[Fill] Bills, Bills, Bills (1a/6)littlemissailyOctober 14 2011, 15:48:32 UTC
"or Five Times Sherlock Pays for Something Without Telling John, and One Time John Says something about it"
John has just sat down at the desk in the living room when Sherlock walks in. John had intended to go through the day's mail -- in fact, he already has the electricity bill open and is perusing it -- but Sherlock is apparently disagreeable to that. God so help it if the poor doctor actually wants to get something done in this flat.
Sherlock swiftly crosses the room -- doesn't even bother shedding his coat, despite the heater being up in full -- and snatches the letters out of John's hands. He literally snatches them. John barely has the thought to sputter before Sherlock goes through all the mail like he already knew what each of them is. (Knowing him, he might have known simply from noticing the scent of the paper or something like that.)
"Letter from Aunt who only ever asks for money: read for information. Giveaway scam: perpetrated by some down-and-out teenager, unnecessary to investigate further. Request to attend government social: ploy by Mycroft to spy, ignore. Coupons for restaurants in London: all sub-par, toss. Four letters for you, John: two from friends or family, one pension check from the military, and what appears to be an advertisement for engagement rings. Odd, didn't think anyone actually wrote letters these days but the horribly nutty, like my aunt." He drops all of the letters to the floor as he goes through them, with the exception of that last four, which he passes calmly to John as he looks at the piece of already opened mail intently. "Electricity bill: very nice paper, such a waste really. Ah, yes, I know what to do with this." He quickly scurries off into the kitchen, not that anyone would usually describe him as scurrying -- probably too undignified or somehow unintelligent for him.
[Fill] Bills, Bills, Bills (1b/6)littlemissailyOctober 14 2011, 15:50:05 UTC
John is so focused on the letter from his mum that he almost doesn't catch Sherlock's shift of voice as he talks about the electricity bill. That's Sherlock's experimenting voice. The last that John heard it, Sherlock had chosen to test blood stains on John's favorite tie. That voice is not a good voice.
John cautiously walks into the kitchen, finding Sherlock leaned on the counter with a dropper in hand over what must be their electricity bill and a vial of clear liquid beside it. Sherlock releases evenly placed, small drops across the paper and watches it carefully. John finally finds the voice to hedge, "Sherlock, what -- err -- what are you doing, exactly, with our electricity bill?"
"Ah, John, an acquaintance of mine sent me this interesting chemical he's been testing. When in small drops, it evaporates extremely quickly and it dissolves the ink straight out of paper. When it works, it almost appears like the text is burning itself right off the page and disappearing in small wisps of smoke. Absolutely fascinating. I've been wanting to test this on printed paper. With all of this laser-jet printing now, there isn't even an imprint left once the print evaporates." He lifts the paper to show John, with an almost manic light to his eyes and that slight twitch to the right corner of his lips. It's almost endearing, until John realizes that Sherlock has just spirited away their electricity bill, which John hadn't even gotten the chance to check yet. "See? I've salvaged a very well-made but horribly wasted sheet of paper." The paper is entirely blank.
[Fill] Bills, Bills, Bills (1c/6)littlemissailyOctober 14 2011, 15:51:00 UTC
"Sherlock, did you even check how much we owe the electric company before you did that? Now I'll have to go request them for another bill. Honestly, couldn't you have used that government invitation or the giveaway scam or whatever?" John is resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands.
"Now why would I do that? Those were cheaply made paper, no need to save them. They're better off printed on. And no, I didn't bother checking the amount; pointless information. Also, why would you need to request another bill?" Sherlock actually almost looks confused. Again, it'd be endearing if not for the fact that he has just erased their bloody electric bill.
"To pay it, Sherlock. I need to know the amount if we want to actually have lights here, or a fridge to keep your bloody body parts from decomposing."
"Oh, that, I already paid for it online. I even set up an account so it automatically takes it from my checking each month. Now, no more wasted paper. Rather convenient really. I'd call it intelligent if it weren't for the fact that practicality is never really intelligence so much as common sense."
If John didn't know any better, he'd say that Sherlock looked very smug with himself in that moment. But he's still registering the fact that Sherlock has paid the electricity, is apparently going to continue paying the electricity. Well, that's odd, John thinks, but he figures he can get used to it.
