Sherlock.

After a few minutes, all the officers had left and Sherlock and I were alone. "Eighteen shots?" I said in amazement turning to him.

"Sixteen," he corrected, "You and Lestrade were responsible for two."

"You shot the wall sixteen times just because you were bored?"

"Yup," said Sherlock and then he grinned, "Want another shot?"

"No!"