I'm climbing the stairs to 221B from getting the shopping, when I hear what sounds like a stack of papers being thrown across the room. Taking the stairs two steps at a time, I walk through the doorway to find Sherlock standing in the midst of a paper shower with various pillows, science equipment, clothes, food splatters, and guns laying around him in an ocean of clutter.
I feel my eyebrows shoot skyward and I mutter "What the hell..."
Sherlock sees me standing there with my bags of groceries. "Where is it?"
"Er... Where's what?" I ask as I glance at all the damage done to the room.
"It!" he yells angrily and runs his long pale hands through his curly dark hair.
"I haven't a clue what you're going on about," I tell him, and walk into the kitchen.
"Oh God, John!" he yells and I hear a thump as he sinks to the floor.
I smile to myself and turn to face him. "What've you been doing today then, Sherlock?"
He sits up suddenly and strides to his armchair. He picks up his riding crop and twirls it around his fingers. "Open and shut domestic murder. Victim was Carrie Cartwright, age 17. The murderer was her cousin because of his blue shoes..." he trails off, his brilliant mind going only God knows where. Then coming back to reality, he adds, "He pushed her onto a desk in the study of Carrie's parent's house, and on the desk was a sharp, geometrical paperweight. Struck her on the forehead, indent on her skull... Won't be going to the court case, it'll be boring," he says, sneering at the word 'boring', as he chucks the crop down forcefully and lifts his hands to his lips in a praying motion. Only I know that he isn't praying.
"Sounds fun," I comment dryly.
"He sits there for a moment, lost in thought and, then realizing that I spoke, says, "Fun, yes of course."
I allow him a few more moments of thinking while I put away the shopping.
"So what about this mess then?"
"Mess? What mess?"
I feel myself roll my eyes. "Sherlock."
He looks at me, confused. "John...," he says slowly.
There's a light knock at the door and Mrs. Hudson walks in. "Hello boys--what? What the hell have you done now? I'm not cleaning this up, I am not your housekeeper," she says, outraged. Her tiny fists lay against her sides.
Sherlock looks at her steadily and says, "Where is it?"
Taken aback, she says, "Where's what?"
"My. Stash," he says as he fluidly stands up, wrapping his blue robe around him as he stares intensely at Mrs. Hudson in an almost hateful way.
"Oh God, Sherlock," I sigh.
"What?" he asks me, angry.
"Just go Mrs. Hudson, I'll take care of it."
"Fine, but you'd better clean this up, Sherlock. And John, please use the other bed next time. Makes such a rude noise," she tells me firmly.
I feel my cheeks burn and I mumble something stupid and shut the door quickly behind her. When I turn around, I find my face centimeters from Sherlock's chest and I almost jump. I swallow nervously, and slowly look up into his face.
"Well, John?" he asks politely with an eyebrow raised. But I see the corner of his mouth twitch upwards and then I know what he means.
"Erm... I should put away the shopping and you clean this room. Yes, clean the room..." I mumble pathetically and go to wriggle around him but he raises his hands and plants them on either side of my face. He leans his face towards mine until our noses are an inch away.
"That can wait," he says seriously, and his blue eyes stare so fiercely into mine that I find it very difficult to look away.
But I shake my head and quickly duck under his arm and skirt away to the kitchen. Without turning to face him, I tell him in a shaky voice, "Clean the room first and then we'll talk."
He doesn't say anything for a minute, but then I hear papers shuffling and furniture being moved back into its place.
He finishes the room in five minutes flat.
"John, I'm finished."
I turn around to see a hopeful look on his face, and something inside me twists up.
After a long inspection of the room, I see that he cleaned it perfectly.
"This is a good job, Sherlock. I--"
Sherlock doesn't allow me to finish my sentence.
He crosses the room in two long strides and pulls me close by my sweater collar. He brushes his lips to mine and I feel myself give in and melt into him.
The kiss is sweet and hopeful; Sherlock's lips are soft and warm, and they taste of something sweet and it makes my head spin. He pulls away slowly with his eyes closed, and he bites his lip as if to savor the taste a little bit longer.
"Sherlock...," I whisper jaggedly.
At that moment, his eyes fly open and it looks as if he's on one of his highs, distant and unreachable. Then he lowers them to mine and the shocking blue makes my mind go blank.
"Bedroom?" he asks softly, raising an eyebrow.
I take a deep breath and take his outstretched hand.
Delighted, his sea blue eyes sparkle, and he pecks me on the lips and leads me down the hall urgently, as if there's no time to waste.
