Sherlock and Doctor Who are awesome, but let's take a break for a little How I Met Your Mother. Because I feel like it (and no one's reviewing my Sherlock crossover at the moment). Barney Stinson is too good a character to let TV script writers have all the fun. I'm trying to write it more or less in the style and flavor of the show, but with a Barney perspective twist. Enjoy.

The Never-Ending Adventures of Barney Stinson

(or NEABS for short! It's gonna be legen-wait for it...)

Adventure One: Mind-blowing Introduction.

Okay, kids. Your dad likes to tell you these long, boring stories about how he met your mom. Really they're mostly about the stuff that happened before he met your mom, cause let's face it—quiet family life with you guys, or HELLO, Wing Man. But I intend on being Ted's best friend for many more years to come, so I can't just come busting in on his story time with my "Oh, hey, you're leaving out one of the juiciest stories..." cause that would totally ruin his dad image, his self esteem, and... my thunder! ...dary. LEGENDARY. High five! (Yes, I'm there in spirit—just high five right there up in front of you, and a little to the right. You nailed it.)

So, as I was saying. I can't tell you guys all the amazing racy stuff. Partly because you're not old enough. Some of it, I'm not sure I'm old enough for! What up?! But seriously. Much as I'm sure you can keep secrets, I'm just gonna write it here in this special journal that I've addressed to you guys and I'm keeping in my safe so you'll get it when I'm dead and Ted can't kill me. Cause mark me well, word. would. get. out.

Without further ado, by way of a mind-blowing introduction, here's adventure one. Enjoy, kids. Love, Uncle Barnstormer.

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Cripes! what do I tell first? I finally get to tell all the awesome stuff that I was sworn never to tell on pain of death—cause I'm dead now. Hope I went out with a bang. Like literally! Fist bump. Ghost of Uncle Barney is hovering right there waiting for it. You got it, buddy. Where was I? Oh, yeah.

Lookit how organized I am, all chaptery and stuff. And my mom thought I had ADD! Silly mom.

So, I guess I'll pick an early one cause it's something I've been wanting to get out for a while. My psychiatrist would say I have unresolved tension... except I had to let that psychiatrist go. She was really a hooker playing psychiatrist with me, and THAT tension got resolved real fast! What can I say... I love someone who will lay me on a couch. (You can bump that fist again, man.) Your dad likes to be all organized and chronological... "spring of 2008" and "fall of oh-ten" ...yes, "oh-ten." This is why your dad was an architect, not a mathematician, RIGHT? Who needs temporal references? You'll get the gist.

But anyway... I hear that one of your favorite stories is Slapsgiving. You like to hear about Uncle Marshall walloping Uncle Barney at the end of the demoralizing countdown... and I get why Ted would present it that way. But seriously, you gotta cut me some slack. I mean, have you ever been slapped across the face by all the strength of a more-than-full-grown man like Marshall Eriksen? I think not. You have no clue the trauma, the... I'm getting ahead of myself. Dang, I wasn't going to get sidetracked like your dad always does. Oh well.

Well, the first slap did take me by surprise—the first of the five I got from the Slap Bet. But I figured I'd get one that day. Marshall was patient, but knowing he had four more to go, I knew he couldn't resist taking that first one quickly.

It didn't seem too bad. I figured they'd be over before long and it would be much better than ten in a row. But he waited so long for the second, I started to think—nay, to hope—that he had forgotten. And that was why he managed to surprise me with the second one, too. So then I was freaking out. I actually had nightmares about it. And then... the countdown. Never do that to someone unless you hate them. Really, really hate them. And even then, you probably shouldn't.

I confess (since I'm dead now and it doesn't matter), I was a wreck. A manly, fashionable wreck. The closer Thanksgiving got, the more freaked I got. Everyone knew what was coming... a turkey would get baked and a turkey would get slapped. I knew they were all laughing at me. With about a week to go, I'd have traded for the baking.

But did I completely fall apart? Why, no. I did what I usually did in nearly hopeless situations. I asked my best friend for some help. These are never my proud moments, but hell, I need to get out this "unresolved tension." Course, a good lay could get rid of that too, what up?! (Right here, buddy.)

I went to see Ted, and thank God, he was alone in the apartment. Hey, you know what? I'll tell it from your dad's point of view, because that's what you're used to. I'm sure I can guess what he was thinking and stuff. It'll be easy. Meh, on second thought I'll do the whole third-person omniscient thing. Wonder if I will be omniscient once I've crossed over. Legendary.

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Ted was just hanging around his apartment, doing boring architecture stuff when his best friend Barney Stinson swaggered through the door. "Sup, Barney?" Ted asked.

"Oh, nothing," Barney answered casually, leaning against the back of the couch in a devil-may-care pose. He politely waited until Ted (with difficulty) found a stopping place in his mundane project.

"What?" asked Ted.

"Nothing."

"What? You didn't come out here to tell me nothing. What's going on?"

