The Power of Deduction
A Johnlock Fanfiction
Author's Note: Cause I said I'd write it, didn't I? Dedicated to my lovely girlfriend zobothehobo. Cause I love her.
Dr. John Watson was a man who liked to slow down sometimes. When those times came, he would normally pick up a book of some sort, sit down in a comfortable chair in his flat, and not get up he finished the book, or nature called.
Originally, these days did not come very often. However, moving into 221B Baker Street (along with the events that followed), had caused enough stress for John that he was now taking a "John Day" at least once a week. On top of that, he had run out of things to read.
Sighing, he grabbed his coat and started out of the flat. "I'll be going out for a bit!" he called. Nobody answered, and he left before someone could… specifically Sherlock, ready to make some ridiculous demand or another. As he hailed a cab, he soon realized that his quick departure was in vain. His cell phone vibrated, and he sighed.
Coffee. You know how I like it. -SH
John rolled his eyes and got into the cab that pulled up. "The library," he directed.
When the cab pulled up, John gave the driver instructions to wait a few minutes. It would be a quick trip. Like Sherlock, he knew what he liked, and knew exactly where to go to get it.
His mind was changed, however, when he saw the "classic novels" display. Maybe something not so modern was in order.
"Maybe so," said a voice behind him.
John turned to see Sherlock. "What are you doing here?" the doctor asked.
The young detective looked aloof, though that was nothing new. He always did. "I deducted that you, in fact, would get me the wrong sort of coffee, as you have been distracted and did not want to even leave the flat, let alone get me something decent, hence your nearly-sarcastic "goodbye." The fact that you did not text me back, despite being a polite, educated man, tells me that you were in an extremely bad mood and had a high likelihood of getting the wrong thing just to spite me, adding to my concern. Obviously you were at the library, so I followed you."
"I'm not even going to ask what makes that obvious."
"Good idea. Anyway, you were just considering whether to get something old-fashioned to take your mind off the speed and stress of modern living. It's quite a good plan. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to get some coffee."
"This is a library, not a bookshop, they don't sell coffee," John said, but Sherlock was already gone.
The doctor sighed and picked a book up from the display. A Study in Scarlet. Well, that was funny. A regular shot of deja vu, in fact. Amused, John flipped through the book, not really looking for anything, just curious.
Sherlock Holmes
John stopped. What was that? It couldn't have been his flatmate's name… could it have?
He scanned the pages more eagerly. Yes, that was Sherlock's name. And there was his own. This was odd beyond his wildest dreams. He shut the book and hunted down his friend.
He found Sherlock at the circulation desk. "What do you mean, there's no coffee?" he was asking.
"This is a library, not a bookshop, they don't sell coffee." The librarian looked exasperated, as if she had already explained this several times.
"I really," Sherlock said, "have no idea what that has to do with anything. Honestly, you're worse than Anderson. John, stop standing there and being quiet, come tell me about the simply unbelievable thing you've found."
He didn't move from his place in front of Circulation as John relayed the unbelievable string of coincidences, causing many patrons to be upset. Finally, he grabbed the book from John and checked it out.
Before even looking at the novel, Sherlock deduced something. "From what you've said, I can think of only one likely explanation."
"Which is?"
They got into the cab. "The nearest decent coffee shop, please," Sherlock said to the cabbie before turning to John. "There is a novel with our names in it, even going so far as to use a phrase undeniably similar to one you used in the past. Doubtlessly there are other similarities. You found this in the classics section, where you were immediately attracted to it. And, perhaps the most important, we live in London. And that's just the tip of the iceburg. It is so obvious!"
"It is? What is?"
Sherlock nodded to himself. "John, we are obviously the main characters in a BBC programme, and there is probably a fandom full of people who ship us together. It is completely undeniable."
The doctor looked at his flatmate for a long second. "I knew you were crazy," he said.
"I've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth."
The last word was barely out before the detective kissed him quickly on the lips. John's eyes widened. "What… was that?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know.
Sherlock turned to face frontwards again. "May as well give the fans something to remember."
"Oh. Right."