John Meets The Addamses
Sherlock was bored. It was never a good thing when Sherlock was bored, as his flatmate knew. However, Sherlock had the addition of being extremely suspicious today. John observed that the detective was once again, blatantly bored, but there were no holes in their flat walls. Well, no new holes, at least.
Sure enough, John was right to be worried.
A few hours of John uncomfortably observing Sherlock passed before three bodies crashed down from somewhere above. John blinked and decided not to ask.
An hour passed by, John having retreated to his room, before the door was opened. And a nearby window. As expected, John soon heard Mycroft greeting everyone, the dignified door-enterer, and Moriarty’s slight cackle following his thud from the window entrance.
Sherlock’s flatmate braced himself as said crazed friend approached his door. And proceeded to drag him out.
John blinked at the numerous gothic people in his flat. A frighteningly beautiful woman was in a spiderweb, black lace dress. Her dark eyes found John as he entered the room. A shorter man was beside her, covered in various black and blood red satiny suit pieces. Nearby, there was Mycroft, in dark, dark blue, sitting on the floor, across from a young lady. The young lady had a knee-length black satin dress, with a collar. Like the woman, the young lady had a strikingly pale complexion, slight makeup, and an odd necklace. She seemed to be playing a bizarre game of cards with Mycroft. Lastly, there was Moriarty.
Similarly in near-solid black, Sherlock’s murderous-archenemy-lover appeared, strolling out of the kitchen with some foreign wine. Now, John just knew that hadn’t been there prior to this little visit. John proceeded to watch as Moriarty pecked Sherlock’s cheek, pat the heads of the card players, perched on the back of the scary-stunning woman’s seat, and chugged the foreign wine right from the bottle.
Astounded by everything, especially Mycroft’s behaviour, John simply slumped against the nearest surface. Maybe if he was quiet everything would return to normal, and Sherlock would forget he was even there. Ah, false hopes.