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John woke up to a silent flat, save for the noises of the city outside, the hum and occasional honks of the traffic, the fuzzy mumbling of conversations. He smiled. Apparently, today was a quiet day at 221B. No explosions at four in the morning. No weird smells forcing him to dash downstairs and save his bloody scientist of a flatmate from a certain death from poisoning. No said bloody flatmate shaking him awake so they would run out to solve a case. Quiet day. Hm. Calm. Silent.
His eyes flew open and he threw himself out of his bed, stumbled down the stairs, almost fell and eventually got to the door of the main room of the flat.
“Sherlock ?!” he almost screamed, pushing the door fully open.
A strangled scream came from above him. Looking up, John found himself a bit reassured. Weird morning. Sherlock standing on the door, left arm tangled in fake spider web, right arm tangled in orange and black tinsels, eyes open wide and white as a sheet. Good. He went to the kitchen, humming the tune of This Is Halloween.
“Tea or coffee ?” he called from the cluttered kitchen, kettle in hand. A loud thump came from the living room, probably his consulting detective of a flatmate launching himself in the sofa. "Tea it is, then," John said while putting the kettle on the stove. Sherlock had a fancy electric kettle but John preferred this more traditional kettle for two distinctives reasons : first, it was a gift from Mrs Hudson and second, its hisses and whistling annoyed Sherlock.
He got two mugs out, two tea bags and two teaspoons. He then got to the fridge to get the milk bottle and huffed an annoyed sigh when he found three human thumbs, a scalp in a tupperware box -this was an impovement- and several eyes in a glass jar. "Where's the milk ?" he asked. The mumbled answer was deaden by the whistle of the kettle. John turned the stove off, poured the water in the mugs. "Sorry, what was that ?" he said, only for the mumbling to be repeated exactly the same inaudible way, perhaps a bit louder. John shrugged. No milk, then.
He took the mugs and got to the living room, there, he nudged Sherlock's feet out of his way and sat on the settee next to him. "So ?" he asked. "So what ?" said Sherlock, thought it sounded a lot like "fhuu whhut" since his face was buried in the sofa's cushions. "Halloween, huh ?" said John, sipping his tea and holding out the other mug to Sherlock. The consulting detective groaned and sat up as slowly and obviously reluctantly as possible. John shoved the mug in his hand. "You know," said the doctor, "even if I hadn't caught you, I would've seen the decoration. And knew it was your doing."
Sherlock frowned loudly and pretended he hadn't heard John.