Play the Game - Sherlock fanfic (Sequel to Painting Murders)

Breakfast

Hey guys! . . . again - hehe :) so yes! this is the first chapter of the sequel . . . yay! very enthusiastic  . . .

Anywhooo! It's a bit on the short side but its more like an introduction so . . . yeah . . . enjoy! 

“Have you ever wondered,” I said suddenly to my companions at the breakfast table, “How Rice Krispies make the snap, crackle and pop noises?” I asked, finishing off my sentence before looking down into the bowl of Rice Krispies in front of me. They bobbed about in the milk as I moved my spoon from one side of the bowl to the other, rapidly turning from crispy to soggy. I hated soggy cereal.

John looked at me over the rim of his teacup, an eyebrow raised slightly and an amused smile playing across his lips, “No actually, but it’s an interesting point.”

I nodded, satisfied with my question, “I mean it’s a bit creepy isn’t it? It’s the only cereal that talks to you.”

At this comment Sherlock Holmes moved the morning paper from near his face, folded it crisply and laid it down on the table.

“What kind of inane babble are you talking about, Everly?” He demanded, looking annoyed.

“Sorry,” I said, sitting up defensively, “Was my comment not philosophical enough for breakfast time?” I asked sarcastically then hummed, “How about this then: ‘Oh how I do wonder what the meaning of life is, what do you chaps think’?” I asked in the poshest mocking voice I could master.

John snorted and put his teacup down, reaching for a tissue to mop up the tea he’d accidently spilt.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and slumped further down in his chair at the table, “I do love it when you come over for breakfast.” He mumbled bitterly.

“That’s okay because I bring my own cereal,” I said picking up the box of Rice Krispies under my chair and shaking it.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Mrs Hudson keeps that box for you in her flat. The corner is dented from where it’s been stored in her cupboard. It’s too small for regular cereal boxes so the corners become dented.”

I laughed then said thoughtfully, “I think it’s got something to do with air pockets filling with liquid.”

John stared at me, “What?” He demanded.

“The cereal, John!” Sherlock snapped, “Do keep up!”

“Sorry,” John began, “I thought we were talking about Everly coming over for breakfast and doing deductions.”

I could see his confusion. Sometimes we all ended up talking about three different subjects at once, so the thread of the conversations could become confused and just left us in a state of talking for the sake of it. Or at least I seemed to always be talking for the sake of it. John and Sherlock had a nasty habit of falling into silences that I hated so always disrupted with inane comments such as “Oh look the sun’s shining outside.” or “Hey look! A pigeon!” 

“Anyway,” I said picking up my glass of milk and pointing to the newspaper, “Anything good happening in the world?”

Sherlock shook his head, leaning forward to get the butter dish and trailing his dressing gown sleeve over his slice of toast, causing the fabric to become speckled with crumbs.

“Nothing? Really?” I asked oddly surprised that there was no news.

Sherlock passed the paper to me, not looking at me as he did, which meant that he was holding it slightly higher than would have been appropriate for me to reach.