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It was lunch time, his dad had played with him before he’d gone out. But fetch wasn’t quite the same on his own. He’d eaten his lunch, and now he was bored. Uncle Sherlock was looking through the microscope again, ignoring him. He dragged one of his dad’s trainers from under the sofa and chewed on it a bit. His new teeth were starting to grow in. The first time one fell out his dad had freaked out. He’d looked at dad with blood pouring out of his mouth. Fortunately uncle Sherlock stopped him before they got out of the flat.
Gladstone put the trainer down in the middle of the floor and jumped up onto his dad’s chair. He turned around till he was comfortable and sat down. He was still bored, so he tried to jump up on the back of the seat to get a better view. He missed and pulled the dusty blanket down on top of him. Gladstone struggled out, only to realise he had his foot caught. He chewed the material a bit and freed his foot. The blanket and seat cushion were on the floor he scratched them with his back paws. Might give it a better smell he thought to himself.
There was still nothing to do, so he walked over to the kitchen table and watched uncle Sherlock’s feet. He had his black shoes on today, the ones with the laces. One of the laces was hanging down so he pulled it, hoping uncle Sherlock would notice and play with him.
“Gladstone. Leave my shoe alone.” Gladstone wagged his tail hoping for some attention but uncle Sherlock kept looking into the microscope. Gladstone wandered down the hall to the bathroom. The door was open and the end of the toilet tissue was dangling near the floor. He grabbed the end, he was going to have some fun.
John arrived home, what was left of it. He traversed the toilet tissue to find Gladstone in the middle rolling on his back. He sighed looking over to Sherlock who hadn’t moved an inch since he left. Toilet roll was wrapped around the table legs, intertwined with Sherlock’s left foot.
“Oh bloody hell.” John said spotting his trainer. He picked it up the sole flapping where it had been ripped off. “Can’t I leave you two alone for an hour?” Sherlock looked up wondering what John was talking about.
“Oh.” Said Sherlock looking around the room at the carnage. “Mrs Hudson will probably give you a hand to clean up.” Sherlock looked down the microscope as John balled his hand into a fist and tried to regulate his breathing. Calm, stay calm he thought to himself. Have a cup of tea and then clean up the mess. He climbed over the ribbons of toilet paper to get to the kettle. Gladstone followed him wagging his tail, he’d had such a good day. John looked sternly down at Gladstone, Gladstone’s ears went back and he ran to his bed. At least one of his flat mates got the hint. John clambered over to the armchairs to discover his was partly on the floor, so he flopped down on Sherlock’s. Now was time to drink tea and relax before being committed for Sherlockcide. He chuckled to himself.
“Ah I’ve got it!” Cried Sherlock looking pleased with himself. He stood up tearing the piece of toilet tissue around his foot. John looked over annoyed. “I have to go and see Lestrade.” Sherlock took a step forward and tripped over his shoelace, landing with a thud face first onto the floor.
***
John sides were hurting, he’d laughed so much. He’d helped Sherlock up but even while he was wrapping a bag of frozen peas in a tea towel as an ice pack he couldn’t stop. Sherlock had put the ice pack on his nose and his eyes were puffy. He really had fallen full force onto his face. John laughed again and Sherlock looked up at him.
“I thought you were subbosed to be dhe compassionate one.” John tried to suppress the laugh, and straightened his face.
“Oh Sherlock it was just so funny the way you fell, the noise you made.” Sherlock pulled the pack away, the bruise was starting to come out.
“Could you dext Destrade for me?” John shook his head.
“I’m not doing anything for you until you help me clean this mess up.” Sherlock gave John his best puppy dog look.
“But my dose hurts.” John bit the inside of his cheek.
“You don’t need to use your nose to clean up.” Sherlock huffed like a five year old, and picked up John’s blanket and put it back on the chair.
“I could dext him myself you dow.” John started to ravel the toilet tissue around his hand.
“Go on then, but I’ll tell him how you fell over your own foot.” John smirked as Sherlock started cleaning the kitchen.