It was almost eleven and, to Sherlock’s disgust, John had still not returned with the milk. In an attempt to cure his intense boredom, he reached for John’s laptop, cranked it open and typed in the usual password. John had obviously not forgiven him for their last argument, as the password had been changed leaving Sherlock aflame.
“Oh John, what is it like in your standard little brain, it must be so boring!” he said as he punched the letters ‘J’, ‘A’ and ‘M’ on the partially illuminated back lit keyboard.
Sherlock didn't particularly know why he was scrolling through John's blog site, which happened to be ironically named 'Deductively Detective' when he was, in fact a doctor. Sherlock was the detective, a consulting detective; the only one in the world, and he never let people forget it; neither did he like others stealing his title. Even John, who nobody would be interested in anyway. Perhaps the reason he was straining his eyes trying to work out how to navigate John's blog was so that he could quote parts of his posts and use it as a weapon against him when he found himself arguing about different types of tobacco ash or something of less importance – which may I add, was most things in Sherlock's opinion.
John was simple and genuine, the archetypal 'every-man' although he did prove at times to be worth more than your average Tommy. He knew Sherlock like the back of his hand, and trusted him – dare I say it, with his life.
It was a bitter evening in London, however at that moment in time Sherlock wanted nothing more than to be summoned across London to Scotland Yard by the somewhat pedantic 'Greg' and be handed a case. A bloody, twisted case with a lot of leg work, preferably.
He threw his head back. “Oh God!” he shouted with frustration. “Bored!” His face caught the little light there was shining from the streetlights outside and caused his features to be illuminated. His profile was magnificent, cheekbones sharp and poised, giving him a captivating yet considerably unique appearance.
Jumping up, he threw the laptop to the floor and paced back and forth in front of the TV shaking his hands by his sides.
“I need a case, get me a case” he said with feeling.
Sherlock Holmes was not at his best when he had nothing to occupy him, one could say he was a man with the mind of a genius who never grew past childhood. Standing quaking and vulnerable facing the door which John had left through hours ago, he was exactly 57% of the way though contemplating his options when he was suddenly thrown forward onto his front by an almighty force crashing through the windows behind him.
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A Skeleton in the Closet
Fanfiction"Who the hell are you?" John said in a daze. "Uhm you know what, that's.. that's fine isn't it?" the lanky man muttered, shaking his head vigorously. John looked over at his friend, "Sh.. Sherlock? Can somebody please tell me what a big blue poli...
