No, I don't own Sherlock...but I'll get over it.

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When Dr. John Watson first met the…shall we say…eccentric Sherlock Holmes, he had expected living with him to contain a few oddities. But he simply hadn't expected touching to be one of them. It had been so quick and innocent at first that the poor laid-back doctor (in eyes of anyone BUT Sherlock) hadn't even noticed. But, eventually, John began to notice a difference.

"John…John…JOHN!" John's eyes flew open, only to be squeezed shut again at the sight of Sherlock's pale face less than an inch away from his own.

"Sherlock, don't do that! We've discussed this!" But by now the world's only consulting detective had tugged him into a sitting position and was babbling (although, according to Sherlock, he's merely speaking as fast as he can to keep up with his mind).

"There's been a murder, Lestrade just called. Apparently the killer has turned the body into a jigsaw puzzle, and we both know Scotland Yard couldn't solve a toddler's jigsaw, much less a puzzle of a body in the thick of a puzzling murder, daft idiots. Oh, this is wonderful! First piece has been found at the construction site on Braxton, but we have to hurry! Anderson's on duty, and who knows what he'll do to foul up the crime scene. Although I doubt it's the actual scene of the crime, and- hurry up, John, the game's afoot!" Sherlock began tugging impatiently at the hem of the doctor's shirt, as if deciding that John would be dressed much faster if Sherlock did it himself.

"Alright, Sherlock, alright," John said as he jerked himself out of Sherlock's grip, "I'll take a five minute shower and be out the door in fifteen minutes, tops!" Sherlock narrowed his eyes and shook his head, crawling across the bed to get to John again.

"Ten! Ten minutes! Alright? Ten?" John pleaded, already edging towards the bathroom. /Sherlock paused, cocking his head to one side, then went out the door and downstairs. John sighed with relief as he all but leapt into the shower. He was clean and dressed and downstairs with one minute to spare. Not that Sherlock appreciated it, no, he just sighed as if John had taken an hour and tugged him out the door. Sherlock hailed a cab and all but tossed the smaller man in before him.

"Braxton Avenue, as close to the construction site as you can get!" Sherlock proclaimed jubilantly to the cabbie. He was rewarded with a dull look- even by John's standards, which Sherlock claimed to be "far too forgiving"- but it went unnoticed by the lanky detective as he commenced pestering Lestrade via text. By this time Sherlock had shifted so his left leg was pressed against John's right, as he was apt to do when they were driving to a crime scene. Which was often. When they reached the construction zone, John paid the cabbie (per the usual) and rolled his eyes as Sherlock began tapping his foot impatiently the instant he left the cab. John felt an arm around his and just had time for another eye roll before Sherlock dragged him to the crime scene. Breaking through the small army of forensic specialists and ducking under the yellow tape. Sherlock all but squealed at the sight of Lestrade and Donovan bent over a solitary human foot in the center of the construction zone. Sherlock had waves of excitement rolling off of him. John was less than impressed.

"A foot? You woke me up for a foot? You made me get ready in 9 minutes for a foot? You chased me around my bedroom for a foot? You-"John stopped, suddenly aware of Donovan's smirk and Lestrade's- decidedly unmanly- giggling. Even Sherlock had a tiny little smirk on his face, and John didn't understand why- oh. John replayed his words in his head, what they might mean to someone who didn't have any context. Oh. Sherlock looked on with thinly concealed amusement as John began imitating the tomato he had tried to give a sunburn last week. Donovan's grin got wider the redder John got, and Sherlock was opening his mouth when John spoke up.

"So, a foot? Have you found the rest of the body?" At least now he's interested in the case, thought Sherlock. Lestrade's smile faded as he straightened up.

"No, and this wasn't where the victim was murdered, either."

"Obviously. Now, if you're quite finished being even more useless than your idiot sergeant-"Donovan's smirk dropped from her lips instantly, "-John? Do you mind?"

John nodded and made his way to over to the solitary foot, crouching down for a better view. As he checked the stump, he noticed something…odd. Every time someone got within a foot of Sherlock, the detective would subtly-no unconsciously, John decided- shift away. It was as if the man was stuck in his own small (albeit gangly) bubble. John shrugged and stood back up. Interesting. Within seconds, Sherlock was back hovering six inches or so from John's shoulder.

'I suppose that's just Sherlock' John surmised. He opened his mouth, directing his words to Sherlock, but loud enough so Lestrade could hear as well.

"The victim was dead when she was dismembered. Tissue indicates she was frozen first, then later dissected, but the tissue at the center tells me she was only frozen from maybe mid-afternoon or this morning, so she couldn't have been dead more than a couple of days. I'm not done yet," he warned Lestrade, who had begun to speak. John saw Sherlock snicker from the corner of his eye.

"You already know, thanks to us, that the victim is female. She is also a dedicated ballet dancer, which would put her in her early 20s." Sherlock finished before john could start again, "And now we're through here!" John felt and arm around his once more, but he was yanked off his feet before his eye roll even got halfway through. John stared intently at the mass of dark curls on the detective's head as Sherlock dodged effortlessly amid the uniformed mob, never coming into contact with anyone. John began to wonder why…

As Sherlock slid into the cab and once again molded his leg to John's, the doctor decided he would conduct his first ever human experiment. He gave a big yawn, simultaneously leaning so his hip, arm and shoulder also touched Sherlock. He mentally recorded his first set of data as Sherlock froze mid-text for a full two seconds, then started up again quicker than before. John smirked inwardly

This was going to be fun.

Reviews will motivate me to keep going! (Or tell me that I really, really need to stop writing crap)