BORED (VERY short story)

BORED

He was bored.
Again.
It had been four days since his last case and he was bored, and when he was bored, he shot at the wall, no matter what time it was.
Today it was five in the morning.

"BORED" Sherlock hollered, shooting the poor living room wall over and over. The gunshots echoed around the building and in response to them, Rosie screamed. "Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay, it's just Sherlock having one of his tantrums," John whispered as he hugged his daughter, "just go back to sleep, there, there.." Rosie laid back down on the bed and closed her eyes, only to be interrupted by more gunshots and shouting from downstairs. She picked up her pillow and used it to cover her ears, while John just sat there and sighed. "I'll be right back," he said and headed down the stairs.

"SHERLOCK," he yelled over the noise. Sherlock, who was lying down on his chair, turned his head to look at John, "oh, John, you're up," he said, surprised.
"Of course I'm up, I can't exactly sleep through gunshots and a grown man screaming 'BORED', can I?" John replied, exasperated. Sherlock just stared at him blankly.
"Did I wake Rosie up?" He asked.
"Of course you did, you idiot!" John exclaimed, he was losing his patience, this was the third time Sherlock had woken him and Rosie up with his boredom these past four days, "Rosie's just eight, a normal eight year old child does not have to wake up to gunshots every morning!"
"I don't wake up to gunshots every morning," Rosie said from the bottom of the stairs, "just sometimes. Daddy, don't be so mean to Papa Sherlock," she ran up to Sherlock and hopped onto the arm of his chair, Sherlock was as much of a parent to her as John was. She then whispered in his ear, "he doesn't mean it, he's just really grumpy in the mornings, you shouldn't be sad," Sherlock smiled at her.
"I know," he replied, "and I'm sorry for waking you up, darling,"
"It's okay, I'm not very sleepy now anyway," Rosie said.
John turned to her, "No, Rosie, get back up to bed you didn't get enough sleep," he said sternly.
"But daddy," Rosie grumbled, pouting, "I'm not sleepy, I want to play with Papa Sherlock!"
"Rosie, please listen to your dad," Sherlock said, gently, "We'll play in a bit, I promise," Rosie crossed her arms and scrunched her face up tight, then stomped her way into the kitchen, "let me have a cookie first," she grumbled.
John sighed, "You. You go to your room now, you are not using that gun again until we get another case do you understand?" He said to Sherlock. Now it was Sherlock's turn to pout like a child. "But I was bored!" He wailed.
"No, no-no," John replied, "when you are bored, find something else," he snatched up Sherlock's gun and kept it on the coffee table. "Bed," John demanded, jabbing a finger in the direction of Sherlock's room. Sherlock grudgingly stood up and trudged over, slamming the door in a hissy fit.

When John reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned towards the kitchen and called, "Rosie, don't take too long with the cookies, save some for Mrs Hudson," then he jogged up the stairs and into his bedroom. Rosie was slumped over the kitchen table, fiddling with one of Sherlock's experiments while eating one of the cookies Molly had made her. once she finished the cookie she walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, where she saw Sherlock's gun lying on the coffee table.

Rosie had a lot of things in common with her mother, and John was constantly reminded of Mary when he looked at his daughter. Rosie had her mother's smile and laugh. She had the same eager enthusiasm and the same shimmer in her gorgeous blue eyes. One other trait Rosie and Mary both possessed was impeccable aim. Only, no one, not even Rosie herself, knew how outstanding Rosie's aim was.

Rosie picked up the gun and held it in her little hands, looking at it curiously. She knew how to use it, she'd seen her dad and Sherlock use guns on cases before, she saw her dad get shot in the arm once, right after the case, Sherlock had to send a crying Rosie to Molly's house so Molly could calm her down. Ever since then, Sherlock had been completely against bringing her on cases, it was John who brought her along anyway.

Rosie held the gun in one hand, just like she'd seen Sherlock do it, and stretched her hand outwards, towards the wall.

She had been told that her mother was amazing with a gun.

Rosie's finger rubbed against the trigger

Molly said Mary was better than John and Sherlock combined.

Rosie looked at the faded yellow smiley-face on the wall, the one that already had a million bullet holes through it,

and she shot.

She shot the bullet straight through the smiley-face's right eye. Rosie toppled backwards because of the momentum of the bullet flying out of the gun. She dusted herself off and got up. Sherlock's bedroom door swung open and John came sprinting down the stairs, both men's eyes were wide in fear. They both entered the living room fearing the worst, that someone had broken in and shot Rosie, only to find Rosemund Mary Watson standing in the middle of the living room with a gun in her little hand and a new bullet hole straight through Mr Smiley-Face's right eye. Rosie took no notice of them gawking at her and shot a another bullet square in the yellow face's left eye. John and Sherlock stared at her, speechless. They didn't know what to say, were they mad at her for using a gun? Of course! But they were also extremely impressed with her shooting skills. John's mouth was wide open and Sherlock looked as if he was about to faint. Rosie turned to each of her parents in turn. Then she grinned and screamed, "BORED!"