[Fill] Bills, Bills, Bills (2a/6)littlemissailyOctober 16 2011, 02:11:12 UTC
It's the end of what has been a very long week. Sherlock had opened and closed a new case, on Monday and last night (Thursday) respectively. If Sherlock has a case, that means that John also has a case, on top of his own job at the clinic. John doubts Sherlock is at his best either, but John is rather focused on the fact that he, himself, is very, very tired. And in being this busy and tired, he has forgotten to bring the monthly check down to Mrs. Hudson. She would forgive them missing rent for months, honestly -- she adores Sherlock that much and is learning to be quite fond of John as well -- but John's not one to take advantage and it's not as if Sherlock would take care of it. A laugh, that idea.
John knocks politely on Mrs. Hudson's door. He mastered the art of doing everything in the least imposing way possible. When the door slips open, he calls as cheerfully as he can manage, "Good evening, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry for the intrusion."
"Oh, not at all, Dear, not at all. Sherlock's just slipped out maybe 10 minutes ago. Said he needed to think. Wouldn't stop muttering the word 'bored'. Poor dear, must've been an amazing case if he's having withdrawals so quickly." Withdrawals, that's one way of putting it. "Ah, anyway, what can I help you with, Doctor?"
John pulls out an envelope from his inner-coat pocket. "I realized I forgot to bring down the flat check to you earlier this week. I hope it's no problem." He scratches the back of his head sheepishly and holds the check in the air between them.
"Ah, John, no need to apologize. It's quite all right. Besides, Sherlock already paid this month's rent. In fact, he paid ahead for the next six months. Scotland Yard must have given him quite some compensation for his help this time around."
[Fill] Bills, Bills, Bills (2b/6)littlemissailyOctober 16 2011, 02:11:50 UTC
She has a fond smile and a slight sparkle to her eye. It reminds John of the look on Harry's face every time she watches Pride and Prejudice and Mr. Darcy confesses his love for Elizabeth. John's not sure if he should be uncomfortable about this or not, but he is. And then it registers in his mind that Sherlock, Sherlock I-delete-all-information-not-pertaining-to-a-case-which-means-he-never-pays-bills Holmes, has yet again paid one of their bills, and is showing signs of paying it in the future.
This scratches at the back of John's mind for some reason. He explains it off to the fact that he doesn't like that he isn't paying at least one of the major bills for their flat. He has his own means of income, after all. He can help pay for it. Does Sherlock think he can't afford it? Sherlock's the one that lives off of favors half of the time.
John's thought process is derailed by a polite cough behind him. Sherlock has apparently returned. "John, why are you standing mindlessly in front of Mrs. Hudson's door?" It's then John realizes that, at some point, Mrs. Hudson has went back into her flat and shut the door.
John quickly slips the check back into his coat, ignoring the amused flicker of Sherlock's eyes over the movement of his hands. "We were just having a pleasant conversation."
"Lovely," Sherlock enunciates with even more amusement. "What are you feeling for dinner?"
John stores away his thoughts for now and doesn't bother to question why it is that Sherlock asks his opinion when he already has a bag of Indian take-out in hand. It's probably nothing anyway.
John has just sat down at the desk in the living room when Sherlock walks in. John had intended to go through the day's mail -- in fact, he already has the electricity bill open and is perusing it -- but Sherlock is apparently disagreeable to that. God so help it if the poor doctor actually wants to get something done in this flat.
Sherlock swiftly crosses the room -- doesn't even bother shedding his coat, despite the heater being up in full -- and snatches the letters out of John's hands. He literally snatches them. John barely has the thought to sputter before Sherlock goes through all the mail like he already knew what each of them is. (Knowing him, he might have known simply from noticing the scent of the paper or something like that.)
"Letter from Aunt who only ever asks for money: read for information. Giveaway scam: perpetrated by some down-and-out teenager, unnecessary to investigate further. Request to attend government social: ploy by Mycroft to spy, ignore. Coupons for restaurants in London: all sub-par, toss. Four letters for you, John: two from friends or family, one pension check from the military, and what appears to be an advertisement for engagement rings. Odd, didn't think anyone actually wrote letters these days but the horribly nutty, like my aunt." He drops all of the letters to the floor as he goes through them, with the exception of that last four, which he passes calmly to John as he looks at the piece of already opened mail intently. "Electricity bill: very nice paper, such a waste really. Ah, yes, I know what to do with this." He quickly scurries off into the kitchen, not that anyone would usually describe him as scurrying -- probably too undignified or somehow unintelligent for him.
