The One Next Door

Chicken Nugget Extraordinaire

    When Sherlock woke up he really wanted to throw the alarm clock out of the window. Not like this was an unusual feeling, just that he really, really didn't want to have to wake up and face the day. As he was getting ready, Sherlock decided that last night's turn of mental events must have just been his tired brain. Obviously he didn't like John, he may have brought him pizza, but he was a rude little dork and Sherlock didn't want to have any feelings other than disgust towards the man. Molly complemented his art and brought him food, and he wasn't falling in love with her, was he? No, so obviously there was a chemical imbalance in his braid, possibly John had the pizza drugged. Either way, Sherlock didn't love him, so he was able to get through the morning just fine. When he arrived at Molly's door, she looked miserable. Her hair wasn't even brushed, she had bags under her eyes, and her face was unusually pale.
"What in the world happened to you?" Sherlock exclaimed, not sure whether to laugh or take her to the hospital.
"That bloody night shift happened. I got home at eleven thirty, and I had to have coffee to make myself stay up that late, and I didn't fall asleep until three!" Molly complained.
"You can't stay up until eleven thirty?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.
"Sherlock, I'm suffering!" Molly insisted.
"Well, you should drink some coffee then, freshen up, and you can just hand out the coffee. I'll try my best to make it." Sherlock offered.
"You may be a jerk, but you're a considerate one." Molly decided, too sleepy to even smile and lumbering over to finish off some oatmeal. Hell Spawn looked at Sherlock suspiciously, but Sherlock was also pretty tired, and definitely not in the mood to be having a hissing battle with the devil of all cats. He had no idea what that thing had against him, it wasn't like he ever hurt it, and he came over four times a day, it should have gotten used to him, honestly.
"So, other than the sleep, how was the nightshift?" he asked.
"It was fine, the workers were nice, but they were tired too, so there was really no need to talk. The business people though, they just kept coming, and coming, imagine the early morning rush every twenty minutes." Molly groaned.
"Poor Molly." Sherlock laughed.
"What about you, what did you do while I was gone?" she asked.
"Oh, um, John actually came over." Sherlock admitted, feeling his face flush for no good reason.
"John? I thought you hated him!" Molly exclaimed.
"I do hate him, he brought pizza! And once it was gone, I kicked him out." Sherlock decided.
"But you talked, right? Bonded a little bit?" she asked.
"I suppose so." Sherlock shrugged.
"Good Sherlock, that's good, see you're blossoming as a human being." Molly decided.
"That's a really creepy term." Sherlock decided.
"Shut up, I'm only running on some expresso and the desire to go back to bed." Molly insisted.
"Ya well, he actually thought my paintings were nice, which was kind I guess." Sherlock shrugged.
"See, I knew you too would be the best of friends." Molly insisted. "And maybe more."
"Molly come on! Honestly, I'm sick of this, I have no feelings for him!" Sherlock defended, almost feeling his nose grow as he said it.
"You're pretty funny, you and your denial." Molly laughed, and Sherlock growled deep in his throat, making Hell Spawn hiss. She came out of the bathroom, looking much more awake, and grabbed her coat.
"Well, you freshen up nicely." Sherlock decided.
"You think I look pretty?" she asked, sounding flattered.
"You looked like a zombie before, you look like yourself now." Sherlock insisted, and Molly's smile dropped.
"You're a jerk." She decided.
"Ya well, you're stuck with me." Sherlock agreed. When they walked out the door Sherlock heard John's voice from up in the hallway, seemingly yelling at someone.
"What's going on up there?" Molly asked.
"I'll rough them up a bit." Sherlock insisted, trying to crack his knuckle but failing miserably. Then, once more, Dudley the bumbling bulldog came galloping down the stairs, running up to Sherlock and starting to jump onto his legs.
"Hello, vermin." Sherlock muttered, patting the dog awkwardly on its chubby little head.
"Oh, honestly that dog will be the death of me." John decided.
"The coffee shop is dog friendly, why don't you bring him with you?" Molly suggested.
"I didn't know that! Brilliant." He decided, running inside to get the leash. Meanwhile Molly was bending down, trying to get the dog to come to her, making little kissing noises and calling his name, but Dudley seemed fixed on Sherlock, who was only drawing back a little bit and looking for Molly to help.
"He likes you Sherlock." Molly decided.
"He's the only one." Sherlock agreed, squatting down and letting the bulldog jump onto his legs, licking his face in a big wet kiss. Sherlock did his best to try to pet the dog, but it was squirming around so much that all he could do was make sure it didn't lick his face off.
