"Sherlock...Sometimes, he is absolutely unbearable. No, of course, I have nothing against a good chase and even against a shoot-out...but not at three in the morning! And how can one live with a person who wakes one up in the middle of the night by pouring a cup of cold water on one's head? And I still have to sleep in that bed later! How come I still put up with all this?"
John's conversation partner seemed to nod in understanding.
"And what about yesterday? Yesterday, he once again pinched my laptop, hacked my blog and answered all the comments, pretending to be me! And he read our email exchange with Sergeant Donovan, where we were discussing the recipe for blackberry tarts! I mean, that's sacred! No, I understand everything, of course, but there have to be limits somewhere! Rules, maybe." John looked over at his conversation partner, silently seeking support.
"Yes, I've already gotten used to him playing his violin all night long, but no! Now he plays right outside the door to my room! My room! Yesterday, because of this nighttime 'serenade', I couldn't sleep half the night! How can one continue living like that? What? Maybe he was trying to tell me something by doing that? Interesting...And what would he be wanting to tell me? No, no, definitely, it's time to make some changes," John paused. His conversation partner remained soothingly silent.
"And these chemical flasks in the kitchen! I'm even afraid to cook there, one never knows when one might get some chemical reagent instead of salt! Last week, I discovered a pair of live goldfish in the teakettle. Why would Sherlock need goldfish? What, does he need...uh...a pet, to distract him from boredom? Shall I buy him...what? Pet fish? I doubt they'd fare any better than the two I discovered in the teakettle. That was the last time I saw them. A guinea pig? I doubt it'd be able to stay alive any longer than the fishes. A cat? Perhaps a cat would suit him. But even I myself am beginning to feel like his pet! Like a guinea pig! He conducts experiments upon me, tests his theories, what next? What if I share the fate of the unfortunate fishes."
"John."
"What, Sherlock?" the doctor reluctantly broke off his sob story.
"Take my card."
"What are you on about?"
"Credit card. Use mine."
"Umm, what for?"
"Apparently, you are broke. You don't even have money to pay for a therapy session."
"And how did you deduce that?"
"Well, that wasn't difficult, given the fact that you are talking to the head in the fridge."
(author: Karasik; from snapetales dot com)