The warning came too late. One step into the kitchen, John slipped. His legs flew out from under him and his arms flailed wildly in the split second before he landed on his bum. Sherlock's latest experiment had bubbled over from table to floor, leaving it a slippery mess.
"What the hell, Sherlock?" John reached for the table to pull himself up, but he couldn't get a grip. His feet, likewise, found no purchase on the usually reliable flooring. "What is this stuff?"
"You recall the oleaginousness tests we embarked up on?"
"Yes. They've been quite enjoyable. Of course, they haven't involved me on the kitchen floor." The table was another matter, but he didn't need to remind Sherlock of that particular bit of research. Neither of them was likely to forget it.
"So this is your latest experiment?" He gave up trying to stand and simply squirmed into a reasonable sitting position.
"Yes. It's a blend of--"
"I don't care what's in it. Does it wash?"
"Should," echoed John.
"I may have gone too far. This particular formula is virtually frictionless."
John frowned thoughtfully. "That's no good. One wants a bit of friction."
"Indeed one does."
"It washes off?"
John sighed. "I guess the question then becomes how I'm going to reach the bath."