"Come on Dudley, what are you doing that for?" John asked, sounding amused anyway. He fixed a leash onto the dog's collar and pulled him away, letting Sherlock get up and wipe all the slobber off of his face.
"You're dog's pretty friendly." He decided.
"Ya, he likes people, maybe a bit too much." John insisted as Dudley finally realized that Molly was there, sniffing her shoes and letting her pat him on the head.
"He's adorable." She decided.
"We should get down there, we'll be late." Sherlock decided, checking his watch and starting off down the stairs. The three of them (and Dudley, with his stubby little legs) walked as quickly as they could down the sidewalk, swooping through pedestrians and dodging street signs and stuff like that. Finally, when they made it to the shop, the costumers were already lined up, Sarah and Carl and even Jeanette working furiously behind the counter to fill the orders.
"There you two are, where were you?" Jeanette called, pulling off her apron and throwing it to Molly.
"Sorry, we were attacked by a dog." Sherlock muttered, casting a suspicious glare to Dudley, whose tongue was lolling out of his mouth.
"Well, as cute as that dog is, get to work." She insisted.
"Will do." Molly agreed, grabbing the apron and going behind the counter. True to his word, Sherlock took over the job of making the coffee, doing pretty well for the simpler drinks. He needed Molly to jump in a couple of times since he didn't really know what the large drinks with lots of ingredients were made up of, but in the end everyone got their coffee and Molly was still on her feet. Sherlock found himself looked over more and more at John, and every time he glanced he got a weird, almost weightless feeling in his stomach. It couldn't be love though, even though he's never properly been in love, he knew that he didn't like John. Maybe he was just sick, or he had bumped his head too hard on the doorframe the day before. Yes, that must be it. Dudley had spent the first couple of minutes trying to attack everyone that came by, making some people stoop down and pet him, others just walked right by, too busy on their phones to even glace at the poor dog. After a while he seemed to get bored, so he settled down under the table, his head in his paws, his fat sagging into the floor like a living rug. Sherlock had to admit, that dog was adorable. When he had threatened to drown him, that was just him trying to look tough, he'd never want to do anything but snuggle with that cutie pie. Helen Louise, however, he would very happily throw that blasted cat into the freeway.
"You look kind of misty eyed, who are you looking at?" Sarah asked when there was a down period in the costumers. She followed his gaze over to where John was sitting, and gave him a bit of a surprised expression.
"I thought that was your neighbor, the one that you hate?" Sarah asked, sounding accusing.
"I'm not looking at him; I'm looking at his dog." Sherlock insisted.
"That little bulldog? Oh it's adorable." Sarah decided.
"But no one looks at a dog like that, come on..." she insisted, jabbing Sherlock in the side teasingly. Sherlock looked over at Molly, who was preoccupied changing the filters on the coffee machine and was evidently not listening to the conversation.
"I don't like him, he's just not, as bad as I thought, I guess." Sherlock admitted.
"Well, that's step one to love." Sarah insisted.
"I don't love him!" Sherlock demanded, maybe a bit too loud since Carl turned around, looking startled.
"Not you Carl." Sarah assured, and he nodded, going back to counting the money or something.
"I don't want to pressure you or something, I mean, I know that no one can force love, but he seems nice, at least now he does, and seeing your glare I think you agree. Maybe spend some more time with him, see if he's a worthy companion." Sarah suggested.
"I'm not going to find him a worthy companion, I assure you that." Sherlock pointed out.
"I know, I know, just give him a chance, maybe you'll change your mind." Sarah insisted.
"No offence, but I've known you like, a week, maybe less, I'm not terribly anxious to take your relationship advice." Sherlock decided.
"Hey, ignore me if you want to, you might regret it though." She insisted. Sherlock sighed, nodding and looking away, anywhere that wasn't John. Thankfully though, Molly swooped over and taught him to make some weird drink, and he was too preoccupied to gaze at his annoying neighbor much longer. Finally when the shift was over, Sherlock, Molly, John, and Dudley all reunited at the doors, pulling on their coats. Sherlock couldn't tell who looked more tired, Dudley, whose stomach was now dragging on the floor and his tongue out, or Molly, who looked tired enough to hibernate all winter.
"Well, I'm totally good for going home, taking a nap, and then going to bed." Molly decided.
"Pretty busy day you've got ahead of you then." John laughed.
"I'm going to make frozen chicken nuggets." Sherlock decided proudly.
"Oh ya, I saw you went to the store, didn't do much more than dance in my doorway though." Molly laughed.
