The flat is fairly quiet today. Sherlock's only been home for about an hour, is still covered in paint from work, and is having one hell of a sulk on the sofa ( Read more... )

They took a cab to Mike's house, Sherlock remaining quiet, yet fidgety, through the ride. It wasn't until they were standing on the kerb outside the house that John had noticed the bright blue smudge down the side of Sherlock's neck. He tried to clean it up, only to have his hand slapped for his efforts ( Read more... )

There is now a Bill in front of John and Sherlock's flat. This would be fairly normal if it weren't for a few details. Like him falling back into a military stance with a determined look on his face. Or that he hadn't called in earlier to warn John (and Sherlock) that he'd be stopping by for a talk ( Read more... )

John and Sherlock are at home, being generally quiet. Sherlock's quietly losing a bet to Mary in the form of having shot through the first two Hitchhiker's Guide books while John catches up on his own reading.

They are in no way at all expecting company.

Mary's curled up on the couch with Murphy beside her. The television's on and she's playing Minecraft, which seems to take more and more time recently.

Her mobile rings, and she jumps, before scrabbling for it. Harry?

"Hello?"

After spending the whole of the afternoon and evening packing and ferrying boxes from the old flat to the new place, Harry sinks into the now clutterfree couch, proud for having succeeded in not strangling Sherlock all day.

"So. What's the plan on the big haul? Are you going to hire someone?"

Mary's curled up on the couch watching the morning cartoons, for the sake of something to do. There's an empty plate on the table in front of her and a cup of tea.

She jumps when the buzzer goes off and rushes to the door.

"Is that you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock is on the sofa with Murphy on his lap, very deliberately ignoring the occasional outburst from John. He can't do that. Well, obviously he can, because he did. It's not right. Debatable. The cat wasn't his to take. Well, it wasn't Mary's either.

It's easy to ignore the reprimands with a purring ball of fluff on his lap.

Mary knocks on the door to Bill's place holding a Tupperware box of fresh-baked cookies. She's got flour on her shirt, and tries to tuck some errant hair away. It doesn't work. She can hear some thumping behind the door.

If anyone were looking outside their window in Islington, they'd see a car carefully following the rules of driving making its way toward a certain flat. However, once the car's turned off, the driver seems to have no more patience to spare on being careful, slamming the door and running to the flat's door ( Read more... )