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The spray bottle had a purpose, and he knew that. He knew the spray bottle was meant for the plants. Molly had always tended to the leaves while she watered the plants, and Sherlock was fully aware and had been told that the spray bottle’s sole purpose was to take care of the two baby dieffenbachias in the kitchen.
So, of course, he made a point of misusing the spray bottle.
His preferred method was to pretend to be reading in his chair. Whenever she happened to pass by close enough, whether it was to start a fire or to scan the bookcase behind him, she would feel the squirt of warm water hit her, usually on the neck. She would snap around to face him, and his eyes would be on the book, but there would be an evil gleam in the way he glanced up to meet her gaze before returning his attention to the pages in front of him. She never made a move to retrieve the spray bottle from wherever he hid it, simply choosing to carry on as if nothing happened. The spray bottle would always be between the two plastic pots when it was time to water the plants, but somehow, he kept finding a way to sneak it away.
She’d even tried stashing the bottle in the back of a cupboard, in a different room, or in separate pieces. He caught on every time, and without fail, she would be squirted, and he would pretend it didn’t happen.
It became a serious problem when she felt the water hit her when they worked together in the lab at Bart’s. Every time she spun around to scold him, he would be completely immersed in whatever experiment he was conducting, or else very interested in the microscope in front of him. She knew he hid it in his coat those times, lying on the worktop conspicuously, but as always, she was certain she would fail in recovering the damn object. He was closer, and he knew where it was; any attempt to retrieve the spray bottle would result in failure.
After many years of dealing with Sherlock Holmes and one too many squirts from the spray bottle, Molly decided to take matters into her own hands. Her man-child of a husband would learn the true meaning of revenge.
It had taken no effort on her part to sneak out of bed just after seven on Sunday morning, tiptoeing into the bathroom with the bag she’d retrieved from under the bed. There hadn’t been any need to hide it at all, but Molly decided it was better to be safe than sorry. Sherlock had been summoned for a case early in the evening and had returned just before eleven, giving her more than enough time to go to the nearest Tesco to purchase her wares.
Molly ran the water in the bathtub, quickly filling the four foam blasters, pulling back the plungers to suck in the water in the tub, the coldest water possible. She knew Sherlock wouldn’t be awoken by the familiar sound – she was always envious of his ability to sleep like a rock – and her work was finished within minutes. Turning off the bathroom light, Molly placed herself against the wall behind the door. She kept her weapons close, one in hand and the other three upright on the floor next to her, and awaited her prey.
Less than an hour after stationing herself for attack, Molly was rewarded with the sound of a creaking floorboard. Moments later, the door beside her opened and the light flicked on, and Sherlock trudged in yawning like a cat. She took it as a bonus that he’d only bothered with pyjama bottoms last night, and as he dragged his feet into the small room, Molly raised the foam blaster to aim at his bare back.
An excited titter bubbled up from her chest as she placed her palm against the back of the plunger and pushed, sending a spray of cold water directly at her husband. Sherlock yelped as the water hit his skin, jumping backwards in an attempt to avoid the stream. He barely had a moment to look at Molly with wide eyes before she tossed down the empty blaster and started on the next, following his movements as he tried to escape. He turned his back on her and pulled the shower curtain out of the tub to shield himself when she went for the third, but not to be defeated, Molly shot directly at his bare feet, still visible beneath the plastic. She openly laughed at his shouting her name like a curse while he untangled himself from the curtain, and the moment he became visible once again, she emptied the final blaster at his chest.
Tossing down the last of her weapons, Molly grinned happily at Sherlock standing on the other side of the room, dripping and shivering and glaring right back.
“Good morning, dear,” she said sweetly.
“Hardly,” he replied, in what could only be described as a grumble.
“Oh, don’t be such a poor loser. Revenge is a dish best served cold, after all.”
Just then, his narrowed eyes lit up and a wicked smile crept onto his face. Molly knew it meant trouble, and when he took a single step forward, she spun around and went directly for the door. She was barely three steps out of the room when he caught up, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and plucking her up off the floor. She shrieked as he carried her backwards, her squirming only succeeding in making her wet and cold, before she felt herself being turned around and dropped into the bathtub.
“No, no, no, no—” She tried to climb out of the tub as Sherlock held her in place with one arm and turned the cold water tap with his free hand. A high-pitched squeak was all that came out when he pulled the plug to turn the shower on and the glacial jet of water hit her straight on, freezing her in place and causing her to snap her eyes shut as the sudden cold shocked her system.
“Best served cold,” Sherlock said happily, releasing her from his hold and stepping back. “You couldn’t win this one, darling.”
“Couldn’t I?” Molly chattered, reaching for the tap and turning off the water.
“Doubtful. But, you tried. I knew you would.”
Molly carefully stepped out of the tub, shaking off one of the water soaking her pyjamas. “It feels like I’m going to die of hypothermia,” she huffed, wringing out her hair. “You wouldn’t be up to call it a draw and share some body heat, would you?”
“Actually,” Sherlock said, stepping forward and leaning in, arms winding around her waist and lips brushing against her cheek, “I could do with a hot shower.”