"Oh, I was just wondering if you'd seen Marshall's website."

"You started two sentences with 'oh.' Never good."

"Look who's paying close attention to my mannerisms! Sounds like someone read my blog on hero-worship. Ted, I'm so proud of you!"

Ted threw down his pencil. "What about the countdown?"

Barney's poise decreased by roughly ten percent. "He keeps calling it 'Slapsgiving' and the thing counts down the frickin' seconds, Ted. I can't eat. I can't sleep. And if I eat and try to sleep, I have the worst nightmares."

"Worse than the time you dreamed you banged your cousin?"

This gave Barney pause, but only for a moment. "That dream was rapturously enjoyable in comparison. Plus, the pain and embarrassment gradually dissipated when I woke up. But not so with this dream. Oh, no. The pain is merely postponed and the embarrassment prolonged!"

"You're being a total drama queen right now."

Barney threw himself on Ted's mercy. And his floor. He fell to his knees by Ted's chair and held up his hands in supplication. "Please, Ted, you have no idea what it's like! It hurts like hell, and now this clock thingy, ticking away the moments—the precious little moments—until I feel that bee-sting of a freight train impact again!"

"I take it back," Ted muttered. "Now you're being a drama queen."

"I'm serious! You're not going to leave me to the minuscule mercy of that Eriksen brute, are you, Ted? For God's sake, I'm your best friend! Show a little pity."

"Actually, Marshall's my—"

Barney grabbed Ted by the front of his shirt. "PLEASE. I'm scared."

Ted stared at Barney and slowly the master of emotional manipulation began to see those eyes soften... (I'm the master of emotional manipulation and Ted's the eye-softening sap, in case you weren't sure.) He got out from behind his nerdy desk and helped Barney to stand. "Bring it in, buddy," he said kindly.

With a stifled sob, Barney caught Ted in a vice-like embrace. "I'm so scared," he said haltingly. "It's all I can think about. Don't let him hurt me, Ted. Please."

"There, there. Shh," Ted soothed. "You get through Thanksgiving and you're down three out of five. Before you know it, this will be all over."

Barney's voice was ninety percent choked now, but he still managed to rasp out intelligibly, "But what if I don't last that long? I think number three is gonna kill me!"

Then something terrible happened. Your Uncle Barney had gotten all teared up as part of the mercy play, and somehow it got a little out of control. Two tears spilled over simultaneously. He was able to catch the left one with his talented tongue (RESPECT), but his right cheek was pressed against Ted's neck, and if he tried the tongue catch on that side, some seriously embarrassing (and orientation-questioning) things might go down. So the only thing that went down was that tear, and it slid onto Ted's neck just after cooling enough to be noticeable...

"Dude, are you crying?"

"No!" Barney knew he had answered too quickly and too firmly, but he couldn't take it back now. He'd just have to trust that Ted would respect their friendship and save face for him.

"You are totally crying." Ted pulled back to look at Barney's face.

Dammit! "Am not..." But it was pointless.

"Look, if it means that much to you, I'll talk to Marshall, but I doubt it will do any good."

"You can't tell him I put you up to it. And you can't tell him I was crying."

"You were crying."

"I was NOT crying." But it was pointless.

"I promise I won't tell him, okay?"

"How do I know you won't tell him?"

"Cause..." Ted got that shifty look he gets when he's trying to think up a story quick. "...you're my best friend?" He smiled the too-innocent smile.

"How do I know you won't tell him?" Barney repeated.

"I won't. I give you my word."

"Sorry, but I need something better than that."

"Like what?"

"I need dirt on you of equal value."

"Come on, Barney. I'm not about to start crying over nothing."

Barney was insulted, but he was also desperate. "Kiss me."

"What?" Ted's shock melted into humor. "Dude, for a second I thought you said 'kiss me.'"

"I did, and I won't say it again."

"Why the hell should I kiss you?"

"Why? I'll tell you why." Barney drew himself up to his full manly height. "Because no one gets in or out of this apartment until you give me insurance that you won't tell Marshall about what you saw here today," he said in a deep, threatening voice.

Just then, the front door opened and Robin came in, of all people.

"Hey, guys," Robin said. "Left my ring in the bathroom last night. Whatcha doing?"

"Nothing," the two men said together, and Barney noted that Ted looked at least as awkward as he felt.

Robin walked through to the bathroom and returned with her ring. Barney and Ted hadn't moved a muscle. She looked them over with mounting curiosity. Not curiosity about what it would be like to mount one of them, though there could have been some of that too, but mounting curiosity. That is, curiosity that was growing at a dangerous rate. Something had to be done.

"And the part where the storm trooper hits his helmet on the blast door," Barney improvised. "Classic."

Robin rolled her eyes. "How many times have you seen those movies, Barney?"

Ted, ever the epic wing man, followed Barney's lead. "Hey, those are good movies. And they give Barney something to think about besides picking up chicks."

