John had had a shit day at work. The autumn flu season was in full force, and of course the majority of people had neglected to get their jabs. With any luck John himself would slide by on the force of his own inoculations. Fingers crossed, anyway.
With a sigh, he draped his jacket across the back of his chair, toed off his shoes, and took a minute to just stare into the fire that was blazing merrily in the fireplace. Interesting; John was usually the only one in this flat who ever bothered to put forth the effort to create such an ambiance. It did nicely ward off the chill that had started to creep into his bones during his brisk walk from the clinic.
John felt a sudden urge to sit by the fire with a whiskey. He made his way into the dark kitchen, and was about to flip on the switch when he was brought up short.
There, sitting in the center of the table, was a jack-o-lantern with a flickering candle within. Only it was unlike any carved pumpkin that John had ever seen. Instead of the expected toothy grin, John was greeted with the image of an anatomical heart. Complete with ventricles, atria, aorta, pulmonary artery and vena cava.
It was the creepiest thing John had seen since… well, Baskerville.
John swallowed. As far as he knew, Sherlock wasn’t a Halloween type person. In fact, he wasn’t a holiday person in general. Lord knew what he was up to with this; probably some kind of experiment. Maybe it was for a case.
Well, creepy or not, it was a fine example of craftsmanship. Realistic and unnerving all at the same time. Very Sherlockian, to be precise.
Speaking of Sherlock, John had no idea where the man was. His coat was missing, so he must be out and about somewhere. Well, no matter. They would see each other in the morning.
John yawned. Maybe he would leave the whiskey for another time. He could feel his bed calling him from all the way upstairs.
John shook his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips. Hit with sudden inspiration, he lifted the pumpkin off the table and carried it into the sitting room. He set it on the mantel, above the roaring fire. A text lit up his phone.
Leave the fires burning. I’ll be home soon. --SH
Maybe he would sit with that whiskey after all.