Inspired by last night's PBS premiere of Santa Moff's "Sherlock," I am writing this cute little crack Sherlock/Watson slash. Enjoy. Sherlock is owned by the BBC and Santa Moff.
Sherlock Holmes opened the bathroom door, and locked it. He pulled his pants down, and went over to the toilet. But something wasn't right. …Aah, the seat was up. Watson, when I get out of here, I'm going to do bad things to you,thought Sherlock. He looked closer at the toilet seat. Pee. On my toilet seat. Watson will pay, he muttered. He grabbed a piece of toilet paper, wiped the seat off, used the toilet paper to put the seat down, and sat. As he sat on the toilet, he pulled three nicotine patches out of his pocket and applied them to his arm. It's a three-patch kind of day, he sighed. He wiped himself, flushed, got up, pulled his pants back on, and washed his hands. He shuddered with delight as both the cold tap water flushed over his hands and the effect of three nicotine patches rushed up his nervous system and into his brain. He felt relaxed… Oh, right, I have to punish Watson for leaving the seat up and leaving pee. He tensed slightly as he opened the bathroom door. He entered his flat living room to see Watson sitting at his desk, writing something on his blog, no doubt something private. Sherlock skipped over to Watson and bent over his shoulder.
"Whatcha doing, Watson?"
"Nothing, Sherlock. Just blog stuff. Leave me alone."
"You left the toilet seat up, Watson."
"So I did. I am truly, truly sorry."
"You also left pee on the seat."
"As I said before, I'm sorry, Sherlock." Watson continued to type away.
"I can deduce from your tone of voice and lack of concentration on our conversation that you are not truly sorry for leaving the toilet seat up or leaving pee on said toilet seat, John Watson."
"I SAID YOU ARE NOT SORRY, JOHN WATSON! APOLOGIZE NOW OR I WILL PUBLICLY OUT US AS A GAY COUPLE IN FRONT OF THE CITY OF LONDON!" barked Sherlock.
"Wait, what?" Watson turned in his chair, astonished at his flatmate's outburst.
"Yes, I said it, I love you, John Watson. But we must keep this secret. Apologize now, Watson. Apologize."
Watson, obviously flustered, adjusted his shirt collar nervously, then stood up. He approached Sherlock just enough so their noses were touching.
"I apologize," said Watson, "I apologize for anything and everything I have ever done wrong to you."
"You mean it?" asked Sherlock sharply.
"Yes, I mean it."
"Apology accepted." Sherlock pulled Watson to his lips in a tender kiss. Watson shuddered with delight at the touch of his flatmate's lips on his. Sherlock felt the nicotine rush up his arm in delight, and explored the taste of his flatmate. Strawberry preserves on toast, he deduced. I can deal with that.