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Anomalies	By : Harpling Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3513 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Sherlock, the BBC, or any of the characters mentioned herein, nor am I making any money from writing this.

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John came downstairs two days later wearing just his trousers, hair still damp from the shower. “Sherlock, have you seen any of my laundry lying about? I think some of it must have fallen from the hamper when I carried it up last night. There aren’t any clean shirts in my room.” Sherlock had, in fact, seen the laundry lying about and was currently using said laundry to test the solvent power of several brands of cleaning powder on close-range gunpowder residue, but he said nothing. Shirtless and damp, John hunted for his clothes for a few minutes before giving up and retreating to his bedroom for alternatives. The sudden shortness of breath Sherlock felt was obviously caused by the fumes currently filling the kitchen from one of the stronger brands of cleaner.
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“Really, John, your cologne is a bit much. Are you trying to make your patients even more ill?” Sherlock asked lazily from his sprawl on the sofa as John put on his jacket. With an entirely unwarranted sigh, John closed the zip before turning to answer.
“Not that my romantic life is any of your concern, but Sarah happens to like this scent. Your sudden concern for my patients is touching, but we don’t all have your bloodhound sense of smell. It’s not any stronger than what I normally wear to work.”
“You’re not going to ask her out again, are you? That hasn’t worked the last seven times you’ve tried. Either she’s leading you on because she likes the flattery or you’re utterly blind to whatever signs she’s sending that she’s not interested.”
“I’m the blind one, am I? Any idea what signs I’m giving you at the moment?” He made a very rude gesture with his free hand.
“You’re angry because I’ve challenged your own perception of your ability to attract a mate. Boring. When she turns you down again, grab a take-away on your way home. I’m in the mood for Chinese today.”
John shook his head and called out behind him as he left, “Go and get your own. I’m not your delivery boy. And don’t wait up for me. I may wind up spending the night at her place.”
As Sherlock listened to the footsteps retreating down the stairs, he returned to his contemplation of the geographic spread of recent violent crimes. He was distracted, however, by a vague feeling of tension and discomfort in the duodenal region of his abdomen. Must be hunger, he thought. John will bring food when he returns.
John did not bring food when he returned. He didn’t say anything on his way in, just took off his coat and went to shower. Sherlock could determine quite a bit about John’s day from his showering habits. When he heard the water running, his brain filtered through the data and arrived at the correct deductions automatically. (Favoring his left leg: confrontation at work causing psychosomatic relapse; less than four minutes: return to military habits when stressed; no scented product: no date tonight; radio playing: attempt to reassure himself of normalcy.) John must have asked Sarah out again, and she had turned him down. Hardly surprising, considering her ridiculous aversion to anything interesting. He was better off without her, anyway. Sarah always got in the way of John’s more important activities, like assisting Sherlock with this case.
When the water stopped, Sherlock got an earful of the terrible music John had been listening to while wet and naked and running soapy hands all over his body… Where had that thought come from? It wasn’t like John was doing anything out of the ordinary, and Sherlock had never before wasted brainpower mentally corroborating tedious and mundane rituals. It must have been a subconscious effort to drown out the awful noise coming from the radio.
Really, how could anyone call that enjoyable listening? The instruments were very poorly played, with far too much percussion for the balance of guitars. The vocal harmonization was completely overblown. The lead singers’ voices were completely revolting. Even the lyrics were ridiculous, showing no discernible pattern of thought and a childish grasp of poetic principles.
With your light in my eye as the sun leaves the sky
I’ll be there with you
To the end of the rainbow and depths of the shadow
I would go for you
Through darkness ten times longer and a night that’s much stronger
I’d be there with you
Where the shadow might fall, pin my heart to the wall
I’ll be there with you
I’d swim a river, my queen, to bring honey and cream
All I have for you
From high to low, one two, or three
West to south we’ll be where birds fly free
I’ll be a dog for you (left and left, two by two)
Anything you want, I’ll do (right and right, two by two by two)
In the end, in the blue, I will be there with you

Sherlock had never been more appreciative of quiet when John finally turned off the radio.
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