Disclaimer: Don't own anything, BBC do.
John wearily lugged the shopping up the stairs, thinking about life in general. There had been no cases for a good week, and Sherlock was bored out of his mind. Which of course meant that everybody suffered.
John had found several fingernails in the milk one morning, and Sherlock had rambled aimlessly on from his position on the sofa about calcium. And then Sherlock had accidentally introduced maggot's to the fridge, and John had had to chuck everything out.
Hence the visit to the supermarket.
"Sherlock, I'm back! Fancy giving me a hand?" he called up.
There was no answer, and John dared hope that the lanky detective had gone out. He entered the flat and without looking around, headed straight into the kitchen, and dumped the shopping down.
He turned to see Sherlock knelling by the sofa. On the sofa itself lay a man, or rather, a dead man. A knife was buried to the hilt over the place his heart would be, and fresh blood was spreading across a plain white shirt.
"Ah, John. You wouldn't mind making me a cup of tea would you?" asked Sherlock from his position on the floor.
"What is that?" asked John slowly and calmly.
Everybody who had warned him about Sherlock had been right... The man he considered his best friend was sitting by the body of a man he just murdered, and asking for a cup of tea. Everybody had been right. Sherlock was a psychopath, and he had been bored. Result, a poor, innocent man had been killed.
"Oh, this. I was worried you might be annoyed. Don't worry, I'll clea-"
"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" screamed John, cutting him off. "Shut up! What have you done? You're a murderer! A bloody murderer! And just like Sally said, you've killed a man. Just because you were bored! I thought you were good. I thought you were different to Moriarty. Turns our you're just a-" John shouted, only to be cut of my Sherlock.
Good thing to, because his descriptions of exactly what Sherlock was were about to get a bit vivid.
"John. In case you got it into your mind I killed this man. I didn't. I got him from the morgue for an experiment of blood round the heart after death, and they didn't want me doing it there." explained Sherlock with a long suffering sigh.
"Oh," a very, very long pause on John's part while Sherlock busied himself again. "You were saying something about tea?"
There. I'm quite pleased with it. Especially since I came up with the idea in the middle of the night and promptly wrote it down. So, what do you think? Review if you please. (=