Sherlock Imagine-Just Friends (Book 1)

Part 12

BANG!

The sudden noise woke you from a deep sleep. You rolled over in your bed and check your alarm clock.

"1:28" it read.

You moaned and sat up. You threw on your robe and slumped down the stairs. Normally loud noises would alarm you, but you lived with Sherlock Holmes, so nothing really surprised you.

BANG! BANG!

The loud noises were coming from the sitting room. You opened the door to find Sherlock lounging in his chair with a gun in his hand.

"What are you doing?" you asked, squinting at the bright light.

"I'm bored." he mumbled.

"So your shooting at the wall? What did it ever do to you?" you joked.

Sherlock ignored your comment and stared blankly ahead of him. You walked into the kitchen to find a midnight snack. You reached for the handle then paused, remembering what Sherlock had just put in there that day.

"Is the head still in here?" you asked.

"Yep." he answered.

BANG!

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, reminding yourself why you shouldn't kill him.

"Where's John?" you asked trying to get Sherlock to stop taking out his boredom on the wall.

"Out with Sarah, I think." he replied.

"And you've been awake all night. You really should get some rest you know." you said as you came and sat across from him.

"Dull." he mumbled.

"I'm surprised you're even breathing right now." you commented.

He smirked and raised his gun again. You braced yourself for the next round of shots.

BANG! BANG!

"Mrs. Hudson is going to be furious with you." you remarked.

"Isn't she always?" he replied with a raise of his eyebrows.

BANG!

"What are you doing?" John demanded as he came up the steps.

"Bored." Sherlock mumbled.

"What?"

"Bored!" Sherlock stood from his seat and began to do trick shots at the wall while continuing to proclaim that he was bored.

John stepped inside and took the gun from Sherlock's hand. He took the bullets from the gun. Sherlock waltzed over to the couch and pulled bullets from the wall.

"So you're taking it out on the wall?" John said.

"The wall had it coming." Sherlock replied and fell onto the couch.

"Anything to eat? I'm starving." John exclaimed from the kitchen. He reached out for the door handle.

"John, I wouldn't do-" you tried to stop him from opening the fridge.

But it was too late. John pulled open the fridge door, immediately greeted by the cold, lifeless face inside.

"Agh!" he cried and promptly closed the door. He paused, trying to contain himself, then opened the door again, just to be sure of what he saw.

"There's a head." he mumbled.

"Just tea for me thanks." Sherlock replied to a question that John never asked.

"There's a severed head." John explained.

"Sherlock, you really shouldn't do these kinds of things here." you said.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it's where we live! We can't just have people's heads sitting in our fridge! That's where our food is supposed to go. Sherlock, this is our flat, not a lab."

Sherlock looked at you with confusion on his face.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing. It's just that I have never seen you so uptight before." he commented.

"Well, it is two o'clock in the morning." you said and rubbed your eyes, then stretched your arms over your head.

John came out through the kitchen. "I'm going to Sarah's." he said, knowing he probably won't be able to get much sleep here.

Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs with plastic grocery bags hanging from her arms. Sherlock stood from the couch and watched John as he walked down the street. You adjusted yourself in the seat so that your legs were hanging off the right arm rest and you crossed your arms.

"It's a bit chilly out there. He should've wrapped himself up a bit more." the landlady commented.

"Look at that. So quiet." Sherlock said from the window.

"You should try it sometime." you said.

Sherlock glared back at you. You only smiled tiredly with your eyes half closed.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. Something will turn up soon. A nice murder. That will cheer you up." Mrs. Hudson said and put the bill on the counter with the rest of the groceries. She came out into the sitting room and took one look at the wall. "Oi! What have you done to my bloody wall?" she exclaimed. "I'm putting this on your rent, young man!" she proclaimed and left the flat.

"You're paying for that yourself." you said, because you didn't want to have to help Sherlock pay for his own doings.

Sherlock turned around and looked at the result of his boredom on the wall. He tried to copy the smiley face that he had painted. Then he looked ahead of him and sighed. The next thing you knew, the windows blew in and glass came flying toward you. You shrieked, curled into a ball, and covered yourself with your robe trying to avoid getting too many scratches. Once everything stopped, you look up. Sherlock was on the floor moaning. He looked as though he had been thrown forward because of the explosion. You moved from your seat and fell by Sherlock's side.

"Are you alright?" you asked.

He began to push himself up. "I think so." he said painfully.

"What do you think that was?" you wondered and sat cris-crossed on the ground.

Sherlock sat on the floor with a groan. "Don't know." he said, curious about it himself.