Hello, readers! I would like to thank you for choosing to read this little instilment of "Socks, Stupid People, and Sherlock Holmes"! It's been in my head for a while now, but I haven't had time to post it. Plus with school and all… (sigh) The first chapter might not seem like one from a comedy story, but this is just a precursor to the real story. If you review, I'll give you cookies! Just kidding…I don't have any cookies. XD But still, this is my first story, so please R&R! Much appreciated! :D

-AUHolmes

"HOLMES!"

Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker Street poked his head out from behind his set-up of various test tubes filled with dangerous-looking liquids warily, "Yes?"

A harried-looking Dr. John Watson stormed out of his room and into the dark workspace of Holmes to confront the detective. "You shot a hole through my window! A hole! A big, bloody, gaping hole!"

Holmes raised his eyebrows casually, "And?"

"'And?'" Watson exploded. "I've told you countless times! No experiments in my room! I don't complain that you use the rest of the house as a science lab, or that you use my dog as a test subject, or even that you ruined my new waistcoat with that foul-smelling chemical the other day! But this is MY room Holmes! Not yours! Stay out!"

"First of all, Gladstone is our dog," Holmes explained matter-of-factly, eyeing the frazzled doctor amusedly, "Second, I thought we agreed that waistcoat was too small. And third, I needed to use that window to carry on my newest experiment."

"You could have at least asked –"

"Wait." Holmes raised a finger impatiently. He turned abruptly to the right and made a beeline for the unlit fireplace. He knelt down hastily and began sorting through the pepper-colored ashes, muttering absentmindedly to himself. Holmes at last found what he was looking for: a small fragment of clear glass. He picked it up carefully and approached Watson, grinning madly. "This little piece of glass from your window is the key to my experiment."

Watson rubbed his eyes exasperatedly, "And what, may I ask, is this experiment?"

Holmes's eyes glinted feverishly as he began to tell about his triumph, "Yesterday night when you were asleep I stumbled upon a small amount of sodium hydroxide under the cabinet. Now, do you know what sodium hydroxide is?"

Watson shook his head no.

Holmes ran his hand through his wild black hair and began to pace the room excitedly, "No matter, no matter! I shall explain. Sodium hydroxide is a material also known as lye-it is sometimes used in the process of producing paper products, such as writing paper. It is sold…" He paused and pointed to a small container filled with white, bullet-shaped pills. "as pellets. As I was examining those pellets, I realized that you had left your door open. Out of common decency, I went to go and shut it and noticed something rather strange…care to guess, Watson?"

Watson knew better than to try and figure out what Holmes had observed, so he took a wild guess: "The moon?"

"Exactly!" Holmes barked, smiling maniacally, "I observed that the moonlight shining through your window rather oddly. I deduced that the glass was much thinner than the glass used in the rest of the house; it was probably replaced after I accidentally broke it with that chair. Then it hit me…"

"What hit you, old boy?" Watson inquired, eager to find out why Holmes had broken his window.

"Sodium hydroxide reacts with glass-normally very slowly, but it reacts all the same. Now, you may be wondering why I had to use the glass from your window. Here is why: It is known that when sodium hydroxide reacts with glass it forms a material called sodium silicate, which is used in making things fire-resistant and also used in cement. It is also known as liquid glass. I knew not whether it reacted faster with thicker glass, like the glass from the front window, or thinner glass, like that which is used in the window in your room. My idea was to take sample of each type of glass – as you can see, I also shot a hole through the front window – and test it to see which reacted faster. I used two pieces from your room: one heated and one not. And I also used two pieces from the front window: one heated and one not."

"Is that the only reason you did this experiment?" Watson asked, suddenly suspicious that this was leading up to something much more dangerous.

"Of course not, my dear man," Holmes laughed, and clasped his hands behind his back. "This is only the beginning!"

Holmes approached his display of test tubes and dropped the heated piece of glass into one of four very large ones filled with the white pellets – the other three had previously been filled with glass.

Watson, expecting some sort of explosion, threw his hands over his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

Holmes simply laughed amiably, "Did I not tell you that it reacts slowly?" He strutted over to a corner adorned in cobwebs and old, yellowed articles taped to the walls and began rummaging through the pile of objects that resided there. He finally found a large, covered object about the length of a man's arm and about as wide as one too, and put it down on the table carefully. He pulled off the cover as dramatically as he could and presented it to Watson. "This is my real experiment."

Watson found himself staring at the metallic contraption on the table. It looked like an ordinary plumbing pipe and a large gun had gotten married and had a demented baby. While most of it was akin to the likes of a plumbing pipe, this thing was different in two specific ways: First of all, instead of just a hollow end, there was a metal sphere attached to the front end of the contraption. Secondly, the thing seemed to have been filled with molten metal at some point, which resulted in the back end having a small holding chamber. As impressive as it looked, however, Watson also noticed that the metal stick was in a dilapidated condition and could definitely use some fixing up.

