The One Next Door

Hazardous Chemicals and Spaghettio's. Same Thing.

    "What happened?" John asked, walking over to his apartment and holding the door open for Sherlock to follow.
"I used a paper towel as an oven mitt and it caught fire." Sherlock muttered guiltily.
"That's like, the worst thing you could use." John decided.
"How was I supposed to know that?" Sherlock whined. He walked into John's flat, which was honestly a lot different than Sherlock had pictured it. There were still boxes stuffed in the corner, the walls looked empty and the hardwood floors bare, but John had set up a couch, some tables, a TV, and even had some pictures scattered around. Dudley came rushing up at him, as usual, and jumped up on Sherlock's legs.
"Ignore him." John decided. "I don't know why he likes you so much, I mean, he likes people, but he's usually not this aggressive."
"Maybe dogs like me and cats don't." Sherlock guessed.
"Ya, Molly's cat, Helen was it? She hated you." John agreed.
"I more appropriately call her Hell Spawn." Sherlock admitted.
"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" John asked.
"Not if you know what I know." Sherlock assured. John stood on his tiptoes, reaching as far as he could to reach the top shelf and pulled down another can of spaghetti.
"Thanks." Sherlock muttered as John opened the can.
"No problem, although this is the second meal I'm providing you with." John pointed out.
"First time was your fault, this time is just being neighborly." Sherlock debated.
"You know I'm not going to help you clean all that up?" John asked.
"You made the mess!" Sherlock debated.
"I could always feed this to my 'fat ugly dog' instead." John insisted, making Dudley look up in anticipation.
"He's actually really cute." Sherlock admitted.
"I thought that's what you meant." John agreed, handing Sherlock his can and a fork. They went over and sat on the couch, John sitting across the entire thing and Sherlock on the floor, petting Dudley as the dog tried to eat his Spaghettio's.
"So, how's life?" John asked.
"Life is alright actually." Sherlock decided.
"I'm sorry for being a jerk last night, I probably should've have been so moody." John guessed.
"You were moody? If anything I'm the one who has to be apologizing, I was the one that insulted you." Sherlock insisted.
"Well then, apology accepted then." John decided.
"I didn't formally apologize." Sherlock insisted.
"Well, then, if you do, I accept it." John assured.
"Oh, good. I mean, you're still a jerk, and a terrible person, of course, but you're not as bad as I thought." Sherlock assured.
"Well, that's good. Being only a terrible person is good." John agreed.
"It could be a miserable person, which is lower than terrible." Sherlock pointed out.
"Yes, you're right. I haven't sunken to the worst rung on the totem pole." John decided, and Sherlock just laughed, scooping out the little round noodles form the can.
"You probably see me as a big jerk." Sherlock guessed.
"Not really. I see you kind of stubborn, stuck in your ways a little bit, but you're fairly nice once you get to know someone." John decided.
"I thought I had damaged your opinion on me permanently." Sherlock insisted.
"And I thought you'd always hate me." John agreed.
"I do, don't get that wrong." Sherlock insisted.
"Good, well, I'm glad you don't still completely hate me." John decided.
"I can't hate anyone who voluntarily brings me pizza." Sherlock assured.
"So, do you like kidnap the pizza man or something?" John asked.
"Don't tell Moran, I don't want to have to pay their rent as well." Sherlock insisted. John laughed, a beautiful sound really, and seemed determined to keep his eyes on his can of spaghetti. Sherlock, of course, was having the same problem. His eyes seemed to be drawn towards John, but he knew that if he stared that John would start asking the same questions Sarah had been.
"I hope Molly's okay, she seemed pretty glum today." John decided.
"She's just tired, she'll be fine." Sherlock assured.
"I can't imagine she gets like this much, seems like she's a bouncy sort of person." John guessed.
"She is, probably too energetic for me." Sherlock decided.
"Then why do you hang out with her?" John asked.
"She brings me pizza too." Sherlock shrugged, spearing a mysteriously smooth 'meatball' and examining it suspiciously.
