Overflow Post II

[sherlockbbc_fic]

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[whoaremyeyes.livejournal.com]

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my feels.

Summary: John and Sherlock are trying breakfast routine, Toast and Jam. Fluff, just a little drabble I couldn't get out of my head.

The walls of 221B Baker Street had an unfamiliar scent in the air, ordinarily the smell of Sherlock's chemical concoctions wafted through the air consuming the tiny flat at ungodly hours of the morning. Today it smelled of toast...and jam.

John stirred in the sheets of his 100% cotton bed, he thinks to himself how strange it is that he has not been awakened by the sounds of Sherlock's antics but instead the sweet smell of toasted bread. In fact the entire flat was eerily silent, which John would have enjoyed if not for the fact that this was not an occurrence he's become accustomed to in his time living with a high functioning sociopath.

"The flat is eerily silent" he bellowed silently to no one in particular, with this John hopped out of bed and frolicked into the kitchen. Sherlock was crouched over the kitchen counter a stream of steam rising from above the black tufts of hair.

"Sherlock?" John says leaning on the doorframe menacingly.

"Br…fst…nhm…mind...the mind…nugh" He hears Sherlock mumble clearly having not heard John call him.

In an attempt to understand the mans mumbling Watson inches closer to Sherlock careful not to startle the man he walks on his hind legs, he learned this walking technique during his time in Vietnam, one of the stealthiest ways a man can walk.

Now that he is inches away from Sherlock he unravels himself from the hind leg position and listens "Breakfast for the mind. Breakfast for the soul….Mind, soul, mind, soul…." Sherlock repeats over and over again. John looks over Sherlock's shoulder to see that he is ironing to pieces of bread over the kitchen counter.

Cautiously Johns clears his throat to make his presence known, in return Sherlock inverts his head to look at Watson "What are you doing?" John ask's his voice masked in confusion.

Sherlock knits his brow in confusion looking John straight through the eye "I am making toast" He states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"With an iron?. You know what forget I asked." John sighs deciding it's too early in the morning to question another of Sherlock's experiments. Sherlock's face twists into emotion "I've made us breakfast John, toast and jam"

"There's no jam" John axes.

Sherlock's face darkens "There will be"

Just as he says this Sherlock knees buckle beneath him sending his lanky limbs into a heap on floor. John is stunned for a moment before he kneels next to his fallen companion. "Sherlock! Are you alright?" Sherlock looks up from the his tangled limbs looking john straight in the eye once more "It's time Watson" He solemnly says then without a moments notice Sherlock grabs his shin and pulls detaching his lower left leg, it doesn't take long for blood to spurt out of the gaping hole where Sherlock's leg once was, blood splattering onto the walls..and onto the toast.

"SHERLOCK!" Watson screams picking up the detached limb, trying to staunch the blood that was rapidly pooling on the kitchen floor. "What's going on? What is this Sherlock? What is-I don't" John stammers in a panic. Sherlock remains silent "Damn it Holmes this is why we can't have nice things-you always-you…" John rambles on but the effect of his words fall on deaf ears, as Sherlock lies motionless on the kitchen floor.

Sherlock smiles "looks like we'll both be needing canes now dear friend" He mutters loudly under his breath. Before John can say anything a manic laugh echoes through the flat, an all to familiar sound. Through the window of the flat a darkened face blocks out the suns rays, leaving only a set of glistening teeth to lighten the kitchen.

"I knew you'd come…you just couldn't let me make breakfast could you…..Moriarty."

The only sign of response the figure gives is the widening of its grin, uncovering even more shiny teeth. Watson didn't think it was possible for the mouth to widen further.

"Moriarty? What-What do you mean you knew he'd come Sherlock…What- What in bloody hell is going on?" John rattles on in a panic not realizing the increased pressure he was putting on Sherlock's wound, which elicits a sharp groan from the wounded detective.