Holmes looked proudly at the metal stick, "I am going to use this thing-I call it the S.T.I.C.C. because it is made up of the metals silver, titanium, iron, chromium, and copper-to produce electricity without a generator. It is not a battery, but a continuous, reliable source of energy."

"Very good, Holmes," Watson commended. "But what does the sodium hydroxide have to do with this?"

"I am glad you asked, Watson!" Holmes nodded seriously. "While sodium silicate is not used for power, it is used as a very powerful, fire-resistant cement, as I told you. You can see that the sphere is falling off the base, yes? Well, I am using the strongest solution of the sodium silicate to put the S.T.I.C.C. together, and the rest of it for the fuel."

Watson looked confused, "I thought you said it was fire-resistant."

"It is, my dear fellow, it is. But when you heat the remaining sodium silicate, it becomes a silicic acid. When you add aluminum metallic powder to that silicic acid, it becomes dangerous… VERY dangerous. It releases hydrogen into the air, and hydrogen is very flammable. But this reaction is what will be my fuel."

"I sort of see what you're getting at, Holmes… but how are you going to do it?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson!" Holmes smiled, rummaging through his pockets for his pipe. He lit it silently, apparently deep in thought for a moment, and then launched right back into his spiel. "I first make sure that all of the S.T.I.C.C. is glued securely with the sodium silicate. Then I add the silicic acid into the hollow area of the S.T.I.C.C. and then carefully add the aluminum metallic powder, immediately shutting the back with a premade covering of chromium and sealed with the silicate! Do you see now why I shot a hole through your window?"

Watson shook his head in wonder, "Why did you shoot it, anyways? Why not just break it with a hammer?"

Holmes shrugged, the maniac glimmer fleeing his eyes as quickly as it had come, "What's the fun in just breaking it? Plus I needed to test out that device I was telling you about – the one that silences the sound of a gun."

"It certainly worked." Watson muttered.

"What surprised me," Holmes admitted, taking a seat in the armchair by the fireplace and sitting in it so that he was still facing Watson, "is that you slept through it. Even though it was silenced, there was still quite a loud thud and the sound of glass breaking. You, a soldier of the Afghan War, are naturally a light sleeper. This leads me to believe that you were very tired yesterday. Very tired. You didn't even change for bed, instead choosing to sleep in your day clothes. Knowing you never do that, I deduced that something had happened."

"Holmes. I don't really want to know what you're thinking, knowing that—"

Holmes interrupted him, his eyes hardening into the impassive, brown orbs that they always became when he was examining someone or deducing something from his surroundings; "There is a tear in your left sleeve that could only have been caused by someone pulling too forcefully at it. If it had gotten caught on something, there would have been more of a tear here at the start of the cut." He grabbed Watson's left arm and pointed to the base of the tear. "You also have a slight bruise on your right temple, and your eyes are bloodshot, despite the fact that you got a full nine hours of sleep. Your limp is even worse than normal, which I deduce from examining your left shoe – you are putting even more weight on it than you do normally, and even in an exceptionally short amount of time the shoe is starting to sag at the sole area. There are scratches on your knuckles, and on the edge of your collar there is a small bloodstain. This cannot have been from you accidentally getting cut, as the angle implies that it came from someone else's fist…" Holmes gazed accusingly at his roommate, "Have you been in a fight, Watson?"

Watson showed no sign of acknowledging Holmes and began to walk quickly to the front window. He threw the heavy blinds open, causing the bright sunlight to drip through the windows and hit Holmes squarely in the eyes.

"Gah!" Holmes cried out, throwing his arms up to block the golden rays from blinding him. "Was that really necessary?"

Watson turned on him innocently, "Oh yes, it was. I thought that the place could use some brightening up. Come, Holmes, it's a lovely day and it's only one in the afternoon. We should go out and do something!"

Holmes slowly lowered his arms, still squinting. He had tears running down his dirty, unshaven face. "You're deliberately avoiding my question, Watson."

Watson grabbed Holmes's arm and dragged him towards the door, "Come on! Let's go and get some fresh air!"

Holmes, struggling to free himself from Watson's iron grip, threw himself down onto the floor, taking Watson with him.

Watson, who was completely taken by surprise, tumbled down after Holmes. He tried to grab Holmes's collar, but Holmes, anticipating Watson's move, rolled away from the doctor and grabbed the S.T.I.C.C.

"Were you in a fight?" Holmes asked again, brandishing the S.T.I.C.C. threateningly.

Watson still tried to avoid talking to Holmes about the subject, "Holmes! No need to be violent! I just want to take a walk… a nice, calming walk in the park!"

"I don't believe you, Watson…" Holmes told his friend quietly. "Stop trying to fool me. You're embarrassed about something."

"No!" Watson was almost on the verge of tears, his normally composed, tanned face flushing quickly. "Come on, Holmes!"

Holmes sighed, "You leave me no choice…" He ran over to the table of chemicals and began mixing things quickly. He took the sodium silicate, which was apparently already done, and began piecing together the S.T.I.C.C. He feverishly loaded everything into the back of the S.T.I.C.C. and turned on his Bunsen burner.

