The Worst Criminal Ever
I just moved out of my parents' home and into a small flat in another town. Now it's just a question of time how long it takes until my very Sherlock-like nature takes over and I get too bored to actually go out and buy milk. ^^
Title: The Worst Criminal Ever
Author: genki_blonde
Characters: Sherlock, Lestrade, Mycroft, John, Mrs. Hudson
Warnings: crack, author has a weird sense of humour, some swearing, implied nudity
Summary: Bored Sherlock needs something to do.
Disclaimer: Not mine
It was an all around normal evening at 221B Baker Street.
At the moment Sherlock was lying on the sofa dressed in his pajamas. He was terribly busy staring at the ceiling and ignoring the three other men shouting around him in the living room.
“What the hell is the head from the Smithson case doing in your fridge, Sherlock?! Hiding evidence again, are we?” Lestrade had appeared one hour ago to talk to Sherlock about a suspect, before he had regrettably discovered the newest experiment the younger man was working on.
The only answer from the lithe consulting detective was of a bored sigh.
Unfortunately the Evil Overlord -or Mycroft- had also decided to drop in with the intention to bore his dearest baby brother to death while trying to force Sherlock to solve a boring case for the boring British government.
“This is a matter of national security, brother, and you know how starting a war will upset Mummy. You would not want me to tell her how you refuse to help, now would you?” Sherlock was nowhere near bored enough to actually bother with his older brother’s case.
Then -only five minutes ago- John had stormed in, stomping up the stairs with more force than necessary and eventually planted himself on the doorway from where he could see everyone. He had even crossed his arms for more effect.
“You bloody idiot! Answer your goddamned phone! Have you any idea how worried I was?! First you took off without a word and made me chase after you, and then you won’t even pick up or answer any of the texts I sent you! Did it happen to cross your mind that maybe I would like to know if you are just in a hurry to get home?”
As the ex-army doctor seethed, his flat mate merely rolled his eyes. It was not Sherlock’s fault if John failed to observe the painfully obvious clues around him and thus could not keep up with the other man.
At least Mrs. Hudson knocked lightly before entering the living room with a tea tray. Even if she was not their housekeeper, she still liked offering the guests something to eat.
“Oh, Sherlock. You lie on that sofa far too much. Yet you are surprisingly handsome naked, though.”
As the old lady stared at the three men who had -at hearing her utter those words- fallen lifelessly to the floor of 221B, she gave a girly giggle and set the tray on the nearly-cluttered kitchen table.
“Oh, dear. I’m a mass murderer now!”
The young man on the sofa grinned happily.
The End