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John had accepted from the moment that he had moved into flat 221B that it was a mess… Sherlock had his own unique system of filing, which usually meant things were left littered all over the floor, or stacked in piles, or placed in cupboards, normally where they weren't supposed to be. John wasn't an overly tidy man – his time in the army had disciplined his mind for a while, but back out in civilian life he didn't care so much if everything was in its right place. However, Sherlock's complete inability to put anything in any kind of recognisable order tested John's patience. The final straw had been when John had tripped over a pile of books that had been stacked on one of the stairs and made him fall down the rest of the stairs, he had then demanded that Sherlock was going to help him clean the whole flat up, otherwise he wasn't going to help on any more of the cases. Sherlock hadn't liked this idea at all; since then he had sat doing nothing while John had attempted to tidy the place up.
"Anything but the books." Sherlock hadn't moved an inch from where he had been sitting in his armchair, but John froze with his hand outstretched towards the line of obscure and very dusty books that lined the wall.
"Why not the books?" John asked.
"The books are different." Sherlock protested.
"No, the books are books… and we're cleaning everything, including the books." John told him firmly.
"The books are fine." He dropped his riding crop that he had been tapping gently upon the edge of the table leg.
"At least put them in order! Or subject relevance… or something rather than chucked in any which way!" John protested, picking up the book at the top of the pile. "RHS Encyclopaedia of Gardening? I mean, when will you ever need this?"
"I used it in the Milner-Walton case, being able to know where pollen is from." Sherlock replied calmly, John pursed his lips because he knew that Sherlock was correct on that occasion – just like he always seemed to be.
"Alright, this one… Fundamental Immunology." John lifted the second book from the pile.
"Helped when I consulted about the Cameron case and how his extremely resilient immune system led to him being resistant to the chemical he injected his victims with." Sherlock had begun tapping the leg of the table all over again.
"And this one? History of Western Music?" John picked up a leather bound copy of a musical journal.
"I like music…" He shrugged. "It also came in handy when Mrs. Walls claimed she had been at a Puccini opera, yet there was no way that Puccini would fit into the Baroque season that was on-going, thus rendering her alibi as completely false which proved she had to be at home when her husband died." John sighed very quietly. "How many more of these are we going to have to go through before you accept that I need these books, so I won't be getting rid of any of them?"
"Okay, I get you… but can you at least order them or sort them out a little bit to help, rather than just sitting there!" John succeeded defeat and replaced the books on top of the pile. "Just please… do something!"
John descended the staircase from his bedroom where he had been for several hours; half avoiding Sherlock and half tidying up his own, sparse, possessions. As he reached the bottom of the staircase he heard a thump, which was followed by a heavy sigh. Approaching the door of the sitting room he was confronted by Sherlock sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by mountain ranges of books. Sherlock looked up at John with a pitiful expression on his features.
"I need your help John," He said eventually, as though admitting defeat from the piles of literature that he sat among.
"Dear goodness Sherlock…" John exclaimed trying to pick his way through the high rise piles covering nearly every square foot of floor. "What have you been doing?!"
"I was trying to put them into subject relevance!" There was a slight whine in his voice which sounded like that of a child, "But I didn't know where to go from there…" He looked around helplessly.
"Well sitting in the middle of the floor staring at everything around you isn't going to help. Come on – on your feet, let's put this stuff away." John told him, offering out a hand to pull Sherlock to his feet. "We can put all these on the shelves and find other places for any that are left over… we can do it in alphabetical subject order." Sherlock had taken John's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, nearly dislodging a large pile which wobbled unnervingly.
They had reached the letter "L" before either of the two of them said anything other than about which subject should come next.
"Sherlock, thank you." John said, as he stacked books about Lepidoptera onto the shelf.
"For what?" Sherlock asked, handing him the next book – the title emblazoning the subject of it as Leprosy – and appearing a little confused.
"Because I asked you to do something, and you did. So… thank you." John explained.
"Oh… you're welcome." Sherlock replied, stepping over a book stack to reach another thick volume. "Does this mean you'll come out with me on cases again?" He asked quietly.
"Yes, of course." John smiled.