Saturday, January 31, 2015

Hard Boiled

Posted by Isabel Bennett and Lily Baumgart

Monthly Fan Fic Special (January)

Sherlock has been pecking at the avocado and eggs that John had served him earlier when he realizes that the wife had green fingerprint on her wrist. He smiles wolfishly and leaps nimbly from the smooth leather chair. “John!” he yells in the general vicinity of the kitchen. John appears in the doorway, looking alarmed. His expression hardens as soon as he notices the uneaten food lying innocuously on the side table. Sherlock hardly notices, caught up in his rapid deductions. “The wife took her own daughter! She’s about to get a divorce and wants to prove that her husband is not fit for childcare! Call Lestrade…. I thought something was off about her shoe size….” John simply juts out his chin, no compliments for the great detective.
           
Sherlock doesn’t even notice John’s lack of affection for him at the moment because he’s so caught up in his own brilliance. The air is practically full of the great detectives pride as he saunters over to John who is sitting on the couch. “What do you think of that one?” He asks as he sits down next to John.
 
“Nothing too impressive,” John replies as he scoots further away from Sherlock. He really was pissed now.
 
“What the hell is up with you?” Sherlock practically shouts.
 
"I'm surprised you don't already know, Mr. Detective," he retorts as he stares coldly at the eggs that are still on the table, untouched.
 
Sherlock sprung from the couch to examine the cold eggs. His eyes fly across every inch of the yellow food in front of him before he peers across the plate and back at an indignant John Watson.

"What's wrong with them?" he mutters in an inquisitive tone.

"What's wrong with them?!" John asks in bewilderment, "They're still THERE!"

God, Sherlock hated how John often ended his sentences by yelling the last word. Why would he do that? What's the purpose? He sounded fatuous. However, it was apparent that John was extremely offended by the mere existence of the eggs and they needed to be destroyed immediately. In attempts to win the army doctors acceptance and love again Sherlock hastily scoops the plate up and shoves them into the trash can in the kitchen.

"Better, dear?" Sherlock asks with one final flick of avocado into the bin. Somehow his voice conveys sarcasm, accomplishment, and exasperation all at once.

"You were supposed to eat them," John mumbles defeatedly, "It's apart of your new paleo diet. You complete idiot."

"I do have to delete some things. You know that. And this is just so foolish. And difficult. It's almost as bad as not smoking." Sherlock finally offers as some sort of screwed up resolution that John always ends up accepting because Sherlock is a hopeless husband.

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