Sherlock Holmes and John Watson; Everyday Life

PART 2: Sherlock Fancies a Doughnut

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson; Everyday Life

PART 2: Sherlock Fancies a Doughnut

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In which, Sherlock is in want of nicotine patches, acts like a pouty toddler, gets a bit peckish, and ends up leading John to a doughnut shop, where the two are encountered by an unexpected sight, and Sherlock once again demonstrates his brilliance.

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Tik. Toc. Tik. Toc.

The unwanted sound pushed through the air, making its way across the room until the vibrations from the noise slowly entered Sherlock's ear, reverberating quite loudly until slowly fading away, only to be replaced by the next click of the clock.

He tapped his fingers on his knee. Sitting oddly in his armchair as usual with his feet on the cushion and his legs tucked up towards his chest, he looked a bit odd for a normal, fully grown man. Of course, Sherlock Holmes was anything but normal, so this was not a proper comparison to be made. No, he was more like an overgrown toddler, running or walking whenever the desire struck him, following his own whims, engaging in overly dramatic sibling rivalry, and being exceedingly stubborn whenever he got the chance.

Definitely not normal.

"John," he said, not looking up from where his fingers met the fabric of his black pants. They were soft, and comfortable. His favourite pants, actually, though because he had multiple pairs that all looked identical, this one could not be differentiated from the rest. Unless the person looking at them was Sherlock himself, in which case he could clearly point out the small patch of fabric--barely wider than a fingernail--that was a tad lighter than the surrounding area. This had happened when John was attempting to do the washing, and had spilt a bit of bleachy water from the machine onto Sherlock's dark pants. Fortunately he had got it off in time, though not all of it; thus the spot of lighter colour.

This incident, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that Sherlock considered these to be his favourite pair, or vice versa; he just preferred them over the others, for a reason unknown, even to himself. He thought over this for a moment, then deemed it unimportant, deciding instead to cease his tapping and look up.

His flatmate, John Watson, was sat at the table slightly behind Sherlock, busy with the clock in front of him; instruments were laid out on a cloth, ready and waiting for the doctor to pick them up and use them to unlock yet another part of the mechanical device.

"John," Sherlock said again, staring intensely at the other man until he looked up from the task at hand.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John asked, setting down the screwdriver he had been holding. The clock fell silent, no longer ticking irritatingly.

"Remind me why you are fixing that?" Sherlock asked, waving his hand lazily in the general direction of the clock pieces.

"Mrs. Hudson asked me to."

"Why."

"Because when you slammed that unwanted 'visitor' into the wall, it made the clock on the other side fall off, and it broke. So technically, Sherlock, this is your fault and you should be fixing it." John looked pointedly at Sherlock, silently letting him know that John was not pleased, and that Sherlock should be quiet now.

"Not my problem," Sherlock said, choosing to continue speaking even though he had understood John's stare perfectly, "when will you be finished?"

John puffed out his cheeks in mild irritation, and looked back down at the clock pieces in front of him. There were quite a few small bits, and a couple things were dented from colliding with the floor, so it looked as if it would take awhile.