"Fair enough." John agreed.
"She's just a good person, you know? Honestly, no one in their right mind would ever want to voluntarily hang out with me, but she's my best friend. She understands me, I guess. Better than other people." Sherlock admitted.
"Then why don't you just go out with her? Why just be best friends when you could get married and be happy forever?" John asked.
"I already told you, I prefer blondes." Sherlock muttered, looking at the floor to make sure that John couldn't pick up on his lie.
"I think you're lying there mate." He decided.
"Why would I lie about that, there's nothing to lie about..." Sherlock insisted, looking a bit like a cornered animal.
"I think you've got a thing for her." John guessed.
"I swear, I don't. God, everyone's been telling me to hook up with my friends, it's actually becoming really annoying." Sherlock decided.
"Who else has been telling you?" John asked.
"Sarah, from work. The blonde behind the counter." Sherlock sighed.
"Ooh, a blonde you say?" John laughed.
"Before you get all suspicious, no, I don't like her either." Sherlock insisted.
"You really are a hard man to please." John decided.
"No, not really." Sherlock shrugged. John sighed, seeing that this was obviously a lost cause, and continued on with his canned pasta.
"I'm sorry about your chicken nuggets." John decided, maybe as a conversation starter, possibly because he actually cared.
"I only got a couple out of the bag, so I'll make them again tomorrow." Sherlock shrugged.
"Invite me over, alright; I've got an oven mitt." John insisted.
"I will, as long as you don't eat any. That's my hard earned money, and my frozen chicken." Sherlock pointed out.
"Oh come on, I spent my hard earned money on you too!" John defended.
"In my defense, this is the first paycheck I've ever received." Sherlock pointed out.
"And there will be many more, I assure you." John insisted. "How'd you even pay for rent this long if you've never had a job?"
"Well, I scrape up some money by selling some paintings, sometimes Molly lends me some money, and one time, Moran actually accepted a bird sculpture from me as payment." Sherlock laughed.
"You're kidding? From what I know of him, I only see him as a tyrannical overlord." John decided.
"A tyrannical overlord that appreciates poorly made bird sculptures." Sherlock pointed out, and John laughed a little bit.
"I'm sure it's not poorly made." John assured.
"You've seen my other works, of course it was rubbish." Sherlock insisted.
"Your paintings were phenomenal! If I even tried to make something that breathtaking I'd be sitting there all my life, trying to paint a straight line." John decided.
"I should teach you how to paint someday." Sherlock offered.
"That's a waste of your paint, and a waste of your time, no offense." John decided.
"No it's not, I think it would be quite amusing to see you try." Sherlock pointed out.
"Oh, thanks." John muttered.
"You were the one that said you were bad!" Sherlock defended.
"But you're not supposed to agree with me! You're supposed to rebuttal; say how you're sure I'm a gifted artist with some hard work and dedication." John insisted.
"Only girls refuse to accept flaws, they're weird like that. We manly men see the world how it is." Sherlock defended, puffing out his chest to try to look just a little bit more muscular than he actually was.
"You're pathetic." John decided.
"See, you see me as I am." Sherlock agreed, and John just groaned, as if Sherlock were the dorkiest of dorks. John shrugged in defeat, letting Dudley jump up onto the couch and feeding him one of the mysterious meatballs.
"Do you have a pet?" he asked.
"No. But Molly did get me a flower one time; she thought my flat was too 'dull and gray'. It died." Sherlock shrugged.
"Did you water it?" John asked.
"Well, no, not really." Sherlock shrugged.
"Then I wonder how it died." John muttered, and Sherlock just laughed.
"I'm not really good at taking care of myself, much less an inferior life form." Sherlock shrugged.
"We call them inferior, but Dudley is probably my best friend." John pointed out.
"Offensive." Sherlock muttered.
"Oh come on, you hated me like, five minutes ago, and now I'm supposed to call you my best friend?" John asked.
