Sherlock | Crappy Fanfics

Mug Mayhem

There were many things about Sherlock Holmes that most people didn't know. For one, he hated celery. Another fact was that he wasn't a particularly bad cook. However, possibly the most disregarded out of all of Sherlock's traits was that he was hopelessly clumsy.

Which was why John didn't even look up from the television as he heard something smash in the kitchen, and the accompanying torrent of swears that often followed suit whenever Sherlock broke something.

"What was it this time?" John asked, picking up the remote and skimming through the channels. There was no word from Sherlock. "Sherlock?"

"Urm,"

John stood up, but couldn't locate the taller man at first owing to the fact that he was crouching behind the table, desperately picking up porcelain pieces.

As John stepped closer, Sherlock immediately shot up. He held his hands behind his back, concealing the broken fragments.

"Sherlock?" John repeated, stepping closer. "What've you broken?"

Sherlock gulped.

"Now," he started, holding out one hand as though he were surrendering. "I don't want you to be angry..."

"Since when have I gotten angry when you've broken something?" John asked, earning himself a quizzical stare from Sherlock.

"Last week when I broke your laptop," Sherlock supplied innocently, causing John to shake his head.

"Just tell me." He half pleaded, half ordered.

Slowly, Sherlock brought around is other cupped hand in order for John to see the remnants on his old mug.

"Oh."

Sherlock quickly deposited them in the bin.

"Please John," he began, "I'll get you a new one. You can get more of that type, no problem. Absolutely. No problem at all."

"Sherlock-"

"I'll get it now, right now. Argos is probably still open. Do they sell them on Amazon? Yeah, they're bound to-"

Sherlock was in a tizz. Throwing sheets of paper into the air in a bid to find his wallet, he left his own cup of tea half made and half abandoned on the side.

As he continued to search, his attention turned towards the draws, which he wrenched open and began searching though madly. John, by this stage, had had enough.

"Sherlock-" he started again, but Sherlock didn't acknowledge him. Instead, John wriggled his way in between the counter and Sherlock, so that he was completely in the detective's way.

Sherlock blinked at him, stopping his search.

"It's fine," John reassured him. "It's all fine. It was just a mug. Now," he carried on, gently pushing him into one of the kitchen chairs, "give me your hand."

He obliged slowly, holding out his hand for John to examine.

"The other one," John motioned, and Sherlock rolled his eyes before switching them round.

On his right index finger, a long bleeding cut oozed blood.

"It's fine-" Sherlock started quickly, but John interjected almost immediately.

"You're bleeding. The mug can wait." John told him firmly, pulling out a first-aid kit and tearing open the antiseptic wipes.