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Arthur was having an unusually busy start to the summer. Between investigations, interviews, and the occasional eldritch horror, he barely had a moment to breathe.
John simply wanted to do something nice for him.
Which was why he was standing proudly in the backyard, admiring the deck he'd spent three straight days building.
Keeping it a secret had been surprisingly easy. Arthur had been too wrapped up in his latest case to notice the constant sounds of hammering, swearing, and at one point, an explosion.
"John?" Arthur called from inside the house.
"I'm in the backyard!"
John heard the side gate creak open.
"What are you doing out here so late?"
John made an oddly nervous little grumble.
"Arthur... I just finished making this deck I've been working on."
"...You made a deck?"
"Yes."
"But you don't know how to make a deck, John."
"Of course I know how to make a deck, Arthur. I have, in fact, just made one."
John grabbed Arthur by the arm and guided him forward.
"Stand on it."
Arthur cautiously stepped onto the structure.
There was a long silence.
"...John."
"Yes?"
"This isn't a deck."
"Yes it is! It's a fucking deck, Arthur. You're standing on it."
"No... I'm standing on wood."
"It's deck-shaped."
"It is platform-shaped."
"It is absolutely deck-shaped."
"John," Arthur said patiently, "it's okay that you don't know how to build a deck."
John stared at him for a moment.
"...Fine."
"I don't know how to build a deck."
At that exact moment, both of them turned as the Witch casually wandered through the open side gate.
"Oh," she said brightly. "This doesn't have to be a deck."
John frowned.
"You could always cut it apart and use the wood to make something you do know how to build. Like birdhouses."
"Oh!" she continued. "I can picture it already. Dozens of little birdhouses."
John looked at his creation.
"...I don't want to build birdhouses anymore."
"They'd be very nice birdhouses."
"I don't want birdhouses."
"They don't have to be birdhouses. They could be feeders."
"I don't want feeders either."
"They could—"
BANG.
The Witch collapsed into Arthur's petunias.
John whipped around.
"ARTHUR!"
"What?"
"Jesus Christ, Arthur! You shot the Witch!"
"She was trespassing."
Arthur holstered the revolver with a sigh.
"Don't worry about it. I'll go deal with her."
He grabbed the Witch by the ankles and began dragging her back toward the gate.
"Oh, and don't get blood on your..." He paused, glanced at the structure, then amended, "...wood."
The gate clicked shut behind him.
John stood alone in the backyard.
He looked at the crooked railings.
The uneven supports.
The stairs that led nowhere.
"...Okay," he muttered to himself.
"If I want this to be a deck..."
"...then it's my version of a deck."
He nodded decisively, pried open a can of paint, and got back to work.
Arthur didn't get another chance to inspect it until the following morning, after disposing of the Witch and stopping for coffee on the way home.
John was putting the finishing touches on the bright red railing.
"Well?" John asked eagerly.
Arthur walked around it in silence.
He examined the supports.
The stairs.
The inexplicable chimney.
Finally, he nodded.
"...It's still not a deck."
“I know.”
John's shoulders slumped.
"But..."
John looked up.
"I can see what you were trying to do."
John smiled.