A/N: And here it ends! There'll be a sequel soon. Ish. And I say soonish because I'm horrible about being timely about these things, not to mention my life is busy and I've got things on my list of a higher priority than writing fanfiction.
The flat fell silent. John glanced around; it was still only halfway clean. And judging by the way that Sherlock had dropped himself unceremoniously onto the couch the way he had, he had no intention of carrying on the cleaning that Ema had insisted on starting.
As it was, John sighed. He dropped the strawberry leafs into the garbage and washed his hands. He thought that it would be better to not leave the job half done, but he wouldn't be able to accomplish anything more than a dent all alone. He couldn't possibly ask Mrs. Hudson for assistance—she was their housekeeper, after all, as she was so fond of reminding them. John wasn't even sure if she was home at the moment or not.
Maybe he would be able to get Sherlock to help? Eyeing a petri dish balanced precariously atop a stack of soapy dishes beside the sink, John wondered what sort of blackmail and threats would be adequate t getting him to clean. He sure didn't have the same pull over Sherlock the way the man's family did.
Well. It would be a long weekend.