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It was a thick but comfortable silence that enveloped the boys of Baker Street.
Both were well fed (including Sherlock, who wanted Chinese (no John, not that Chinese, the one with chicken chow-mien I like, yes, that one the extra two streets away)) and well rested.
It was their first night in since the case with the serial killer and the stuffed toy unicorn, and both were feeling pretty content with themselves, especially Sherlock, who had managed to score a few cold cases from Lestrade, thanks to the sudden appearance of manners that he displayed on the case. He was working on one now, trying to re-position items in the flat that resembled those of a victim’s.
John was watching a re-run of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
Life was good.
That was until Sherlock decided to blind John, by shining the lamp that sat next to the small desk into John’s eyes.
“Hey! What the hell?” John tried to move away but Sherlock had obviously anticipated this by jumping on John and holding his forearms down.
“Sherlock, get that friggin' lamp away!”
“John, it’s for an experiment… and keep still!” He was looking straight into John’s eyes, as though looking for something.
“I’ll keep still when you move the damn light away!”
“Fine.”
And before John knew it, there was a black piece of cloth descending on his eyes.
John started bucking, trying to loosen Sherlock’s grip on his arms, which had tightened considerably, since John had decided that maneuvering up the lounge was the best way out of the situation.
“John, stop, you’ll end up hurting one of us.”
“Says the man who decided to blind another.” John said sarcastically. He had stopped struggling now, but Sherlock still kept his vice-like grip on him.
“Dear lord, you've stopped struggling.”
John couldn't really help not struggling, since Sherlock was now tracing circular patterns on his forearms with his thumbs. It was nice, relaxing... almost.
“What’s the aim of this experiment, Sherlock?” John asked
Sherlock was still making circles on John’s arms “To see if the suspect was lying under interrogation. They didn't have the adequate technology apparently”. One hand still on John, he reached over and picked up the case file, placing it on John’s knees. “It says on this report, which mind you, is the saving grace in the whole file, that the suspect not only was fidgeting, she wouldn't look directly into the light which is to suggest she may have been under the influence. So I’m testing the effect of strong light on a person’s iris and pupil. You have been staring into darkness for nearly five minutes which should do.”
“Do what?”
“Now when I take the blindfold off, try to focus as long as possible, as long as you can stand okay?”
“Sherlock, what-"
John realised what Sherlock was going to do, about three seconds before he actually did it.
He ripped the blindfold off and John was staring straight into the blinding light.
“Shit, Sherlock!”
He was still there looking into John’s eyes, as the unfortunate flatmate tried to escape.
Sherlock loosened his grip slightly, which was all John needed.
He bounded off the couch and into the kitchen, he was leaning against the bench rubbing his eyes furiously.
“Move in with Sherlock they said, it’ll be fun they said” he muttered.
“No they didn't!” Sherlock shouted from the other room.
John walked back out to the edge of kitchen.
He sighed “I hope you got adequate results for all it’s worth?”
“Yes! She was lying, under the influence, which obviously altered the interrogation.”
“Good, that’s good.” John muttered distractedly as something flied past him. He picked up a small cardboard box.
“We need a new globe, John.”
“What?”
“For the lamp, we need a new globe, it blew out.”
John didn't answer; he simply picked up the box and chucked it back at Sherlock.
It hit the side of his head, and before it hit the floor, the boys of Baker Street burst into a fit of giggles, clutching at their sides as they stumbled towards each other.