Sherlock oneshots

Dark stories

John's POV

We just got back from another tiring case and Sherlock was bored again. But I was too tired to take care of him and his never ending boredom, so I decided to go up to my room and take a rest. After I snuggled under the covers with a satisfied sigh and closed my eyes, I heard a sudden noise erupting from downstairs.

A gunshot.

My eyes snapped open in anger.

"Sherlock, don't make me go downstairs!" I yelled from the top of my lungs. I heard him shoot one more, but then the noises stopped, so I lay down again. But the next moment I heard a slow violin tune, making me growl furiously and turn to my other side. Sherlock would obviously get the "how to drive John out of his nerves" award without even trying. Sometimes I can't decide if he's aware of his annoying violin playing (it would be okay if he played during the day, but he usually played in the middle of the night), or if he's doing it on purpose.

I sighed again and got out of bed. I couldn't sleep in this noise. I stomped down the stairs and saw Sherlock standing in his usual position in front of the window, violin in one hand.

"Sherlock- " I started, but he cut me off.

"Ah, John, you're up! Great. I'm bored." He complained, then put down his violin and threw himself down to his armchair. I started rubbing my temple.

"Sherlock, I know you're bored, and tomorrow we can do something, I promise, but I am really tired now, and you have to understand that I need some sleep." I said, to which the detective made a growl of disapproval.

"But sleeping is boring." He moaned. "Let's play something!" Sherlock jumped up from his chair and hurried out of the room. I closed my eyes and counted to ten before opening them again. I knew he wouldn't let me sleep. So the sooner we finish, the sooner I can go to sleep.

So after I made my decision I sat down in my armchair, resting my head on my palm and trying to stay awake. I hoped he wouldn't want to play Cluedo again. I didn't have enough energy to try to explain to him that the victim couldn't have done it, which, of course, he wouldn't accept as a great explanation.

"Found it!" Sherlock said thriumpanthly, then got back to his armchair and sat down. I looked at the small box in his hands and wished he'd brought Cluedo.

"Jesus." I mumbled and rubbed my temples again.

"Who do you want to be? The detective or the storyteller?" He asked and opened the game. He picked out a card, then looked at me questioningly. It wasn't a hard choice. These stories were so idiotic and complicated I was surprised whenever I guessed what happened.

"The teller." I said and took the card. I turned it around and started to read.

(A/N: Okay, I'm going to write here what happened. I'm sorry, but it won't be the same as it is on the card, because I wrote it from a memory😅)

A few years ago a woman suffered a terrible shipwreck which she successfully survived with a few other lucky people. They got to an uninhabited island and agreed they would need some food. They decided to go to hunt, but since the woman got herself badly injured in the accident, she stayed there. When the others got back, they told her they brought an iguana and they all ate it. A few days later they were rescued.

After two years, the woman heard that a new restaurant, called The speciality restaurant, opened, and decided to visit the new place. She ordered an iguana, but after the first bite she realised something: the iguana tasted really weird. It was nothing like she remembered. But then she realised... It wasn't an iguana she ate on the island two years ago. It was one of the corpses the waves must have tossed to the beach. After she realised this, she got up from her chair and ran out of the restaurant and got hit by a lorry.