Johnlock: Samson

The flat of 221B was silent. Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson could be heard humming tunelessly as she shuffled about. Back upstairs, dust drifted lazily in the air as weak sunlight streamed through the open windows and cast a white golden gleam onto everything that came into contact with the light. An eerie quiet had fallen upon everything, like a thick blanket, but the peace was soon shattered when a loud thumping noise could be heard from down the hall.

Sherlock Holmes burst from his bedroom, looking rumpled and enlightened. He was wearing a crinkly, dark purple shirt that looked slightly small on him and the buttons looked painfully strained. It highlighted his pale, alabaster skin, sharpened his razor-sharp cheekbones, and made him look more thin than ever, to the point of almost suggesting that eating was hardly an essential need of his, something that was at the bottom of his list of things to do. His dark hair was askew in a mass of tangled curls and his eyes looked wild, as though on a high. His genius brain could be seen whirring away behind his glassy eyes. "Brilliant," he whispered excitedly, reverently, and sprinted to the kitchen.

He slipped in his sock feet and crashed to the floor the moment he rounded the corner to the kitchen. He shot back up almost immediately and scrambled towards his microscope. His fingers fumbled on the controls as he stared into the microscope, like it held all the secrets of the universe.

The door to the front door suddenly slammed shut, but Sherlock hardly moved a muscle, only his hands adjusting the zoom. Scuffling was heard on the hardwood floors, like dull claws on wood and small, canine whines sounded from down the stairs.

"Shush, now," whispered a familiar voice and the scuffling noise ceased. "I want it to be a surprise, alright?"

Sherlock looked up suddenly, his eyes unseeing and his eyebrows furrowed. "Sodium fluoroacetate? Sodium fluoroacetate, sodium fluoroacetate," he muttered and lifted his fingertips to massage his temples.

"Sherlock?"

"Oh, God!" Sherlock bellowed angrily and pounded his fist down on the table. Glass beakers shook precariously and their resonance rang high and soprano.

"Sherlock, what is it?" John asked as he dashed up the stairs and walked through the door leading to the kitchen.

"What else could it be? But who would have access to sodium fluoroacetate? The brother?" Sherlock mused aloud. He lifted his hands to his lips in a praying motion as he mentally ventured out into his mind palace.

"Erm, Sherlock," John prodded. When Sherlock ignored him, John cleared his throat loudly and looked annoyed.

"What is it?" Sherlock's tone was brisk and impatient.

"I've got a surprise for you."

Sherlock looked up, confused. "A surprise?"

"Yes, Sherlock, a surprise." John was smiling widely and looked like he could not contain his excitement any longer. "I've been thinking about this for some time now, and I've just now decided that it would be a good idea for you."

Sherlock looked at John impatiently. He gestured to the microscope in front of him briskly. "John. Sodium fluoroacetate."

"Right, right."

John nodded and then turned around, went back into the hall and Sherlock heard more scuffling. Something yapped and Sherlock stiffened, his eyes widening. John returned with a blue leash in hand, which strained as something burst forward and tried to bolt towards Sherlock but the table obscured a proper view of what was at the end of the leash. Then, a small, golden puppy shot around a leg of the table and was bursting with uncontrollable energy to jump on Sherlock. Impossibly big, warm brown eyes gazed at Sherlock longingly and a small, pink tongue lolled out of the corner of his mouth as he panted in delight.