Domestic Experiment
Title: Domestic Experiment
Word count: 558
Rating: G
Warnings: Brief description of violence/blood.
Author note: Thank you to my beta kerry...and others.
Summary/description: Sherlock's "experiment" does not go as he expected.
He'd tried.
He knew John, every inch of him. Every fear and doubt. The secrets of his past that brought forth nightmares Sherlock could not only never banish, but had gained as his own.
He'd tried.
He knew John, every inch of him. Every joy and pleasure. The impact of such insignificant things creating the indescribable wonder that was Johns own laughter and smile.
He'd tried.
To see such a look upon the well worn face was to know that he'd lost the control he worked half a lifetime to create. To know that every expression, word and even movement of body would do nothing.
He'd tried.
And oh, how he had failed.
"It's not my fault John." Sherlock held his hands out, he was stunned to see them shake slighy.
"Really?" John had taken the 'Solider' stance that had once brought a thrill to Sherlock's very bones. Now, it brought something else entirely. "So, is it Mrs. Hudson's fault? Or...oh! I know, Lestrade! It's Lestrade's fault."
"I didn't know"
John tilted his head "Which is it?"
Sherlock paused. His forhead creased slighly "Which is what?"
"Not your fault? You didn't know."
Sherlock, for a fraction of a second, lost any ability to respond. "Both?"
John thrust his thumb over his shoulder and towards the kitchen "What's that?"
Sherlock ran his hand's through his hair "It-it's not logical!"
John bowed his head and covered his face with his left palm. He cleared his throat, lowered his hand and took a long, deep breath. "Explain to me, please, how it's not logical."
"It shouldn't have" Sherlock stepped towards the kitchen "had such force to project it so far."
"It's a bloody blender! A bloody blender whose motor you switched out for one three times as powerful!"
"I had to test it!"
John walked to his chair, fell into it and actually screamed "It's ice cream! Triple-somethin-"
"Triple fudge ripple."
John pursed his lips and rolled his eyes "Thank you, so much." John lifted his chin "So, how does triple fudge ripple apply to any of our current cases?"
"My cases."
"How?" John growled.
"The blood splatter on Mr. Ruggerson's ceiling was only possible if the blender had been drastically tampered with."
"Okay." John leaned back. He smiled "So what logic is there in using..."
"Triple fudge ripple."
John shook his head "in place of a man's entire forearm?"
Sherlock placed his hands on his hips.
"You can't answer."
Sherlock whirled towards John "I was trying to make you a milkshake!" Sherlock began to pace "A simple milkshake. And-and..." Sherlock flopped dramatically on the couch. He let out a huff.
"You wanted to make a milkshake. For me." John giggled.
Sherlock pressed himself deeper into the couch. "See if I do anything nice for you again." He grumbled.
"I'm not cleaning anything. You'll need a ladder."
"No I won't. You're just too short to reach anything above the first shelf without one."
John stood. "I'm meeting Greg at the Angry Goat."
"Stupid name for a stupid pub."
"Yeah. But, I'll be enjoying a stupid pint, at the stupid pub, while you clean the entire kitchen of triple fudge ripple. Scratch the new paint on the cupboard door and you'll have to answer to Mrs. Hudson."
Sherlock mumbled and curled his knees to his chest.
"Have fun."
"Idiot."
Word count: 558
Rating: G
Warnings: Brief description of violence/blood.
Author note: Thank you to my beta kerry...and others.
Summary/description: Sherlock's "experiment" does not go as he expected.
He'd tried.
He knew John, every inch of him. Every fear and doubt. The secrets of his past that brought forth nightmares Sherlock could not only never banish, but had gained as his own.
He'd tried.
He knew John, every inch of him. Every joy and pleasure. The impact of such insignificant things creating the indescribable wonder that was Johns own laughter and smile.
He'd tried.
To see such a look upon the well worn face was to know that he'd lost the control he worked half a lifetime to create. To know that every expression, word and even movement of body would do nothing.
He'd tried.
And oh, how he had failed.
"It's not my fault John." Sherlock held his hands out, he was stunned to see them shake slighy.
"Really?" John had taken the 'Solider' stance that had once brought a thrill to Sherlock's very bones. Now, it brought something else entirely. "So, is it Mrs. Hudson's fault? Or...oh! I know, Lestrade! It's Lestrade's fault."
"I didn't know"
John tilted his head "Which is it?"
Sherlock paused. His forhead creased slighly "Which is what?"
"Not your fault? You didn't know."
Sherlock, for a fraction of a second, lost any ability to respond. "Both?"
John thrust his thumb over his shoulder and towards the kitchen "What's that?"
Sherlock ran his hand's through his hair "It-it's not logical!"
John bowed his head and covered his face with his left palm. He cleared his throat, lowered his hand and took a long, deep breath. "Explain to me, please, how it's not logical."
"It shouldn't have" Sherlock stepped towards the kitchen "had such force to project it so far."
"It's a bloody blender! A bloody blender whose motor you switched out for one three times as powerful!"
"I had to test it!"
John walked to his chair, fell into it and actually screamed "It's ice cream! Triple-somethin-"
"Triple fudge ripple."
John pursed his lips and rolled his eyes "Thank you, so much." John lifted his chin "So, how does triple fudge ripple apply to any of our current cases?"
"My cases."
"How?" John growled.
"The blood splatter on Mr. Ruggerson's ceiling was only possible if the blender had been drastically tampered with."
"Okay." John leaned back. He smiled "So what logic is there in using..."
"Triple fudge ripple."
John shook his head "in place of a man's entire forearm?"
Sherlock placed his hands on his hips.
"You can't answer."
Sherlock whirled towards John "I was trying to make you a milkshake!" Sherlock began to pace "A simple milkshake. And-and..." Sherlock flopped dramatically on the couch. He let out a huff.
"You wanted to make a milkshake. For me." John giggled.
Sherlock pressed himself deeper into the couch. "See if I do anything nice for you again." He grumbled.
"I'm not cleaning anything. You'll need a ladder."
"No I won't. You're just too short to reach anything above the first shelf without one."
John stood. "I'm meeting Greg at the Angry Goat."
"Stupid name for a stupid pub."
"Yeah. But, I'll be enjoying a stupid pint, at the stupid pub, while you clean the entire kitchen of triple fudge ripple. Scratch the new paint on the cupboard door and you'll have to answer to Mrs. Hudson."
Sherlock mumbled and curled his knees to his chest.
"Have fun."
"Idiot."