One Snowy Day - For John Watson

[howdull]

[It was the worst blizzard that London had endured for three hundred years. That's what the news reports said before they all cut off, the power lines giving under the weight of the snow. It started as just inclement weather (everyone take care out on the roads!), and then escalated into proper warnings (the emergency services recommend you stay indoors), and had finally ended in full lockdown (up to 65% of Londoners are trapped in their homes today).

John had been in the flat, the familiar Baker Street flat, helping Sherlock to track down anyone who might be assisting in enacting Moriarty's from-beyond-the-grave comeback. It had just made sense to stay an extra hour or two until the snow let up. Big mistake, as it turned out. Now he was fully snowed in with an extremely bored and agitated Sherlock Holmes.

No radio. No internet. No TV. No electricity of any kind.

Sherlock hasn't said anything for fifty-seven minutes, probably a relief to the poor beleagured John, but that's because he's busy. He has to do something to occupy his mind, and he's chosen the fridge. Slightly manic movements have helped him get literally everything out from the fridge and freezer, distributing it all over the living room floor. There's everything from a glass jar of thumbs in formaldehyde, to three half eaten tubs of Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough ice cream.

His treasure trove assembled, Sherlock crouches on the floor and begins to move things around, organising them and then reorganising them in an ever more frustrated manner. It takes only a further fourteen minutes before he stands up and shouts, explosively:]

DAMN IT!

[Before throwing a ceramic pot of left-over stew at the wall, where it shatters with a loud crash.]

Comments

[acclimatized]

[ john gets to his feet and crosses his arms over his chest. he turns his head and side-eyes the detective, watching him flail about on the sofa. he doesn’t say anything -- the look he gives him should be enough. ]

I came back from your bedroom and you were choking on your own vomit.

[howdull]

I knew you would be there to assist, I had it all under control.

[This is what's known as a big fat lie.]

[acclimatized]

Oh yeah?

[ john's lips curl into a sardonic little smile. ]

I almost wasn't. I thought about leaving you on the stairs and going to bed. Your legacy would've been the brilliant detective who, instead of saving England from James Moriarty, overdosed on cocaine and choked to death on his own vomit. Stupid, pointless and a damn bloody waste.

[howdull]

[There's a beat of silence.

Sherlock's hands begin to tremble slightly and he clasps them tightly together to hide it. He didn't die, that's what matters.]

Then I suppose I should thank you.

[For once.]

But all this fuss as if I did it on purpose is stupid, it was a miscalculation, that's all.

[acclimatized]

[ john tilts his head to the side, making sure he heard him correctly. sherlock holmes is thanking him? well, he's going to mark this date down in his diary. ]

Oh, so someone mugged you in the street and rather than take your wallet, they forced you to shoot up on cocaine instead? Silly me.

[ he sniffs angrily, stepping over the towel to sit down in sherlock's chair. ]

I don't know why you need that stuff anyway. Surely we have a solid nine here, don't we? You know, Moriarty taking over all the screens in Trafalgar Square despite being dead for over three years?

[howdull]

I don't need it.

[Sometimes he thinks that John spends too much time with Mycroft. Stupid big brother, always so officious, always so convinced that Sherlock is about three seconds away from self destructing.]

I told you on the plane, John, I'm a user not an addict. I enhance my thought processes, something which is necessary with a problem as tangled as Moriarty.

[Except that isn't quite true, he hasn't been thinking at all about Moriarty, more just how bored he was.]

I don't see what the big issue is, millions of people around the world use drugs and only a small percentage die during controlled usage. Yet billions more drink, you were given a bottle of whiskey for Christmas, and yet that is socially acceptable despite the much higher death toll.

[acclimatized]

You say that, but have you looked outside lately? It's still snowing heavily. If you didn't need it, you could've waited until it stopped and I went home.

[ don't give him any ideas john. ]

And It was socially acceptable for Bill to give me that bottle, because he knew I wasn't going to down it all in one evening. You have absolutely no self control and it's going to end up killing you one day.

[ or someone else. ]

But what do I know? I see substance abuse everywhere, apparently. Maybe I could write something on it... kill my blog like your tobacco ash analysis killed yours.

[howdull]

[His fingers brush the inside of his sleeve almost subconsciously, as if feeling the fresh bruises that are there. He can hear Mycroft in his head spouting some nonsense about being there for him, about lists, about having to stop before he gets in too deep. But why is he getting in so deep?

Is it just the boredom? Usually he can resist that. Are there other reasons? Ones more sentimental and more foolish?]

Don't be petulant, John.

[There's no need to bring his blog into this.]

I have a hobby, aren't you always nagging me to spend more time outside and meet more people?

[acclimatized]

Oh, I'm the one being petulant? You're the one who threw a massive wobbly when I threatened to clear up the kitchen earlier. What was it you said again?

[ he drops his voice to a mock baritone of sherlock's. ]

It doesn't make any sense John! Help me catalogue the food before I lose the data! No, you'll ruin the whole thing, don't touch anything!

[ he flops back dramatically into his chair. ]

When I say go out and meet people, I don't mean drug dealers. Christ.

[howdull]

[Sherlock glares at him before finally standing up. He sways slightly but manages to remain on his feet, getting a little more steady as he walks into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Or try to, before he remembers there's no power and that means no kettle which means no tea. Frustrated, he stalks back into the living room and sinks into his own chair, fingers lightly tracing over the sleeve of his shirt.]

I was bored, John.

[He sounds less defensively angry, more as if he's just giving one of those explanations that should make perfect sense.]

It's necessary for me to alleviate my boredom.

[acclimatized]

[ john watches him lumber towards the kitchen like a drunken giraffe, perched on the edge of his chair in case sherlock submits to the will of gravity and needs a doctor. he's a little disappointed when he doesn't fall over -- he needs a good smack on the head after tonight's drama. it might knock some sense into him. ]

Yeah, so you keep saying. I'm just pointing out most people whip out a one-hundred-piece puzzle to alleviate their boredom. That or Candy Crush.

[ he sniffs angrily. ]

I'm not an idiot, you know. I might play one to make the great Sherlock Holmes look clever, but we both know why you take that stuff. It could've killed you this time.

[howdull]

[John doesn't understand, nobody ever does. His mind is too busy when there's nothing going on, nothing to focus it, and it drives him crazy. He needs the distraction, the ease, and his cocktail of illicit drugs is the best way to get it.]

But it didn't.

[He still sounds petulant as he draws his knees up to his chest, looking like an overgrown child in a snit.]

But do go ahead, dazzle me with your deductions, I can't wait to hear why you think I am this way.