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John cautiously walks into the kitchen, finding Sherlock leaned on the counter with a dropper in hand over what must be their electricity bill and a vial of clear liquid beside it. Sherlock releases evenly placed, small drops across the paper and watches it carefully. John finally finds the voice to hedge, "Sherlock, what -- err -- what are you doing, exactly, with our electricity bill?"
"Ah, John, an acquaintance of mine sent me this interesting chemical he's been testing. When in small drops, it evaporates extremely quickly and it dissolves the ink straight out of paper. When it works, it almost appears like the text is burning itself right off the page and disappearing in small wisps of smoke. Absolutely fascinating. I've been wanting to test this on printed paper. With all of this laser-jet printing now, there isn't even an imprint left once the print evaporates." He lifts the paper to show John, with an almost manic light to his eyes and that slight twitch to the right corner of his lips. It's almost endearing, until John realizes that Sherlock has just spirited away their electricity bill, which John hadn't even gotten the chance to check yet. "See? I've salvaged a very well-made but horribly wasted sheet of paper." The paper is entirely blank.
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"Now why would I do that? Those were cheaply made paper, no need to save them. They're better off printed on. And no, I didn't bother checking the amount; pointless information. Also, why would you need to request another bill?" Sherlock actually almost looks confused. Again, it'd be endearing if not for the fact that he has just erased their bloody electric bill.
"To pay it, Sherlock. I need to know the amount if we want to actually have lights here, or a fridge to keep your bloody body parts from decomposing."
"Oh, that, I already paid for it online. I even set up an account so it automatically takes it from my checking each month. Now, no more wasted paper. Rather convenient really. I'd call it intelligent if it weren't for the fact that practicality is never really intelligence so much as common sense."
If John didn't know any better, he'd say that Sherlock looked very smug with himself in that moment. But he's still registering the fact that Sherlock has paid the electricity, is apparently going to continue paying the electricity. Well, that's odd, John thinks, but he figures he can get used to it.
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John knocks politely on Mrs. Hudson's door. He mastered the art of doing everything in the least imposing way possible. When the door slips open, he calls as cheerfully as he can manage, "Good evening, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry for the intrusion."
"Oh, not at all, Dear, not at all. Sherlock's just slipped out maybe 10 minutes ago. Said he needed to think. Wouldn't stop muttering the word 'bored'. Poor dear, must've been an amazing case if he's having withdrawals so quickly." Withdrawals, that's one way of putting it. "Ah, anyway, what can I help you with, Doctor?"
John pulls out an envelope from his inner-coat pocket. "I realized I forgot to bring down the flat check to you earlier this week. I hope it's no problem." He scratches the back of his head sheepishly and holds the check in the air between them.
"Ah, John, no need to apologize. It's quite all right. Besides, Sherlock already paid this month's rent. In fact, he paid ahead for the next six months. Scotland Yard must have given him quite some compensation for his help this time around."
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This scratches at the back of John's mind for some reason. He explains it off to the fact that he doesn't like that he isn't paying at least one of the major bills for their flat. He has his own means of income, after all. He can help pay for it. Does Sherlock think he can't afford it? Sherlock's the one that lives off of favors half of the time.
John's thought process is derailed by a polite cough behind him. Sherlock has apparently returned. "John, why are you standing mindlessly in front of Mrs. Hudson's door?" It's then John realizes that, at some point, Mrs. Hudson has went back into her flat and shut the door.
John quickly slips the check back into his coat, ignoring the amused flicker of Sherlock's eyes over the movement of his hands. "We were just having a pleasant conversation."
"Lovely," Sherlock enunciates with even more amusement. "What are you feeling for dinner?"
John stores away his thoughts for now and doesn't bother to question why it is that Sherlock asks his opinion when he already has a bag of Indian take-out in hand. It's probably nothing anyway.
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