The Great Game
Chapter Fifteen: Explosive Tempers
Disclaimer:
Me: I’ve got a Sherlock now! It’s fun to talk to him.
Sherlock: and what about me?
Me: *waves hand* Well, you’ve got Petrichor!
John: And me!
Me: And you too, of course…I'm role-playing you, you know.
Sherlock: *smirks* Role-playing something you don’t own.
Me: *dryly* Yes, Iceberg…I was aware.
-=-=-=-=-=-
The first gunshot was loud. The second was louder; loud enough to be heard on the street below. Two voices, laced with irritation yelled above the noise.
“I’m not the one who didn’t know the earth goes round the sun!” a woman’s voice screamed, followed by another gunshot; fired towards an innocent looking smiley face that had incurred the undeserved wrath of the man and woman in front of it.
“Well you’re the one who thought it mattered!” a voice hollered back.
BANG!
“Haha!” the woman’s voice crowed triumphantly. “Wallseye!”
“Wallseye? REALLY, Petrichor?” the man’s voice scoffed.
Watson had heard enough; after an embarrassed look at the crowd gathered below the window, he muttered something about “Getting it” and charged up the stairs.
Right after he locked the door against the press outside.
He ran upstairs, holding his hands over his ears and yelled,
“What the HELL are you doing, the both of you?”
“Bored,” Sherlock sighed, sinking into a chair.
“What?” John gasped in disbelief.
“BORED!” Petrichor yelled, getting ready to fire again.
John hastily grabbed the weapon out of her hands and threatened, “I should have your license taken away for this!”
Petrichor yawned and flopped onto the couch, her blue-jeans wrinkly. “Go ahead, as long as you’re not boring when you do it.”
Suddenly she sat up and checked her watch. “Ooh, goody!” She cried, “Favorite show’s on the telly! Laters!” she jumped up, gave Watson a huge hug, and ran out gracefully, if not quietly. John watched her go with half a smile, and then resumed his stern demeanor towards Sherlock.
“Why were you shooting the wall?” he demanded.
Sherlock gave a sigh so large it might have blown down the window…if it hadn’t been securely closed.
“I’m BORED.” He stood, fired at the wall, and repeated, “BORED!” he shot one last time, again repeating the keyword “Bored!” and then handed the firearm to Watson.
“I saw the case you’d written up,” he said as he flopped onto the couch much in the same manner Petrichor had. “A Study in Pink…nice.”
“Well, pink lady, pink phone…there was a lot of pink,” Watson shrugged.
Then, tentatively, “Did you like it?”
Sherlock paused, considering, and then shook his head. “Ummm…no.”
“Why ever not?” John persisted. “I thought you’d be…I dunno…flattered?”
“Flattered?” Sherlock asked, as if he had just been insulted. “’Sherlock sees through everyone and everything in seconds; what’s astonishing is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things”’ he quoted, “…and don’t even try to tell me you meant that in some nice way.”
“Look,” Sherlock continued, “It really doesn’t matter to me who’s the Prime Minister…or who’s sleeping with who…”
“Or that the earth goes round the sun?” John put in.
“Oh not that again,” Sherlock groaned, “I was just talking to Petrichor about that.”
“Mm; talking,” John emphasized “talking”.
“Well…ejaculating,” Sherlock shrugged. “Anyway, the point is that it’s not important.”
John threw up his hands. “But it’s the SOLAR SYSTEM!”
“Oh, hell, WHAT DOES IT MATTER?” Sherlock cried in an excess of irritation. “If we went round the moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy-bear IT WOULDN’T MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE! Put that in your blog; or better yet stop inflicting your opinions on the world.”
With that he turned over and huddled on the couch. John sat for a moment in angry silence, then grabbing his coat got up. Sherlock heard him and turned around long enough to ask, “Where are you going?”
“Out; I need some air,” John retorted sharply.
Sherlock watched him leave, then went to the edge of his doorway and called,
“Petrichor! Come argue with me; I’m still bored!”
“Can’t,” her cheerful voice responded, “telly’s on.”
“UGHHHHHHHH!” Sherlock groaned and went to the window, as if contemplating jumping out of it would ease his pain. Luckily, Mrs. Hudson came up at that moment after hearing the noises.
“Had a little domestic, did we?” She smiled.
“Look at that, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock pointed at the now quiet streets. “Quiet…calm-peaceful. Isn’t it HATEFUL?”
“Oh, don’t worry dear,” Mrs. Hudson answered reassuringly. “A nice juicy murder-that’ll cheer you up!”
“Mm…I suppose. Can’t come too soon.”
“Hey!” Mrs. Hudson cried, suddenly realizing there was a noticeable absence of wallpaper and plaster in the smiley face on Sherlock’s wall. “What’ve you done to my bloody wall?” She demanded.
“Wasn’t just me,” Sherlock shrugged.
“I’m putting this on your rent, young man!” Mrs. Hudson huffed as she went away.
“It was Petrichor TOO,” Sherlock muttered.
He smiled at the broken smiley face…then fell on his own as the wall behind him exploded.
-=-=-=-=-
