TIRED -- That’s all he can think of once he’s thrown off the covers and slipped clumsily out of bed. Tired feet clunk upon the wooden floor, tired eyes blink heavily as tired arms reach up to rub the dust of SLEEP away, and tired lips stretch into an expression that would rival a mighty LION as he yawns over his pride. The stairs pass by quickly, and he’s made his way to the kitchen soon enough after that; truly, it’s all a blur. Puttering around the cluttered kitchen, he begins to make himself a cup of coffee, humming tunelessly all the while.
It’s not until he reaches to open the fridge, to see if there’s some milk left over ( he’s been thinking he might try a bowl of cereal, if it the carton hasn’t gone sour ), that he finally is jolted AWAKE. Like an electric shock, his body is alert and, well, quite confused. Slamming the refrigerator door shut, he turns, bracing his arms upon the table, his heartbeat a little elevated, not from fear, but from the shock of seeing, yet again, something altogether abhorrent in a place NORMAL people tend to keep food.
Head turning to yell, not caring whether Sherlock is still asleep or dozing on the couch or being a complete imbecile halfway across London, he clears his throat and let’s it loose. ❝ SHERLOCK! Why ------ in God’s name, why is there…? -------- there’s RATS in our refrigerator! Why are their DEAD rats in the refrigerator? ❞
