johnlock oneshots

The taping case

I opened the door of the 221b Baker Street and entered in the flat, holding the groceries bags at arm's length. The flat was silent, which was not unhabitual if Sherlock was in his mind palace or doing an experiment of some sort. Before going upstairs, I walked through the hall to Mrs. Hudson's flat to put the paquet of biscuits I bought for her on her kitchen table. I was walking up the stairs when I heard a knock on the door. I went back to the entrance and opened the door.

"Hey mate, I've got a case for you and Sherlock."

It was Lestrade on front of me. I nodded and let him in. "He should be moping in his chair or doing God knows what with human parts in the kitchen." I told him while we were walking up the staircase. I pushed the door who was slightly open and entered the living room. There was the weirdest scene I'd ever seen : the furnitures were pushed against the walls, the skull had been put away, carefully wrapped in lots of bubble wrap and the floor was covered with all the blankets, pillows, matresses - mine included (I don't even know how he carried it here all by himself) - clothes, rugs, bath towels and even some kitchen linen my friend could find through the flat.

But the strangest thing was the said friend tape to the ceiling. I blinked, once, twice and closed my eyes shut before opening them again, but there was nothing to do : Sherlock was still taped to the ceiling.

"Hello, John. I see you brought milk. I think I could use a cuppa right now. Would you mind making a pot of tea?" I was going to ask him what the bloody hell he was doing up here, when a loud giggle erupted next to me. I turned my head to see Greg who burst out laughing. He was bent over, a hand on his knees, wheezing loudly. That's when the ridiculousness of the situation hit me hard in the face. I was standing here, in a totally destroyed flat, with my flatmate taped to ceiling and that git had the cockiness of asking me for a cup of tea?! I joined Lestrade in his laughter. We couldn't stop, and each time one of us was calming down, we were unlucky enough to look up to the sullen face of Sherlock and the giggling took over.

After half an hour, the annoyed voice of Sherlock rang out through the living room:

"Could you two shut up and make me a bloody cup of tea?"

Greg was the first to calm down. He pulled out his phone and took a load of pictures before letting out a long sigh. He grabbed his coat and told me : "I'm gonna go buy some things to take that off. I don't think it's gonna be possible to get him down with a pair of scissors only."

"What? No, I don't want to get down! Don't touch me you two stupid goldfishes! I need to know how long that adhesives can hold me up!" Sherlock shouted from the ceiling. Unluckily for him, he apparently found a mean to tape his arms too and he was helplessly stuck.

I nodded towards him and Greg went out. I busied myself with putting away the groceries I bought earlier. After twenty minutes, Greg came back with a bag filled with bottles of nail polish remover and a pair of shears.

"There, I think we're good to go."

"Noooooo! It's out of question! You will not touch that tape!" Sherlock was shouting and wiggling to try to prevent them from approching him, but once again, he was completely taped to the ceiling, from head to toes and all the squirming he was doing was totally useless.

Greg and I climbed on chairs and the DI was cutting the adhesive with the shears and I was drenching the glue with the nail polish remover. It worked, but barely. Three hours later, we hardly untaped his feet, to the shins and the right hand - which we began with, before migrating to the feet when he tried to slap us. All of this under the constants whines and shouts of Sherlock, who was throwing a tantrum, ranting about how all the data would be compromised since the material was damaged and how solving the case was going to be totally impossible, and so on...

"It's not gonna work. We already used ten bottles of nail polish remover and I went to the store twice to buy some more. I'll call the EMTs now. We'll need some help."

"No, stop ruining my experiments, you huge pieces of crap!" Sherlock was yelling at us, his face red.
That was the sentence that was too much. Greg turned to him and shouted back : "Oh you, shut up!" Sherlock's face went blank and he tried (and failed) to look down sheepishly. His mouth closed shut for the rest of the time.

A quarter of hour after, the EMTs arrived and it took them two more hours to get Sherlock down, after they knockedd him out with a sedative because he resumed wiggling when the paramedics began to take him down more efficiently.

When he woke up after a few hours, the EMTs were long gone and Greg and I were finishing to put the furniture back on its place. Sherlock was groggy when he entered the room and he just sat on his chair, his fingers joined under his chin, pouting at us both.

Lestrade sighed heavily and asked me if I wanted to come with him take a beer and a meal at the closest pub. I happily accepted and we both went out for the evening.

When I came back to the flat, Sherlock was still pouting, and, by the time my cuppa finished brewing, he was sound asleep on his chair.