Title: “Just get the bloody milk!”
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC series)
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock & John, and some Molly too <3
Warnings: Contains lots of lactose.
Word Count: 1.100 words.
Summary: John finally gets Sherlock off his butt to buy some milk. Will he be able to deduce what brand to buy?
“I can’t believe this! You’re just going to sit around here all day, waiting for a new case?!”
- “Cases happen in this city every second, John. I have to be ready for when that phone rings.”
“It’s called a mobile phone for a reason, Sherlock. Now get up and buy us some bloody milk!”
Sherlock pouted as he stood on the cold steps in front of the door of 221B Baker Street and recalled their ‘little domestic’ as Mrs. Hudson so lovingly called it. Not even throwing a pillow at the army doctor had kept him from going outside. Damn that John. He did not have time for these trivial things. Digging his gloved hands deep into his pockets, he felt his mobile phone there, assuring himself that he would hear it if it rang.
His icy blue eyes scanned the streets, his mind going over all the stores he could visit to buy milk. Cheap shops, expensive supermarkets, some far away and some nearby. Where did John usually go to get their groceries? He couldn’t recall ever doing the groceries since they started living together. Huffing, he decided on going to a nearby supermarket and flipped his collar up against the rain. Damn that Watson for distracting him from his work!
He arrived at the supermarket in a hurried pace, grabbing one of the shabby-looking plastic shopping baskets, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. He hated supermarkets. He hated it that people could see everything he’d put in his basket. There was no privacy here. He could read people by their left thumb, but shopping carts were just a complete display of their private lives. In one glance he could tell the redhaired girl would have a romantic dinner that night, but shallow and boring dinners the rest of the week. He could tell the lean man at the counter was whipped by his wife and they had four kids and a dog. A shopping cart could tell so much about a person. Surely, Sherlock had always been able to read other people’s private lives in mere seconds, but for a change, they could do the same to him.
And Sherlock hated to have his privacy invaded.
So, suspiciously shielding his basket from other people as much as possible, he moved along the shelves towards the dairy products, reminding himself he was only there to buy the milk. When he arrived at the right shelves, he nearly dropped his basket when he saw how many brands of milk there were. Had the factories gone mad?! How would consumers ever be able to choose between all of them? His eyes glanced from side to side, trying to remember what brand John usually bought them, only to realize he had found the information to be too trivial, so he had erased it from his mind.
He grabbed the nearest carton of milk and examined it. The expensive brand? John sure liked milk, so it had to be good quality, right? But then again, on his army pension, could he really afford buying expensive brands? What if he would be embarrassed if he bought him the expensive brand while he himself could not afford it? Sherlock shook his head, placing the carton back on its shelve. The cheap brand then. He moved to pick up another carton from one of the lower shelves and took a look at it. The design of the carton was plain and uninteresting. Would its contents be too? He’d hate to disappoint his friend by buying him the cheapest milk. What if it tasted bad?
He tried to go over the news articles he had read about the production of milk, but found them all erased from his memory. Placing the carton back and raising back up to stand, he brushed his hands through his hair, making several drops of rain fly around aimlessly. Argh, why were groceries so frustrating?! There were no leads that directed customers to the one and only suspect: the product they wanted to buy. He stood in front of the towering shelves stacked with cartons of milk for far too long, pondering, musing and analyzing, but unable to deduce the right choice.
“Having trouble?” a sweet voice sounded behind him and snapped him from his thoughts, tensing up at the unexpected sound. Who had caught him in his hour of failure? Turning around he was met with a familiar face: Molly.
“I’m just… buying milk.” He explained shortly, vaguely pointing at the stacked shelves. But feeling embarrassed, he added, “…for a friend.”
“But you’re not sure what to buy?”
Sherlock stayed silent.
“You can identify criminals by their tan-line, but you can’t decide on what brand of milk you want to buy?” her voice sang, almost giggling but at least not laughing at him.
Sherlock tch’ed and rolled his eyes, looking away, feeling a bit ashamed in front of his colleague.
“Let me help you.” She then said, and before he could do anything to stop her, she already reached for one of the medium-prized brands. She swiftly took two cartons and pressed one of them in the tall man’s hands. “I always go for this brand.” She said happily. Sherlock offered her a wary look in return. “It’s good.” She assured him with a smile and seeing she was the only witness in this case with a testimony, Sherlock deducted it was fair enough to believe her.
“Took you long enough.” John commented from the chair he was sitting in, looking up from his laptop as Sherlock finally appeared in their doorway.
“I’m sorry I make you go through that everytime, John.” Sherlock spoke exhaustedly as he placed the shopping bag on the table and flopped onto the couch, burying his face in his favourite pillow with the British flag. It granted him a confused look and a raised eyebrow from his roommate. “Doing the groceries is horrible.” He exclaimed dramatically, his voice muffled by the pillow.
Smirking, John placed his laptop aside and rose from his chair to check the contents of the bag. Turning his head, Sherlock studied his friend’s face carefully as he pulled out the carton of milk and raised it to his face.
“Ah.” John said.
- “Is it good?” the tall man asked hopefully.
“It’s very good.”
Sherlock smiled proudly. Mission accomplished.
But then John turned the carton towards him with a smirk, and Sherlock’s eyes fell on the picture of a little girl, printed on the carton. “It’s your next case.”
And all was well.