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“If the moon was made of cheese would moon mice be full of holes?” Sherlock asked one day as he lounged on the sofa, violin dangling from one hand.
“Um...” Was John's only reply.
“Is a zebra without stripes just a confused donkey?”
“Er...” John looked baffled by the seemingly random nonsense his flatmate was spouting.
“Watson you need to buy milk!” Holmes flung his violin aside to retrieve an incoming text message.
TEXT FROM: MOTHER
Are you coming for lunch?
REPLY TO:MOTHER
I can't I'm [fasting]
[faster]
fellating
I can't I'm fellating
“Damn!”
***
John put away the shopping with a sigh as Sherlock swept out the door on a new case, flatmate forgotten about. Suddenly however he dramatically strode back in looking at John intently.
“John you need danger like a panda needs bamboo; come to melon heads crime scene with me”
“I don't know, what would I do?” John asked with a defeated shrug.
“You would make me look even more intelligent then I am and bring me happiness with your interruptions” Sherlock informed him before striding away knowing full well that John would follow.
. . .
“Death by cake. Always a sticky one” Sherlock looked down at the man lying on the kitchen floor ; a bloody rolling pin by his side and a pink multi-tied cake on his head.
“Watson...” he gestured to the cake.
“Oh...right” After looking around, unsure about destroying evidence, John wiped the cake off with his hand.
“Raspberry. My favourite” Holmes explained, licking John's hand.
“I'll remember that” John said.
“I know you will”
“Do you know who killed him?” melon head asked.
“We've been over this before-I don't solve crime, I find out if people are gay or not. Your victim was gay”
“How do you know?” John tried to look at the body the way Sherlock would.
“He's wearing a frilly apron; he baked the cake himself”
“That's brilliant Sherlock!”
“Actually melon head I can solve your crime, arrest his wife. She finally discovered his gay affair, beat him over the head with the rolling pin and dropped the cake, which he made for his boyfriend's birthday, on his head. Now lets go home and watch Philip Schofield, or as I like to call him Philip Scofflefeld”
***
As much as he hated having to admit he needed help Sherlock's phone was driving him mad. John, like a saint, had popped over to see his sister but Sherlock knew he would be glad of a reason to leave so texted him regardless.
TEXT TO: JOHN WATSON
John! I need your help with my auto [correct]
[correction]
erection
John! I need your help with my auto erection!
“Damn it!”
John sent a message back saying what?!
Sherlock's reply was to insist again that he needed help with his erection.
TEXT FROM: JOHN WATSON
I thought you'd never ask
. . .
John crossed the living room floor over to the sofa where he proceeded to put his hands down Holmes' pants quicker than Sherlock could say Mrs. Hudson.
“John what are you doing?!”
“Helping you”
“Not with...oh so that's why they call you magic-fingers-in-three-continents-Watson!”