Love of Heaven and Hell

Dying Seems to Suck

"I can't wait any longer." Sherlock decided, picking up a piece as if it were some great feat. "Oh, it's not that bad." He decided, munching happily on the pizza. It didn't take them long to get through the whole pie, with Fletcher watching enviously. In only ten minutes there was only one piece left, and the two of them were glaring at each other. Of course it wasn't selfishness, it was selflessness.
"Well, I'm full, you can have it." Sherlock decided, reclining back in his seat.
"You liar. I'm not hungry either." John pointed out.
"You eat way too much, come on, I know you're lying." Sherlock insisted.
"I am not going to eat that pizza." John decided.
"Yes you are, you need to live a little bit before you die." Sherlock insisted.
"If you eat that, I'll take you out for ice cream." John suggested.
"I told you I'm full." Sherlock debated.
"You're not, you're lying." John insisted.
"You're really not going to eat it?" Sherlock sighed.
"Absolutely not, feed it to the hellhounds for all I care." John sighed. Sherlock picked it up, examined it, and plopped it on his plate.
"Here you go." He said, tapping Fletcher on the shoulder. It looked like he had made the man's day, his face light up with a smile and he took the pizza thankfully.
"Thank you so much!" he exclaimed, as if he had never received such kindness from a stranger before.
"It's not trouble; we weren't going to eat it." Sherlock assured.
"May the angels watch over you." Fletcher decided, biting into the pizza thankfully.
"Quite the opposite." John sighed, thinking about their demon stalker. They went back to the hotel and sat on the beds, staring at the walls or ceiling and not quite knowing what to do with themselves.
"So, what now?" Sherlock asked.
"No idea." John sighed. "I've got a pack of cards, do you want to play spit?"
"Sure." Sherlock said with a smile. John jumped off of the bed, grabbing an ancient pack of playing cards he had acquired ages ago, when he still was living with his family.
"You know how to play?" John asked, shuffling the deck easily and sitting on the carpeted floor.
"Ya, my brother taught me." Sherlock said, shaking his head happily. John divided the cards into two piles, one for Sherlock and one for himself, and started to make five piles in front of him. Sherlock watched him, and then started to make his own piles. John put two cards out in front of him and examined his cards, face down.
"Ready?" he asked.
"I suppose." Sherlock muttered.
"Go!" John exclaimed, and off they went. It was a fast paced game, obviously Sherlock knew exactly what he was doing, and by the time John was halfway through his deck Sherlock was finished, looking at the empty carpet in front of him with a large, childlike smile.
"You're cheating." John decided, putting the queen he was about to use down on the floor with a frown.
"No I'm not." Sherlock debated with a frown.
"Then you're just really good at this game." John sighed.
"Again?" Sherlock asked.
"Ya." John agreed. They played three more rounds, and every single time John was beaten so badly that he decided Sherlock had to be cheating.
"There's no possible way you can beat me this bad so many times in a row!" he debated.
"I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do about it!" Sherlock defended, holding one of the cards and bending it between his fingers.
"Then what, do you want to play war or something?" John asked.
"I guess, but I..." before he could finished his sentence the card slipped from his fingers, flinging right into John's face with a twang sound. John frowned, but there was a huge smile on Sherlock's face, as if he found amusement in hitting John in the head with cards.
"I swear to god that was an accident." He pleaded. John picked up his own card and shot it at Sherlock's face, where it hit him right in the nose. Sherlock swatted it away like a fly and ducked behind a chair, grabbing a pile of cards to use as ammunition. John dove behind the bed, taking cards as well, and poked his eyes above the covers to see where his enemy lay. Sherlock was giggling uncontrollably, sending a card flying at John, which only died and landed softly on the bed.
"You'll never win!" John exclaimed, sending a card flying. It hit Sherlock in the foot, which he pulled into his makeshift hiding spot with a squeal.
"I beg to differ!" Sherlock yelled, running at John and throwing a handful of cards down on top of his head, as if it where some bomb. John pretended to writhe in pain, falling onto the floor and lying motionless except for a couple of twitching muscles.
"Ah ha, I have killed the John!" Sherlock said, standing up and putting one foot on John's chest and held his hand high, as if he had some stupid flag in his hand. John came back to life in an instant, pulling Sherlock's leg from under him and making the boy fall onto the bed into the fallen cards.
"Loser." John laughed, jumping to his feet. Sherlock was laughing now, as if this game were extremely amusing. John wondered for a second if he was ticklish, something that would be very amusing if he had a feather duster. Sherlock tried to get to his feet but John quickly lashed out, tickling under Sherlock's soft chin and making him fall right back onto the covers, laughing hysterically and slapping John's hand away.
"Aw! You're ticklish!" John laughed.
"No I'm not." Sherlock lied, getting to his feet and straightening out his jacket as if he were some professional mature person.
"Yes you are!" John insisted.
"No, I am an extremely mature adult and don't have time for..." Sherlock's sentence was cut off as John tickled him in the stomach which made him snort with laughter and try to kick John.
"John go away!" Sherlock exclaimed, bouncing away and taking refuge behind the dining room table.
"How old are you?" John asked.
"Twenty four." Sherlock said proudly, as if that were some big feat.
"And you're still ticklish?" John asked.
"No." Sherlock decided. "You're not?" he asked.
"No, I'm not." John insisted.
"Liar." Sherlock decided, creeping closer.
"I am not." John said confidently. Sherlock came even closer, ticking John in the stomach. But John didn't laugh, he didn't feel anything, but took that opportunity to tickle Sherlock again, who squealed like a murdered pig and ran away again.
"Stop it!" he pleaded.
"Some twenty four year old." John laughed, looking at the clock. "We should get to bed." he decided, seeing that it was ten forty five already.
"We're going to live tomorrow okay?" Sherlock muttered.
"Of course." John agreed.
"No, like I'm going to take you to a park or something, and we can go swimming, or see a movie, and do everything this town has to offer, and stay up really late and tell ghost stories and tell jokes and have fun." Sherlock decided, changing into his pajamas as John searched through the bags, politely averting his eyes.
"That sounds good to me." John agreed, not wanting to think that it was going to be his last full day on Earth. He changed into his own pajamas while Sherlock brushed his teeth, collapsing into his bed and sighing.
"Well, good night I guess." Sherlock muttered as he buried himself under his own covers.
"Good night Sherlock." John agreed, shutting off the lamp and throwing the room into darkness.