The drabble series: ceramics
It was a simple fact Sherlock was needed more often than John. John didn't really mind, as long as he didn't have to have Sherlock spew dust in his face.
Their owner was often busy and used Sherlock to dust up his broken cups and cat hair and sweep it right underneath the kitchen cabinets. Sherlock did mind this. Being swooped belly-down through a heap of broken ceramics was not particularly high up on his bucketlist.
John, being flat, plastic and hollow, could just fit Sherlock's body in his and this suited the both of them just fine.
Sometimes, their owner, a government official owning more cats than he could care for, forgot to return Sherlock to the shelve on which they were kept and neither of them would be able to sleep for the days it took their owner to notice and sweep up the cobwebs in the dishes.
John Watson and Sherlock Holmes hadn't any particular career goals, being a dustpan and a brush, and they seemed to be quite content with this. Sherlock was bright, even if the dust occasionally rendered him incapable of sight and would eventually make him blind, and John was brave, scooping up the strangest of objects, damaging his edge and scratching his surface, and for the moment, they seemed to be quite happy together.
Even several years later, after their owner thought it time to purchase a steel version of the pair and brought them outside only to throw them down the skip, they fit together, the one a bit more weary than the other, and the other a bit more forgetful than the one.
John Watson stuck with Sherlock Holmes as he was rid of his hairs and kept looking at him as they were both rolled towards a burning oven, the flames licking their battered skins.