Work Text:
When John got home from the surgery, the flat was in complete disarray. Books were off the shelves, tables were tipped over, and half the contents of the kitchen cabinets were on the floor. His jaw clenched as he took in the chaos that had happened since that morning.
“Right,” John muttered. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Thought you’d given up on tossing my things about.”
“I have,” Sherlock said, bored. “There was a break in,” he added.
“What?” The frustration John had been building up to shifted to mild alarm. “When?”
“Don’t sound so worried. It’s not as if you’ve anything worth taking.”
“My laptop—”
“They never even saw it. Do give me some credit.”
“So you just let them go through everything else?” John asked, gesturing toward the empty shelves and the mess on the floor.
“Oh, that was me. Call it an experiment in terror.”
John paused. His eyebrows rose. He suddenly had a very good idea of what happened to the burglars. “So the place wasn’t ransacked.”
“Not as such.” Sherlock’s voice drifted as he moved to the other side of the room.
“Right. Don’t suppose you’re going to help me put all this back, then?”
“My control isn’t that fine.”
“Right,” John said again, knowing that while that was partly true, the main reason was that Sherlock simply couldn’t be bothered.
“It takes a good amount of energy to lift something, much less with exactness,” Sherlock continued. “Force taking advantage of gravity, however, is another matter.”
“So now I’ve got to clean all this up. Thanks for that.”
“Well, what else was I supposed to do?” Sherlock asked. “I don’t see what you’re so upset about. I prevented a home invasion and got to do an experiment. It was a most productive day.”
John stooped to begin picking up his books. Seeing as how no one else was going to do it. “Maybe next time, get right to the terror and skip the part that involves throwing everything I own on the floor. Just a thought.”
“Terror must be cultivated,” Sherlock said pointedly.
John started laughing in spite of himself. His flat was in pieces, and he really should keep being properly annoyed, but he almost wished he’d been there to see it.
He was sure Sherlock had gleefully done his worst. John almost felt sorry for the burglars.
Then, “They didn’t break into Mrs. Hudson’s, did they?” John was already starting to move to the door when Sherlock spoke again.
“Her habit of leaving the television on made them doubt her flat being vacant. They came here after they picked the lock.”
“Well, we’ll need to get that changed.”
“Why?” Sherlock sounded baffled.
“I don’t know, maybe get one that’s not so easy to pick?”
“Oh, please. Even idiots can pick locks. It’s hardly complex.” Sherlock spoke with the voice of experience.
“Why am I not surprised you’re familiar with the finer points of breaking and entering?”
“It was a necessary skill set. Anyway, I shouldn’t worry about it. Mycroft will have someone sort it out. The locks will be changed before nightfall, and the burglars apprehended as well, I imagine.”
John dropped a stack of books on the sofa. “How does he know?”
“The camera across the street is pointed directly at our door.”
John heard the unsaid ‘obviously’. He moved to the window, trying to make out what Sherlock was talking about.
“I told you he spied on me,” Sherlock said, smug.
“You’re dead,” John said. “Hardly worth spying on.”
“My thoughts exactly. You really should stop speaking to him. It only encourages him.”
John sighed and righted a table, before picking things up from the floor again. After a moment of silence, he said, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“If I have to reorganise the entire flat, the least you can do is tell me exactly what you did to the poor tossers.”
“One of my more memorable experiments, to be sure,” Sherlock said, clearly pleased with himself.
John smiled. “Go on, then.”
Sherlock continued.