John Watson turned over in his bed, and wrapped his duvet tighter around himself. He had spent last night huddled in a greenhouse to solve a mind-boggling murder, accompanied by his best friend, Sherlock Holmes. Sitting there for hours in the cold, leaning against old boxes, it was no surprise that John was nursing a sore back and a tired body. However, he was ripped out of his sleep by the sound of murmured voices downstairs.
John reluctantly opened his eyes, and lifted his head slightly off his pillow, straining to hear what was being said through his door. He could recognize the baritone voice of Sherlock, but there was another voice squeaking downstairs that he couldn’t place. John sat up in his bed, wincing slightly as a short spike of pain jolted up his spine. He stood and stretched, not bothering to slide his feet into his hardly worn carpet slippers.
He took a second to finger-comb his hair and opened the door to his bedroom. The wooden floor felt cold against his bare feet as he padded down the stairs, and lumbered tiredly through the hallways of his flat to the living room. He stopped short when he saw Sherlock, perched in his usual chair by the fireplace, facing a red-faced gentleman, with even redder hair.
“Erm…. Sorry,” John apologized, noticing the lack of a tea tray on the table beside his armchair. “Do you want me to put the kettle on?” He asked awkwardly.
Sherlock turned around to face him. On his face was an expression of mingled annoyance and interest. “Ah! John. I wondered when you would wake up.” Sherlock turned his curled head back to the strange gentleman, unsteepling his fingers from beneath his chin. “I’m sure you’ve heard of John Watson, Mr. Wilson?”
The man- Mr. Wilson, gave a jerk of his head in acknowledgement to John, his bagged eyes flicking between him and Sherlock questioningly.
Sherlock once again steepled his fingers underneath his chin, as he usually did when listening to a particularly interesting case.
It was this action that led John to sit down in his familiar armchair, tying the sash of his dressing gown around his waist. He gave another short wince as he sat down. He caught Sherlock’s eye, and shot him a significant glance
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You’ll remember that I said the other day that life can provide much more adventure than the thoughts of the human mind.” He said in reference to last night’s case.
John nodded, frowning, wondering what in the world this had to do with the current client. “Yes,”
“And you disagreed with me.” Sherlock continued.
“Yes. But you will undoubtedly come to the correct conclusion when I pile fact upon fact, and situation upon situation on you, until your weak reasoning cracks under the stress.”
John refrained from rolling his eyes on the jab.