Hello, sorry it took me so long to update! I've been working on a story for my fictionpress account. Also...I need more ideas! Anyone? Any ideas? What should Sherlock try and do next?

Thanks to all the people who reviewed my last chapter! rupzydaisy, Valkyrie Vamp, Nova-chan, LittleElf1, kindle, Kit-Kat-AnGel and LittlePippin76 !

Hopefully this chapter is okay!

Give Birth

Shop

Remember to eat

Cook

…

John Watson walked through the door of his flat, chucked down his work bag and promptly stumbled over a discarded book.

"Good afternoon John." Came the lazy greeting from one Sherlock Holmes, draped dramatically across the armchair, laptop on his lap and typing away. John glanced around the room. He could hardly see the floor it was so covered in things There was not a single surface that was not cluttered up with one of Sherlock's 'experiments' (I put it in quote marks as I am not convinced that they are experiments, let's-annoy-John-ments seems a more appropriate word for them) or an empty mug.

"Sherlock. Are you completely incapable of clearing up after yourself?" Grumbled John, brushing a shoe and a fork off the other armchair and sitting down.

"No. It just wastes time." Replied Sherlock moodily.

"Right."

"Oh no. No, no, no." Sherlock fixed John with a glare.

"What?"

"This is one of those things where you claim I can't do something and then I feel I have to prove it and…" He trailed off. "Anyway. I don't have to do something if you don't believe me. I know I am perfectly able at clearing up and I don't care how much you raise your eyebrow in disbelief. I am not doing it." Finished Sherlock with a huff.

"Sherlock." Said John gently. The dark haired man looked over suspiciously. "It's okay. Everyone has at least something they can't do. It's normal not to be able to do everything." He stood up and walked to his room, patting Sherlock on the head in an extremely patronising manner.

He settled himself on his bed and pulled out his favourite book, smirking to himself.

A couple of hours later, John set down the book, feeling he had given Sherlock enough time now. Sure enough, when John walked back into the living room it was almost unrecognisable. Sherlock was in exactly the same position, but the room was…tidy. The books were in the bookshelf, the coats on the back of the door, and Sherlock's experiments were restricted to a very small, neat square of the kitchen table.

John actually gaped. "Sherlock…" The man looked up triumphantly at him. John was about to remark on his (admittedly slightly exaggerated) surprise when he saw something. "What…is THAT?" He pointed down at the rug. Sherlock looked innocently at where John was pointing.

"Oh that…" The rug was no longer red and patterned, rather it had an extremely large greenish yellow stain covering most of it.

"I…what…how…"

"Well…" Sherlock sighed. "Last week one of my experiments overflowed a tad."

"A…tad?"

"That would come right off though. There's some soap and whatnot in the kitchen." He gestured in the general direction of the kitchen and returned to typing on his laptop.

"I'm not going to clean this up." Remarked John in astonishment.

"Oh well…it will have to stay there then."

"No Sherlock!" John exclaimed. Sherlock looked up, confused. "Look, you did an amazing job with the tidying, I'll admit that you can tidy spectacularly. But 'clearing up' normally means cleaning as well." Sherlock frowned. "I always thought you were the kind of man to finish jobs…but hey…I guess I got you wrong…" John sighed, shaking his head and returning to his room.

When he reached his room he realised there wasn't much else to do. He pulled out his laptop and turned it on. But after about fifteen minutes he couldn't find anything else to occupy is time, so he went back downstairs to see if Sherlock had taken the bait. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks.

Sherlock was standing, looking down at the rug in slight concern, his shirt sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and a bucket of soapy water was standing beside him. In his hand, however, was a round glass bottle with a small amount of clear substance in it. The lid was in his other hand.

Well…technically the stain was gone. He'd got rid of that alright. Only…where the stain used to be was now just a rather large circular hole in the middle of the rug. Well, rug was a generous word, there wasn't really enough material left for it to still be called a rug.

"Sherlock…" Said John dangerously. Sherlock's head snapped up. "…What…"

"The soap wasn't working!" Protested Sherlock pathetically. "So…I used something a bit stronger…"

"…a bit?"

"…Sorry…"