Work Text:
“It’s not bloody brain surgery, Sherlock! It’s the dishes.”
“Well, considering that one was holding the frontal lobe of a stroke victim, I’d say..”
“Stop talking.”
Greg is just outside the open door to 221b. He should announce himself but he can’t help but pause to listen to the banter behind the closed door of the kitchen. There is the sound of dishes clinking and running water. The conversation resumes with Sherlock’s distinctive baritone.
“Perhaps we should get an autoclave.”
“Well, if you’re going to bloody use my favorite bowl to dissect a brain in, then that might be ..”
“It was only part of a brain. And he died of a stroke, not spongiform encephalopathy. I would never put you at risk like that, John. Surely you must realise that?”
John’s voice was lower when he answered and Greg had to strain a bit to hear him.
“Of course I do, love.”
Greg’s eyes went wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth. Finally! Finally he was going to win the betting pool at the yard. He fumbled frantically with the record function on his phone.
“You know, Graham, you could just come in and get some video to add to that audio file you’re trying to take.”
“It’s Greg! And how the hell?.. oh why do I even bother?”