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Fic, Ritual, Sherlock/John

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Written for the mundane problems challenge on comment_fi

GETTING POSTED NOW BECAUSE ONE OF THE IDEAS IN IT HAS BEEN STOLEN (STOLEN, I SAY) BY THE EPISODE I AM WATCHING RIGHT NOW.

~


"Where's the tea, John?"

"We're out of Tetley, but there's loose-leaf and herbal in the box!" John said, shouting up from the stairs as he took off his coat. He wasn't sure if Sherlock had somehow heard him come in, or if he had simply been repeating the question constantly in the knowledge that eventually, John would have to answer; with Sherlock, both possibilities were equally plausible. 

"No there isn't!"

"Yes there is!"

"It's not panto season yet, boys!" said Mrs Hudson, banging something on her wall for emphasis. "Knock it off!"

~

"I told you, Sherlock, there's tea in the box."

"No there isn't," said Sherlock, who was for some reason looking in his desk drawer. 

"You haven't even looked! If you're not going to believe me, why do you ask? Honestly, Sherlock: sometimes I don't know why I--"

"I used all that tea," said Sherlock, and he looked so pitiful that John's exasperation evaporated, leaving nothing but a fond sort of amusement in its place.

"Let me guess," he said. "Optimal brewing time?"

"What teabag shape, if any, ensures optimal flavour distribution in the shortest time period."

"You're impossible," said John, smiling. "Coffee? Unless you were freelancing for Nestle we definitely have some instant in the back of the cupboard."

Sherlock no longer seemed quite so wretched. "Coffee," he said. "I can cope with that."

~

John was making their bed - Sherlock never did it, the lazy sod - when Sherlock shouted that there was no milk. 

"Go out to the corner shop," Sherlock said when he re-entered the kitchen. "I have cash."

"Have you seen the weather?" John thought Sherlock probably hadn't, as he was working on a paper about cult systems and their relation to violent crime and was therefore spending most of his time indoors. In fact, John was betting on it; the summer sun still hadn't set, and London was positively balmy. "I'm not going out in that," he said. "Vodkas all round."