Lamest line ever, but it seemed oddly to work.

"True," Robin conceded. She held up the ring she had forgotten the night before. "Well, found my ring. See you at Maclaren's later?"

"Yeah, sure," they responded.

When Robin closed the front door, Barney sprang across the room in a single bound and bolted the door. Then, composed, he turned back to Ted and repeated, "No one gets in or out of this apartment until you give me insurance that you won't tell Marshall about what you saw here today."

"Barney, I'm not going to kiss you."

"Why not? I mean, don't knock it till you try it—these lips are legendary."

"Sure, among the ladies..."

Barney sauntered back toward Ted, swinging his hips. "Yeah? So, you could notch a first in your belt, Mosby. The first male to experience... the Barnacle mouth."

Ted grimaced. "First, ew. Second, that's not a first I'd be proud of. Third, ew."

"But no one would ever know, right? Because I won't tell anyone if you don't tell anyone about... the other thing of which we shall not speak."

"You mean you crying?"

Barney closed the remaining distance between them and put a hand over Ted's mouth. "Hush." He pulled his hand away slowly and entwined Ted in his arms. "I'm breaking some of my own rules for you here, Teddy boy. You should be honored."

Ted's voice had gone up a little in pitch. "No, mostly creeped out right now."

"As my bro, I insist to be kissed. I need equal dirt to ensure your silence. That's the deal."

Ted's look of utter disgust suddenly turned to a blank expression. "Wait a sec. If we do this, will you give me a little feedback? Cause someone thinks I use too much tongue, and I totally think I use just enough."

Barney knew he had won. He smiled and pulled Ted closer. "Absolutely. I have taken it on myself to teach you how to live, my son. How to kiss should have been earlier in the curriculum, really. But if someone would read my blog more often..."

"Oh, shut up! If we're gonna do this, let's do it."

"Okay, but no eye contact. Double the taboo of a Devil's Threeway."

"Agreed."

So, the best friends avoided eye contact as they moved in. The initial attempt lasted a mere moment.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa, bro," Barney said, making articulate little hand gestures for emphasis. "You are totally 'too much tongue guy.'"

Ted looked indignant, but Barney knew he wanted to learn. "Seriously? I was just getting started..."

"Exactly! You gotta lead in slow..." Barney brushed his lips against Ted's. "Give a little suggestion..." He slipped his tongue out to touch Ted's lip on the L in "little."

Like magic, Ted's lips parted slowly.

My god boy, you're a natural beta, Barney thought proudly. Wait. What the hell. I'm supposed to be teaching him to dominate. Meh, po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

"Then you go in and claim your territory..." Barney gently probed Ted's mouth, very subtly gaining more and more ground with each swipe.

Ted was melting. Barney could feel his friend's hands creeping up the back of his neck as the kiss deepened. Heavy breathing was becoming smothered gasps and tiny moans.

Barney pulled back slowly, giving Ted's mouth one last tiny flick of his tongue as they parted. He waited a few seconds before he let his eyes come back up to meet Ted's.

"Holy crap, Barney."

Involuntarily, Barney began a saucy half-smile at one corner of his mouth. Oh yeah, daddy's got it on BOTH sides of the fence! He nodded. "And that's how it's done. Now you know why the ladies can't stay away."

"I... I..." Ted stuttered. "I enjoyed that way too much."

Barney patted Ted's back. "Don't be ashamed, kid. Be proud. Many a man has wanted a piece of this for many a year, but you... are the first."

"I don't even know how to respond to that."

"Don't try." Barney put a finger to Ted's lips and backed away. "I've got the dirt I need; now you can talk to Marshall."

"Okay..." Ted frowned. "But you can't tell anyone about this, because it's equal dirt on you, too. I mean, you did three-quarters of the kissing there. How is this insurance for you?"

Barney froze. "Dammit! Why didn't I think of that? No, you know what? You'd be way more embarrassed about this than I would. It's good enough for me." He unbolted the door. "I'm gone. I was never here..." He opened the door to see none other than Marshall approaching.

"Oh, hey, Barney," said Marshall. "What're you doing here?"

Fighting a severe twitch in his eye, Barney skirted around Marshall, giving him as wide a berth as possible. "I was never here, I was never here," he chanted.

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So, what happened next? Please, I can't be expected to write more than 3,000 words in a day! I'll get carpal tunnel. Besides, you need time to recover from this mind-blowing introduction. Yes, kids, your dad kissed a guy! No, your dad was kissed BY a guy. Me. Barnabus Stinson. Oh, yeah, Uncle Barney's still got it on both sides and on the other side! What up?! (Go for it, kid. You know you want to.)

I highly recommend that you don't read this whole book in one shot. You're gonna wanna make this last. So take a break and suit up! Daddy's home.

Well, what do you think? Should I keep writing? Have to say, this was fun to write, and I have a lot more ideas where that came from.