A couple of minutes ago John emerged in his fluffy bathrobe and a cloud of steam from the bathroom, the lucky bastard. I would look that relaxed, too if I had just spend over two hours pampering myself.
Sherlock is just sitting here, looking all innocent with a book in his hands.
How long do you think, that is going to work, buddy? Sooner or later John will look in that fridge.
Speak of the devil, here he comes now, freshly changed,
down from his room.
J: You hungry?
J: I’m starving.
I guess it will be sooner rather than later then. Sherlock doesn’t even have the decency to look alarmed at that.
Here goes nothing.
J: There is a HEAD…in the fridge.
He is still clinging to the doorhandle, head bowed down and shoulders slumped. Sherlock hasn’t even looked up from the book he is reading.
J: Why is there a head in the fridge?
S: Because our room temperature is far too high to get conclusive results in my experiment.
J: That’s not what I…nevermind. How did it even get here? WHEN did it get here?
S: Oh, Molly dropped it off while you were in the bathroom.
The knuckles of John’s hand are almost white now. He finally let’s go of the fridge and turns around. Oh, he is glaring. This is not good. Sherlock, now would be an excellent time to start paying attention.
J: And you didn’t think about asking me first?
That got Sherlock’s attention. He looks almost affronted by that suggestion.
S: Ask you?
J: Or, I don’t know, at least WARN me?
S: You were in the tub.
J: Not the bloody point here, Sherlock!
I guess the recreational effects off the bath have worn of a lot quicker, than expected. Sherlock seems to be a bit taken aback by that outburst as well.
S: You are angry.
J: Of course I am flipping angry! There is a human head in our fridge! I am not eating anything that was within half a metre of that.
S: Oh, don’t be ridicu…
J: Nope! Not happening!
Sherlock does look somewhat sheepish now.
S: We could order take-out?
With a bone-weary sigh John falls into his chair. He drops his head against the headrest and drags a hand over his face.
J: No, we can’t. It’s Valentine’s Day, remember? Your favourite holiday? Everyone who wasn’t able to snag a table at a restaurant is ordering in. It would take hours.
A few seconds tick by in uncomfortable silence. Oh, Sherlock. how did you think this was going to turn out? He has visibly shrunken in his seat and his biting his lip. Doesn’t even dare to look at John anymore. Sometimes I really…
S: We could go out?
J: Didn’t you hear me? All the restaurants…
S: Yes, I heard you, but I am sure Angelo could make a little room for us.
John lifts his hand from his eyes and blinks at Sherlock.
J: You…want to go out…to a restaurant…on Valentine’s Day. With me.
S: Oh, don’t be an idiot. Valentine’s Day is just a nonsensical fabrication…
J: …of the chocolate manufactures and florist, yes, I heard you the first time.
J: I guess?
I have no words…