The Case of the Bedtime Ritual
Hello, readers! This is going to be a collection of 9 different shorts, each of which makes up a quirk of daily life with Sherlock. The credit for the idea goes to my sister, who is the best, and suggested I write this inspired by myself and her. I have Asperger's syndrome, and she takes care of me in much the same way John looks out for Sherlock. I find comfort in other awesome neuro-atypicals, though I would never claim to be as awesome as Sherlock. So they are, without exception, a collection of my quirks that my sister has to put up with. Call me the Sherlock and her the John, if you will. We would both consider it a compliment :-) Hope you enjoy, and God bless! -Viola
The Case of the Bedtime Ritual
"Sherlock?" John's forehead furrowed once again at the noises coming from the bathroom. This happened nearly every night, and he was getting curious. It sounded as if the water in the tub were running forcefully, and there was an odd splashing at intermittent intervals...
"Sherlock..." John tapped on the door, and the water shut off, the detective's voice coming through the hollow of the bathroom.
"What?"
"I thought you said you weren't having a shower tonight, I'm running laundry," John called, leaning against the door jamb, the ties of his robe loose on the floor, revealing his pinstripe pajamas beneath.
The door swung open and there was Sherlock, in his signature button-down, his trousers rolled up at rakish heights, exposing his thin white legs. His feet were wet, and a pool of water was gradually soaking the rug, so he turned and stood gingerly on one foot, toweling off the other with great vigor while John watched, his arms crossed. He took a deep breath.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting my feet wet."
"I see that. Why?"
"Tricking myself. I do this every night."
"Yeah, I noticed." John took a deep breath and shuffled back toward the bedroom, stopping short in the corridor, and turning back around.
"Tricking yourself?"
"I don't sleep well if I feel I haven't had a shower, and I can't always take one just before bed."
Sherlock rolled down his trousers and walked quickly across the bare floor, leaping onto the bed and crossing his legs as he undid his shirt and slid under the covers. John still stood in the doorway.
"I'm still missing something."
"Clearly," Sherlock muttered. "Turn off the lights, will you?"
Hand on the switch, John repeated "Tricking yourself?"
"Don't you see? If my feet are just drying I think that I've just gotten out of the shower. It works- I sleep like a baby."
"And when you don't?"
"I'm restless the whole night, my feet are clammy and tangle in the sheets, and I feel generally disgusting." Sherlock shut his eyes, his hair falling back in uneven tangles on the pillow. "Make sense?"
"K-kind of..." John stammered, obediently switching off the light, and beginning tom make his way to his own room. "Sleep well, then," he called at last.
"Thank you, I will," the detective's voice returned.