"Well, I can't say that you're mine, Molly probably beats you. But considering I only talk to three people, you're definitely in the top five!" Sherlock insisted.
"Two people that aren't even real beat me?" John asked.
"Well, I talk to Molly the most, probably you the second most, myself comes in third, I yell at my paintings a lot, and then Sarah." Sherlock decided.
"So, you're counting yourself and your paintings as people you talk to?" John asked, almost unbelievingly.
"Well, yes." Sherlock agreed.
"I'd find yourself a nice doctor; maybe he could bump the inanimate objects off of your list of friends." John decided.
"My doctor scares me." Sherlock insisted.
"How come?" John asked.
"He has this horrible beard, looks like a motorcycle rider." Sherlock muttered.
"Is that bad?" John asked.
"For his work, no, for the fashion world, definitely." Sherlock insisted. John just laughed, as if that were some joke and not the truth.
"I had this one teacher, he had this handlebar mustache, curled at the ends, and when he was thinking he'd twirl the ends, like a stereotypical villain in an Italian movie." John laughed.
"Did he tie people to railroad tracks when they got bad grades?" Sherlock asked.
"No, actually, and I should know, I always got the worst grades." John sighed.
"Really? You look pretty smart." Sherlock insisted.
"It's not the intelligence that's the problem, it's mainly my motivation and my lack of caring." John sighed.
"I was the opposite. My only friend was my books; I was the top of the class." Sherlock shrugged.
"You seem like you were lonely." John decided.
"I am lonely." Sherlock agreed.
"Well, not anymore right, you can go over there and paint yourself a new friend!" John insisted, shaking Sherlock's shoulder and getting up to dispose of his empty can. Dudley followed clumsily in his wake, and Sherlock was left sitting on the floor alone, scraping out the last of his noodles before rushing into the kitchen after them.
"Well, I better go clean that foam up. Not sure what Molly would do if she came in and found the place a mess." Sherlock decided.
"I'll help." John offered.
"Don't be an idiot, it's my flat." Sherlock insisted.
"Oh shut up, I made the mess in the first place, and besides, I've got nothing better to do." John shrugged. Sherlock looked at him suspiciously, as if trying to tell if he were being serious or not.
"Well, alright, but as long as you don't make more of a mess." Sherlock decided.
"Now why would I do that?" John asked.
"I have no idea, but I'm sure you'd be able to find a way if you were truly motivated." Sherlock decided. John rolled his eyes, grabbing a couple of towels and walking out into the hallway. Sherlock's door was still open, which wasn't really a tragedy, because even if someone did want to steal from him, they wouldn't get away with much. So Sherlock and John walked into the flat, where the oven and most of the counter was filled with fire extinguisher foam. The whole place smelled like chemicals and something that was burned...obviously whatever was left of his chicken nuggets were smoldering right now. "So, to work I guess." John decided, wiping up some of the foam off of the top of the oven and letting it fall into the trash can. 

"We're just going to throw it away?" Sherlock asked.
"Got a better plan?" John asked. Obviously it was a rhetorical question, but Sherlock just groaned and started to wipe away the chemicals. It wasn't difficult, it was just boring. They tried to keep up meaningful conversation, but there didn't seem to be anything good to talk about. Finally the oven was starting to reform, and John pulled out a blackened chicken nugget, covered in white chemicals, and laughed.
"Well, lunch is ready." He decided, throwing it into the trash can with good accuracy.
"That's really depressing." Sherlock decided as John pulled out the baking sheet from in the midst of the foamy oven.
"Definitely. We better get a move on, I'm sure Molly will be around any minute now." John guessed. Sherlock nodded, not really wanting Molly to know how much of a failure he was in the kitchen, or at life really. So finally, a good twenty minutes later, the last of the foam was wiped away and Sherlock could finally see his entire oven.
"Brilliant." John decided, dropping his entire rag into the trash can and observing their work.
"Looks like a kitchen again." Sherlock agreed, washing his rag out in the sink in an attempt to reuse it.
