Disclaimer: I don't own Holmes or the barely-mentioned Watson. o3o However, I do own myself. *pats my head*

A/N: The root beer thing was based on an IM chatplay with one of my friends. I mean, c'mon, Holmes and root beer were made for each other. Also the 'I' in this, unlike my other Holmes stories, is not Doctor John Watson, but me. ;) Why am I talking with Holmes? I have...no idea. Just go with it.

"My mental faculties are collapsing in on me like a sun in the midst of its supernova death throes," Holmes said dolefully as he dropped down in an armchair.

I blinked and stared at him, looking up from my game of solitaire. "Oh…no?"

He looked at me disdainfully. "You do know what a supernova is, don't you, child?"

"Yeah," I beamed. "We learned it in science."

Holmes scoffed, shaking his head. "School. Such an infernal waste of time."

"Well…why are your mental…why supernovas?"

"The correct term is supernovae, woman. And I should think it would be obvious as to why this environment is causing my brain to rot and decay within my very skull."

"Because…because…it's full of…detritivores?"

His eyebrows raised for half a second. "Excellent show of vocabulary skills. Did you learn that word in school as well?" I nodded and he scoffed. "Then that explains why it's the wrong answer." He flung himself to his feet and began pacing back and forth. My card game was forgotten as he started to rant.

"Would you like me to tell you why my observational powers are shutting down? Of course you would, seeing how your cranium is being polluted by school. It is happening, quite simply, because of my lack of stimulation—in any of several forms."

"What kind of forms?" I asked, intrigued.

"The correct environment. One cannot hope to observe anything in a house so infernally clean!" he said. "Or the right sort of literature as to stimulate one's scientific mind. This…Harry Potter fellow clogging up your shelves is utterly unrealistic and outlandish."

"Outlandish? It takes place in England!" I pointed out.

He shot me a death glare. "And the villain. Voldemort," Holmes scoffed.

"Don't say his name!" I wailed.

"No, your collection of texts is simply horrid. In addition, the company of other powerful minds tends to boost my own. And, needless to say…." Holmes glanced at me again. "You are not the ideal intellectual company."

I made an offended noise. "Are you calling me stupid in your fancy Victorian-speak?"

"Yes."

Huffing, I stood up and threw the three of diamonds at him. "Well you're stupid, Mr. School-Sucks-And-So-Do-You."

"Do you honestly believe that a playing card will cause me physical harm?" he asked in disbelief.

"Maybe I did!" I stomped out of the room.

Holmes, looking curiously down at the card, followed after me.

In the kitchen, I was rummaging through the fridge, grumbling heatedly under my breath. Standing back up with a can of root beer in hand, I closed the refrigerator doors and turned around, walking into Holmes. I let out a little shriek of surprise.

"What do you have, woman?" he inquired.

"A bomb. So move before I blow you up."

"That is clearly not an explosive device."

"Of course it isn't, because the volume of the density of its equilateral circle is all wrong, right?" I exploded.

Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Did you learn that in your school? Because that made absolutely no sense, my dear."

Defiantly I popped the tab and gulped down half the can at once, immediately bursting into a fit of coughing and choking.

"Good heavens, woman, calm yourself!" Holmes came over and thumped me on the back a few times. "Don't go drowning in…." He stared at the brown liquid. "…what is that?"

"Root beer," I said hoarsely.

He looked appalled. "You are most certainly not of drinking age!"

"No, Holmes," I groaned. "It's not alcoholic. It's just called root beer because…well, it just is."

Sherlock Holmes regarded it curiously. "Does it always make you choke?"

"No. Only when you chug it."

"Chug?"

"…drink it all really fast."

"Ah." He stood up straight and held out his hand.

I looked at him. "What?"

"Give it to me, woman."

Indignantly I took a step back. "No! It's mine!"

"I should think that they teach sharing in school, yes?" he suggested.

"You don't believe in school," I retorted.

"But I believe in sharing."

"Well my mouth has been all over it," I pointed out.

"Hmm. Excellent point," Holmes said thoughtfully. "But I would like to try some."

"Really?" I said. "Well there's more than just this can. Let's go get you some." I led him back to the refrigerator and found another can of root beer. "Here you go."

Holmes turned it around in his hands, examining it.

I watched him. "…what are you waiting for?"

"Nothing, woman. Hush." He continued inspecting it.

Suddenly it dawned on me and I smirked. "You don't know how to open it, do you?"

"No," he said glumly.

"Like this." I did it for him. However, he had been rolling it around quite thoroughly.

It exploded.

I screamed and Holmes yelled some Victorian interjection as we were bathed in cold, tan foam. "You don't shake it!" I screeched. "Geez, Holmes!"

"You're the one who opened it!" he pointed out.

It finally quieted down and we glared at each other, dripping.

"I suppose it was an explosive," Holmes said curtly.

"It's carbonated," I retorted.

Holmes tipped the can over and the last few drops splashed out. He looked hopefully up at me. "You wouldn't have a third can, would you?"

I huffed. "Yeah. But this time, I'm not going to let you even try to open it."

Meekly Holmes followed me back to the refrigerator and carefully took the root beer once I opened it. "Don't chug it," he confirmed.

"That's right."

Gingerly Holmes brought the can to his lips and took a swig. His eyes went wide and he slammed the can down on the counter, before forcing the liquid down his throat and gasping.

I watched with my brow raised. "Uhh…."

He smacked his hands down on the counter in front of me, regarding me with a wild look in his eye characteristic only of one who had just, for the first time, tasted the biting glory of a carbonated beverage.

"Why have I never tasted this before, woman?" he inhaled.

Slightly traumatized, I asked, "You like it?"

He grinned maniacally. "I love it. It is exactly what I need to stimulate my mind." Holmes snatched the can back up and gulped down quite a bit more. Absently I sipped my own, minorly afraid but entertained.

Regaining his dignity, Holmes straightened and said, "I shall need about two dozen more."

"Two dozen?!"

"Yes. No. Three."

"That's thirty-six cans of root beer, Holmes!"

"To start with."

I slapped my palm onto my face. "I've created a monster."

Holmes was marching off. "Watson! Carbonation!"

For the record, Watson hates root beer. He says it burns his nose and gets mad at Holmes for it like he does with so many other things. How/Why is Watson telling me this? Again, I have...no idea. Hope you enjoyed it! R&R!