"Holmes, no!" Watson cried, trying to stop Holmes from loading the dangerous mixture into the metal rod.

"I will only stop if you admit that you got into a fight, and you are embarrassed about it!" Holmes warned, his expression one of mad determination. His hair, messy as it was, was so crazed that it looked as if someone had sent an electric current through Holmes.

Watson weighed his options: tell Holmes about his embarrassing fight and not die, don't tell Holmes about the embarrassing fight and get electrocuted, or don't tell Holmes about the embarrassing fight and find out that the S.T.I.C.C. doesn't work. He decided to take a gamble, for he was quite a gambler when it came to boxing anyways and he nearly never turned down a bet.

Watson cleared his throat, donning a guise of impassiveness, "No."

Holmes's eyes burned with a mad passion. "You asked for it." He added the silicic acid to the base of the S.T.I.C.C. and fumbled around for the aluminum metallic powder.

Watson was getting nervous. A trickle of sweat dripped down his face and onto the floor, and his knee throbbed painfully.

Holmes glared at him one last time, "Last chance, Watson."

Watson turned chalk-white but didn't break eye contact with Holmes. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "No."

Holmes added the powder into the S.T.I.C.C. and slammed the chromium backing on.

For a moment, life seemed to go in slow motion. Watson stood, suspended in time as the S.T.I.C.C. blared to life. The tip was now illuminated in a burning, white glow that made Watson's eyes run like a river with tears. Holmes himself stared at the contraption in awe, seemingly oblivious to the blinding white light. As they both stared at it, it began to vibrate slowly.

"I did it…" Holmes whispered, clutching his invention in his hand proudly. "I actually did it…this is sensational! I have revolutionized science! Fantastic!"

For a moment, Watson actually believed that Holmes had forgotten about the quarrel that they'd had not half a minute ago. He tried to inch back into his room to retrieve his cane sword so that if Holmes decided to attack him with the now-lethal S.T.I.C.C. he could defend himself to an extent.

As he took his first cautious step towards the threshold of his quarters, Holmes spun toward him, contraption gripped tightly in his hand and an expression of triumph on his face. "Don't even think about it…" he whispered threateningly. He approached Watson like a lion stalking it's prey, silent but deadly.

"Don't do it, Holmes!" Watson warned, backing away quickly.

"Don't worry!" Holmes said cheerfully, even though the maniac glint was still in his eyes, "It'll only induce a coma-like state for about two days! But that's just if it grazes you… Now, if I were to prod you…"

Watson lunged for the nearest thing that looked like it could be used for self-defense. In this case it was the poker for the fire. He held it like a saber and pointed it at Holmes, "If it's a duel you want, it's a duel you'll get!" He lunged ferociously at Holmes.

Holmes parried his swipe easily and swiftly slammed his free left hand into Watson's sword arm, "Hmm…too bad you've been in a fight. You normally fight better than this."

Watson narrowed his eyes at the detective, wincing at the pain in his arm from Holmes' blow. "If you think I'm giving it my all now, you're sadly mistaken."

Holmes let out a soft chuckle and jabbed at Watson's chest. "In case you haven't noticed, I've not been letting the electrical tip touch you."

Watson clenched his teeth. "How kind. Remind me to write a thank you note."

The two slashed at each other with a renewed vigor. Instead of putting them down, the smack talk seemed to be egging them on.

Watson let out a small bark of laughter as Holmes leaped off the sofa in an attempt to launch an aerial attack, dodging easily. "Good try, old boy!"

Holmes grinned crookedly. "That was just to intimidate you."

Watson thrust his makeshift sword at Holmes' right arm. "Let me assure you that it isn't working."

"Maybe," Holmes snarled, leaping out of the way as Watson aimed a kick at his chest, "it was just a ruse to distract you from something up my sleeve."

"Let me tell you, Holmes," Watson grimaced as Holmes punched him in the ribs, "I don't think even you are that clever."

"Was that supposed to infuriate me?" Holmes inquired, amused. He rushed at Watson in an attempt to break his defensive stance, putting all of his strength into a devastating sideswipe.

Watson kept his stance with difficulty, "Not…necessarily."

They remained this way for the good part of a minute, each straining each muscle in their bodies in an effort too become the victor. It seemed it would be a tie until…

Holmes finally won out and smashed Watson to the floor, using his body to pin him so that he was nearly immobilized. "Good show, Watson."

Watson, sweating profusely, found the strength to grin at him, "You weren't so bad yourself."

Just as Holmes was going to let Watson up, Watson used all his remaining strength to throw Holmes across the room. Holmes, completely taken by surprise kept his hand latched to Watson's collar.

Watson and Holmes tumbled across the floor until Holmes' right hand, still clutching the S.T.I.C.C., slammed against the large box of metal, fuses, and electrical wires at the edge of the room.

As the large explosion ripped through the room, Holmes attempted to drag Watson to safety. However, he was too late. The mind-blowing blast engulfed Watson and he in a sea of flames, and everything went black.