"Never looked like a kitchen." John decided.
"Says you, who's eating Spaghettio's with your dog." Sherlock snapped.
"Says you, who almost burned the building down trying to make chicken nuggets." John insisted, and Sherlock just shrugged, fair point, honestly.
"Accidents happen." Sherlock defended.
"Not this drastically they don't." John insisted, and Sherlock groaned again.
"I don't know why I ever invited you over." he decided.
"You'd still be cleaning. I saw you; while I was working you were making sure that you didn't get any of the chemicals on your clothes." John snapped.
"Come on, they're good clothes, I'd hate to get them ruined!" Sherlock insisted.
"You're just the weirdest guy I've ever met." John decided.
"Oh come on, don't be a drama queen." Sherlock snapped.
"You're the drama queen, I'm simply observing." John muttered. There was a knock on the door frame, and Molly walked in, looking well rested but still a little bit sleepy.
"Sherlock's being a drama queen? I would've never guessed." She muttered.
"Hello, Sleeping Beauty." Sherlock teased, and Molly scowled.
"I'm fine, thank you." She muttered disapprovingly.
"I know you're fine, you just took a nap, what's not to be fine about?" Sherlock asked.
"Why does it smell bad in here?" she asked.
"Old paint." Sherlock said quickly.
"Gas leak." John added.
"It's an awful combination, honestly." Sherlock agreed with an innocent smile on his face.
"You two are very weird, but I'm happy to see you're getting along." Molly decided.
"I'm not getting along with him." Sherlock defended.
"Then why are you hanging out?" Molly asked.
"Because there's a gas leak, and we decided, that if two of us breathe the air in the same room, that we'd share the amount of dangerous chemicals and reduce the risk of dying." Sherlock insisted.
"Oh, yes, obviously." Molly sighed.
"Shut up Molly." Sherlock grumbled.
"Well, I think I'll just go. I don't anyone to think we're friends or anything." John insisted, holding up his hands defensively.
"God forbid." Sherlock agreed.
"See you guys." He muttered, walking out of the flat, and for once he actually closed the door.
"You have to admit, you like him." Molly insisted.
"I most certainly do not!" Sherlock defended.
"Liar, you're such a liar, you like him." Molly insisted.
"I do not!" Sherlock growled.
"As a friend Sherlock, as a friend!" Molly defended.
"Even that's pushing it. We only had lunch together." Sherlock snapped.
"I thought you were making chicken nuggets?" Molly asked.
"Oh, I was, something just happened, it was more demanding than I thought." Sherlock sighed.
"What did you do?" Molly asked.
"Nothing, I just didn't want to make them!" Sherlock defended.
"What did you do???" Molly teased.
"Alright, alright, I burnt them. John had to get a fire extinguisher and we had Spaghettio's at his house." Sherlock admitted.
"You're a wreck Sherlock, honestly!" Molly exclaimed, and Sherlock just scowled.
"Shut up, I do my best." He defended.
"Well, I'm glad you two are spending quality time together, I mean, I know you're all in denial about how much you actually..." Molly started.
"Molly, I'll give you one more chance to shut your mouth, if you start talking about my 'secret hidden feelings for my annoying next door neighbor' I'll kill you." Sherlock snapped.
"That's the words of someone who doesn't want to have deep, heart filled conversations about how much they do love their annoying next door neighbor." Molly pointed out.
"I'll go get the rat poison, until then, goodbye." Sherlock decided.
"I'm not going anywhere." Molly insisted.
"Well, that's your problem." Sherlock muttered, walking up to where Molly stood and pushing her out the door.
"I'm just saying, when you come crawling to me for relationship advice, whining about how much you love him, don't expect any help. You'll have to learn decent pickup lines by yourself, and I won't..." Molly's sentence was cut off when Sherlock slammed the door in her face, peering out the peephole to make sure she left. Molly stood there for a moment, staring right back at him, even though she couldn't see him.
"You'll regret this." She decided, and then walked off towards her apartment.