Sherlock Oneshots

Jettisoned

A•N i have many ideas written in my Notes, and not enough time to type them out (aka. writer's block) woopsy. short & - frankly - tedious.

Sherlock

Jettison. That's what it was. That.. feeling.

To: abandon or discard (someone or something that is no longer wanted).

Sherlock Holmes should've deduced long ago the relinquishment of John Watson.

Sherlock was always left in the aftermath; he was the remainder of John Watson, left to rot in 221B.

But why? Why had this catastrophe happend upon The World's Only Consulting Detective?

John had merely gone to the supermarket to keep 221B's fridge nice and full, estimating his time at three hours. But Sherlock had now counted up to three days, and - of course - Sherlock Holmes was never wrong.

The lanky detective slumped over the kitchen table, his navy dressing gown draping on the dusty floor (Sherlock never allowed Mrs Hudson to sweep up.) His mind felt like the ocean; ultramarine tide crashing onto rocks, billows of waves violently driving into each other. His mind felt like a storm.

And at the heart of the storm was the HMS Deceiving, with Captain Watson at the starboard, jettisoning the stow away Sherlock Holmes, and watching him cascade into the water and letting him sink into the sea like a heavy stone, down, down, down...

Sinking into the couch, Sherlock huffed at the cyclone inside his head, unable to hear the plodding of steps ascend up the stairs.

"I'm back." A gentle voice broke the flat's silence, as well as the rustle of plastic bags.

"John Hamish Watson, where on Earth have you been for three days?" Sherlock complained. He rolled his eyes at John's oblivious face, "Frankly, I should have a word with you mother."

"Sherlock, I haven't been three days." A mop of curly hair descended for the couch, as Sherlock sat up, confused, "I've been three hours, you idiot. How bored do you get?" John teased, as he began unpacking Asda bags.

"Apparently," Sherlock sighed, resting back down on the couch, "very."

A•N i was bored.