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“Woo hoo!”
When John hears Mrs. Hudson announcing her arrival, he jumps up from the sofa as he suddenly remembers that Sherlock had been experimenting with some new chemical concoction the night before and had made a spectacular mess in the sitting room. He looks frantically around the floor, hoping he didn’t miss any spots of whatever the hell it was Sherlock had spilled when he’d rushed into the room, cheering and showing off the grotesque contents of a beaker. A beaker which unfortunately had then bubbled over and expelled said contents all over everything everywhere.
He watches as Mrs. Hudson walks into the room, her eyes downcast and expression growing more and more uneasy. Damn. She must have seen something he missed. They already owe quite a bit for damages to the flat this month. It’s getting downright awkward at this point, and John and Sherlock are determined to not further anger Mrs. Hudson with any more of Sherlock’s mishaps.
“John,” she says, finally looking up at him, “I need to speak with you about something.”
“I think I know–”
“Now you boys know that I couldn’t be happier for you, right?”
“Uhh,” John says cautiously, “What is it you’re happy for us about exactly?”
“Well, since Sherlock came back from,” Mrs. Hudson’s voice momentarily drops into a whisper, like she’s sharing a terrifically embarrassing family secret, “the dead, and the two of you started up with the... the...”
“Cases?”
“No, no. Oh you know, how you two can get so noisy with the... the...”
“Fighting?”
“No! Oh, how do I put this? I mean noisy like... last night.”
John frowns and glances aimlessly around the room, genuinely lost at this point. “Last night?”
“Not that I was trying to hear anything, but sounds do carry quite well from Sherlock’s bedroom–”
John’s eyes snap back to Mrs. Hudson with sudden, terrible understanding. “Oh... God.”
“–so I'm afraid that I did hear, well, when the two of you–”
“Oh... Christ,” John clasps his hand over his mouth.
“–I mean I suppose it could have been something else, but it sounded like–”
“Oh, Jesus...” John begins to mutter helplessly to himself and his hand slides up to cover his eyes, “ bloody... buggering...”
“Yes! That. Exactly. Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn’t trying to, but I could definitely hear–”
Footsteps echo in the stairwell as Sherlock bounds up the stairs, his coat flapping around him and a violin concerto on his lips. “Hear what, Mrs. Hudson?”
“Oh, Sherlock! I was just talking to John about the... commotion coming from up here last night.”
Sherlock tilts his head, obviously replaying the events of the previous evening in his mind. His gaze briefly drops to the sitting room floor. “Oh yes! John and I wondered if you might have heard that. My apologies, Mrs. Hudson,” he says, looking a bit sheepish. “I was trying something new and it was just so exciting I couldn’t contain myself. And I really didn’t expect it to just suddenly spew everywhere like that. I’m sorry if my shouting alarmed you.”
Mrs. Hudson’s mouth drops open.
Sherlock frowns at her. “Well there’s no reason to be concerned. Take my word for it, John cleaned it up very thoroughly,” he says assuringly, looking over at John and winking conspiratorially.
Mrs. Hudson's eyes go wide. "Oh my goodness!"
“No!” John clutches her arm, shaking his head emphatically. “That’s not what he’s... no. It’s not what it sounds like. It was something... else. For a case. It was before we... um... went to bed.”
Sherlock lingers by the door as he removes his gloves, his eyes darting back and forth as he takes in John and Mrs. Hudson’s expressions. His face lights up. “Oh! You were talking about when John and I were having sex.”
John pales. “Sherlock–”
Mrs. Hudson's expression softens. She pats John’s shoulder. “It’s nothing you need to feel ashamed of, dear.”
“She’s right, John. You were excellent.”
“Sherlock!”
“Well you were! But of course you’d have to be to keep up with me.”
John's eyes narrow.
Sherlock shrugs exasperatedly. “What, John? You should be flattered. I learned most of it from you.”
Mrs. Hudson splays her hand over her heart. “Oh, that’s very sweet.”
“And then went on to surpass your skill level in almost every capacity,” Sherlock adds as he hangs up his coat. “But my point still stands.”
John’s glare could almost laser a very tidy hole clean through Sherlock’s head. “Sherlock, that’s arrogant even for you. And you know it’s usually the person you’re sleeping with who determines if you’re–” John glances warily at Mrs. Hudson, “surpassing anything.”
Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t seem to be complaining last night.”
John sighs through clenched teeth. “Sherlock...”
“One would have thought I had just solved a magnificently difficult case, given the number of ‘amazing’’s and ‘fantastic’’s you were throwing about.”
“Sherlock...”
“So I must have been doing something noteworthy.”
“Sherlock...”
“Perhaps a blog post is in order.”
“Sherlock...”
“It will need a title. Let’s see...”
“Sherlock...”
“‘The Man with the Gifted Lips’?”
“Sherlock...”
“‘The Adventure of the Genius’s Thumb’?”
“Sherlock! For the love of God! Shut. Up. Mrs. Hudson, we will try to be quieter from now on. I promise.”
“Well thank you, John, but I don’t want to stifle your um... freedom of... um... erotic expression,” John presses his hand against his forehead as Mrs Hudson charges onward, “so I was just thinking that perhaps if you utilized your old room upstairs instead then maybe all of the sounds wouldn’t be quite so... vivid.”
“Vivi–” John’s breath goes out of him and his arms fall lax at his sides. He stares back at her, completely mortified, before clearing his throat and standing up straighter. “That’s a very sensible idea, Mrs. Hudson. We’ll do just that. And I am so, so sorry.”
Sherlock starts taking off his scarf. “You didn’t seem sorry last night.”
“Sherlock, please!” John closes his eyes and rubs his temples for a moment. “I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”
“You didn’t seem embarrassed last night. Especially during the bit when–”
“Sherlock!”
“What?! I just meant the part with the–” Sherlock undrapes his scarf from around his neck and holds it out in front of him, sliding his hands to each end of it. He pivots both of his hands in turn, quickly winding the scarf around each wrist until his hands are drawn tightly together. He smirks as he raises them above his head and arches back against the door, looking every bit like he’s wantonly tied to a headboard.
“Oh my God,” John gasps, turning both away from Mrs. Hudson and an impressive shade of scarlet at the exact same time.
“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson looks stunned for the span of a second, but then her expression morphs into something more contemplative and far off. “Well, actually, yes, I could see how that might be fun. I remember once when this fellow and I–”
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock drops his bound hands down behind his head and folds his elbows forward in an attempt to cover his ears.
At the same time John desperately blurts out, “Sherlock spilled something dreadful all over the floor last night!”
“What?! Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson’s harried gaze sweeps over the floor, “What did you do?”
“I...” Sherlock stammers as he tries to pull his hands free from the scarf, which is now caught on a coat hook on the back of the door.
Mrs. Hudson glares at him, her hands settling on her hips. “Explain yourself, Sherlock Holmes.”
“I...” Sherlock pulls harder on the scarf, but it doesn’t seem to want to let him go.
“Well?” Mrs. Hudson taps her foot.
“This sounds like it could take a while," John says. "I’ll just go and make us all some tea then, shall I?"
He quickly escapes into the kitchen.