"Yes well, I was very excited, and I don't know how long it takes for chicken nuggets to thaw." Sherlock defended.
"Probably a lot longer than a trip from the grocery store and a pirouette in the hallway." Molly guessed.
"Possibly, yes." Sherlock agreed.
"You did a pirouette in the hallway?" John asked.
"A pretty sad looking one." Molly agreed.
"I had bags in my hands!" Sherlock defended, and John just laughed.
"You do ballet often?" John asked.
"I don't." Sherlock insisted.
"When he was a kid..." Molly started, and Sherlock slapped her to shut her up.
"What, tell me?" John asked with a laugh, sounding like a girl trying to get someone to admit their crush.
"It's nothing; it was like, fifteen years ago." Sherlock debated.
"What happened?" John insisted.
"Sherlock took ballet lessons when he was younger." Molly insisted.
"You what?" John laughed.
"Shut up! My mom signed me up okay; it wasn't like it was my choice!" Sherlock defended.
"Did you have a tutu, ballet shoes, prance around to the Nutcracker?" John laughed.
"No, of course not! It was Swan Lake." Sherlock muttered.
"You did it what, three years?" Molly asked.
"Shut up Molly!" Sherlock defended, feeling his face blush uncontrollably.
"We're not making fun of you, calm down. But I'd love to see those tapes." John laughed.
"Why'd you even stop?" Molly asked.
"I stopped because people like you." Sherlock snapped.
"So, you would've continued if you weren't bullied?" John asked.
"Maybe, I don't know." Sherlock insisted.
"Very manly." John laughed, and Sherlock just sneered. Finally they got to the apartment building, and John marched Dudley up the stairs. As soon as Molly reached her door she gave a farewell and disappeared inside. Sherlock could almost hear her collapse on the couch.
"I guess the nightshift was more demanding then she though?" John guessed.
"Yep." Sherlock agreed.
"So, I guess I'll see you later, I know you have very important frozen chicken nuggets to cook." John decided.
"I do indeed, if I can find out how to work the oven." Sherlock agreed.
"Well, good luck with that." John decided.
"What are you going to have for lunch?" Sherlock asked.
"Probably something from a can." He guessed.
"Well, that's good too, I guess." Sherlock agreed. He was only a little bit tempted to invite him over, but considering that Sherlock had a reputation to keep up, he gave a curt nod and scratched Dudley's head a little bit before disappearing into his apartment. Sherlock was actually pretty excited to cook the chicken nuggets, considering he was sure this oven hasn't been used since he had moved in. So he took an ancient baking sheet out of the oven and ripped open the cold plastic bag and observed the gray, lifeless chunks in the bag. Not very flattering, but he was sure with a little bit of heat they'd look better. So he took seven out of the bag (he wasn't all the hungry and he wanted to save them for later) and set them on the tray, reading the instructions on the bag for the oven. So he hit the bake button and set it to 400 degrees, and then sat there and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally the oven beeped and he got looked around for an oven mitt, so that he didn't burn his hands. Figuring out that he either never had one or used it for some abstract art sculpture, so Sherlock decided that a paper towel would pretty much do the same thing. So he grabbed the tray using the paper towel, setting them into the oven carefully, as not to disrupt the heating process. But as he pulled his hand out, the towel hovered too long overtop of the baking tray, and suddenly the towel starting to smoke, catching fire in his hand. Sherlock screamed, jumping back and throwing the towel onto the chicken nuggets, looking around frantically for a fire extinguisher. Finally he realized that he didn't own one, and went running to John's apartment, knocking frantically on the door. John appeared, a can of Spaghettio's in his hands and a confused look on his face.
"I SET MY OVEN ON FIRE!" Sherlock screamed, and John jumped to action, rushing into his apartment and bringing out a fire extinguisher. Sherlock followed him nervously, seeing a stream of black smoke drafting from the oven and almost started to cry. If he burned his flat down he would be in so much trouble with Moran. John sprayed the extinguisher, and as soon as the foam rushed out, Sherlock screamed, not only for mess he was making, but for the sake of the poor chicken nuggets, burned and covered in fire extinguisher foam.
"Alright, I got it, I think." John decided, spraying it one more time for good luck. Now Sherlock's oven was filled with foam, and he frowned. He walked over and turned the oven off, so that the foam didn't cook, and smiled teasingly at Sherlock, who was heartbroken.
"How are those chicken nuggets?" he joked.
"Sad and burned." Sherlock guessed.
"Come on over, I've got another can of Spaghettio's if you want some." John offered. Sherlock groaned, wiping off what he could from his counter tops and putting the bag back in the freezer.