Imagines and Preferences: Book 1

Stack the Things on the Sherlock | Sherlock Holmes

Summary: John learns of your new favorite game and... other things happen.

QOTP: What's your favorite game?

Word Count: 825

John, just getting back from work, is very amused to walk into the flat and find Sherlock, laying on the couch in his mind palace.

The amusing part is, of course, all of the miscellaneous things laying on top of him.

To name a few; books, empty mugs, the skull from the mantel, and a half-eaten biscuit that looks pretty stale.

"Don't touch anything!"

John jumps, turning to find you standing in the doorway of the kitchen holding a microscope. You push past him and stand over the Sherlock, seemingly thinking.

"What are you doing?" John asks, watching as you place the microscope on the coffee table and begin moving things off Sherlocks stomach.

You don't answer for a few moments, placing books and things on top of other things resting on Sherlock's chest and legs. Then, you put the microscope on his stomach and turn to John. "I'm playing 'Stack the Things on the Sherlock.'"

John nods thoughtfully. "And when, exactly, did this game come to fruition?"

"A few weeks ago," you reply, taking a newspaper from the coffee table and laying in on Sherlock's knee. "I've played it about four times now - I'm about to beat my record of 23."

"How many have you got?"

"22."

"Impressive."

"Thank you."

John takes an empty tea saucer off the floor (left by Sherlock) and hands it to you. "Do you think he knows you're doing it?"

"No," you reply, putting the saucer on Sherlock's forehead, "he's dead to the world. Besides, you should've seen his face the first time I did this. He was so confused."

"He didn't realize you'd done it?"

"I wasn't home when he first went into his mind palace and I hid as soon as he came out. It took him about five minutes to figure it out."

"Wow."

"Right?"

You turn to go grab something else to lay on him, but then you hear a faint, "What?"

"NO!" you shout, abruptly facing the scared, confused detective. "NO!"

Sherlock looks to John, who is completely useless because he's laughing so hard.

"I WAS SO CLOSE!" you yell. Sherlock sits up and looks at you, the saucer already on the floor and some books that were on his chest now falling into his lap on top of the microscope. You cross your arms, disappointment evident on your face. "Just a minute more and I would've had it."

"Had what?" Sherlock carefully asks, glancing at John for help. John only snorts loudly, sinking to the floor.

You shake your head. "I almost broke my record."

Sherlock takes the more expensive things off him and sets them on the coffee table, then pushes everything else out into the floor and stands. "What record?"

"My record for 'Stack the Things on the Sherlock'!"

Not a minute later, Ms. Hudson opens the door. "What are you all shouting about?"

"Th-They - Sh-Sh-Sherlock -," John tries through laughter, now laying on the floor.

Ms. Hudson looks on the floor, then back to you with an incredulous look on her face. "Oh, what a mess you've made!"

You point at Sherlock. "He pushed it on the floor!"

"She... stacked it on me!" Sherlock shouts, pointing right back at you, sending John into another fit of laughter.

Ms. Hudson shakes her head, sighing. "Well, you both are going to have to clean it up; I'm not your housekeeper."

With that, she walks back down stairs, muttering as she goes. Sherlock looks at you crossly. "Now look what you've done."

"You were the one that stopped being in your mind palace at the exact wrong time and costed me a new record," you reply, mimicking his expression.

John, now recovered and wiping his eyes, stands and looks at the two of you. "How old are you, again?"

"We're extremely mature, John; I've no idea what you're talking about," Sherlock replies.

You nod. "Yes, we are. Mature adults."

"I'll believe it when I see it," John sighs, heading up to his room.

Once he's gone, you turn to Sherlock. "Are we planning on cleaning this up?"

"No, I shouldn't think so," he replies, hugging you to his chest in a lazy embrace and resting his head on top of yours. You wrap your arms around his waist and stay like that for while, when he finally says something. "I'm sorry I cost you your record."

"As you should be."

He laughs at that, then lets go of you and grabs his microscope and skull, putting them back where they belong.

"What about the rest of it?" you ask.

He grabs his coat from the rack and slips it on. "John will clean it up eventually. Coffee?"

"I'd love some," you reply, grabbing your own coat and slipping on your shoes, chasing after Sherlock, who's already started down the stairs.