Three Months Later
I sat with John in the living room of 221B and sighed.
"How was work for the first time without me?" John smirked.
"Oh, just lovely," I replied sarcastically. "It was really boring," I added.
"You know who you sound like-?" he began when we both heard footsteps and looked to the door.
"Well, that was tedious," Sherlock said. I looked him over with a horrified facial expression. Blood covered his clothes from head to toe, and he held a harpoon in one hand.
"You went on the Tube like that?!" John asked.
"None of the cabs would take me," Sherlock grumbled. I watched as he walked out of the room and I turned to John with a smirk.
"That's your 'high functioning sociopath'," John remarked. I walked toward Sherlock's room and stopped in the bathroom to set up towels for him. He walked into the bathroom with his shirt unbuttoned and I smiled at him.
"What?" he asked.
"Just clean yourself up, and we'll talk later." I rolled my eyes at him. He leaned in to kiss me, but I put my hands to his chest, pushing him away.
"No."
Sherlock came out of the bathroom a little while later and had one a white button up and dress pants as usual. However, he wore a dressing gown over the top instead of his usual jacket. He brought the harpoon back out after he cleaned up and he kept looking at me, then to John who was reading the paper.
"Nothing?" Sherlock asked practically shaking with impatience.
"Military coup in Uganda." John tried.
"Hmm." Sherlock hummed. Suddenly, John smirked at the paper and showed it to me.
"Another photo of you with the, er..." John began turning the paper toward Sherlock. He made a disgusted grunt, and John sets the paper down, grabbing another.
"Oh, um, Cabinet reshuffle." John tried again.
"Nothing of importance?" Sherlock growled slamming the harpoon on the ground. He was acting like a possessed dragon. "Oh, God!" he added. Then he looked at John intensely. "John, I need some. Get me some."
"No." John and I both said calmly.
"Get me some." Sherlock glared again.
"No. I said.
"Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what." John scolded pointing at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned the harpoon against the dining table.
"Anyway, you've paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two-mile radius'll sell you any." John shrugged. I stood up from Sherlock's chair and wrapped my arms around him, though he was still practically shaking.
"Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?"
I pulled away from Sherlock and looked down. I peeked over at John who was glaring at Sherlock and cleared his throat.
"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled loudly. I pulled away from him and walked over to the couch, flopping onto it. Sherlock began throwing all of his papers around searching the table.
"Look, Sherlock, you're doing really well. Don't give up now." John said. Sherlock still threw papers around the living room looking.
"Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me." Sherlock pouted. I'm glad I wasn't the one who had to tell Sherlock no because I would've given in by now. Sherlock used his puppy-eyes on John, and they were intense enough to make me roll over and look at the wall. "Please." Sherlock pouted.
"Can't help, sorry," John said.
"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers," Sherlock said. I looked at John and noticed him smirk and shake his head.
"Oh, it was worth a try." Sherlock rolled his eyes and dove down to the fireplace and pulled out a slipper form the pile of papers on the floor. Mrs. Hudson came in and looked at Sherlock,
"Ooh-ooh!" She said.
"My secret supply. What have you done with my secret supply?" Sherlock asked her as he threw his papers around.
"Eh?" She asked looking down to the couch at me. I shook my head going to explain when Sherlock spoke again.
"Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?"
"You know you never let me touch your things!" She said. She then looked around the room then to Sherlock again. "Ooh, chance would be a fine thing." She sighed. Sherlock stood up and faced her.
"I thought you weren't my housekeeper." He pressed.
"I'm not." She stated, and I looked at John. We exchanged a smirk as Sherlock stomped over to the harpoon. Mrs. Hudson did the mime for offering John and I a drink, and she looked back to Sherlock. "How about a nice cuppa, and perhaps you could put away your harpoon." She said.
"I need something stronger than tea. Seven per cent stronger." Sherlock glared out the window, then turned to Mrs. Hudson, pointing the harpoon at her.
"You've been to see Mr. Chatterjee again." Sherlock began deducting.
"Pardon?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
"Sandwich shop. That's a new dress, but there's flour on the sleeve. You wouldn't dress like that for baking." Sherlock began pointing the harpoon at her sleeve.
"Sherlock..." John began.
"Thumbnail: tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don't we?" Sherlock asked and took a deep sniff before putting the harpoon at his side. "Mmm: 'Kasbah Nights.' Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn't you agree? I've written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It's on the website – you should look it up." Sherlock snapped toward the end.
"Please." Mrs. Hudson sighed exasperated.
"I wouldn't pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee. He's got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about." Sherlock added.
"Sherlock!" John and I yelled.
"Well, nobody except me," Sherlock added.
"I don't know what you're talking about; I really don't." Mrs. Hudson said leaving, upset. She stormed out and slammed the living room door closed behind her as Sherlock leaped over his chair and landed in the seat. He practically curled into the upright fetal position.
"What the bloody hell was all that about?" John yelled. Sherlock began rocking back and forth in his seat.
"You don't understand," Sherlock commented. I sat up on the couch and John looked at me.
"Go apologize, Sherlock," I said. He turned his face to me.
"Apologize?" he asked.
"Yes Sherlock,"
"You don't understand. I need a case!" Sherlock yelled. John yelled just as loud back as he said,
"You've just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!"
"That was this morning!" Sherlock groaned putting his feet on the floor and his bum in the seat. He started stomping his feet and tapping his fingers rapidly on the arm of the chair.
"When's the next one?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing on the website?" John questioned. Sherlock stood up, grabbed his laptop and handed it to John.
"Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please please please can you help?" Sherlock said mimicking the voice of a small child. I walked over to John and read the message on the website over his shoulder.
"Bluebell?" John asked.
"A rabbit, John!" Sherlock said annoyed.
"Oh," John said.
"Ah, but there's more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous." Sherlock began, then began speaking like a child. ""like a fairy" according to little Kirsty; then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry..." he finished. "Ah! What am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit." Sherlock said, and I rolled my eyes.
"Are you serious?" John asked.
"It's this or Cluedo," Sherlock said, and I laughed as John closed the laptop.
"No, no, we are not playing that!"
"Why not?" Sherlock asked.
"Because it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that's why," I argued.
"Well, it was the only possible solution." Sherlock sighed.
"It's not in the rules," John added.
"Then the rules are wrong!" Sherlock bellowed loudly. The doorbell rang, and I looked at the boys.
"Single ring," John said.
"Maximum pressure just under the half second," Sherlock added.
"Client." I singsonged as I returned to the couch.