Hey! This came to me really randomly, after my friend and I read "What To Do When Your Flatmate Is Homocidal" on AO3, which makes a joke about Sherlock introducing John as "my John", as apparently "john" also means a prostitute's client. So... Headcanon time!

Sherlock is a prostitute, John is the unsuspecting innocent man, and Mike hoodwinks them both. There will be a plot, as John falls maybe a bit in love, and tries to help Sherlock out of the general mess he gets himself into. Molly is ditzy, Lestrade is dapper or gangsta or something, and I think Anderson has to go somewhere awkward... Meh. Please critique or whatever, I'm open to suggestions! xx

Mike had never intended to prank John. When he'd awoken in sweaty oblivion that morning, he had little knowledge that he'd even meet his old friend again, after such a long time, let alone trick him into anything. It was hard to tell that this man in front of him was even the same John Watson he'd done shots with the night before the big medical exam back in university- he looked tired, and was greying around the edges, despite being younger than Mike. However, overlooking all this, Mike was not the kind of man to pass up an oppurtunity for a bit of mischief when it sat down next to him and sighed heavily.

"Who would want to live with me?" John said sadly.

For a moment, Mike looked at him blankly, trying desperately to pin the faint sense of déjà vu on a real memory, before remembering, and, marvelling at his own nefarious wit. He smiled at first, until he couldn't resist and split into a grin, chuckling to himself.

John regarded him curiously, a sad twinkle in his eyes.

"That's funny," Mike grinned, and paused for a moment to savour the inquisition, before quenching it, "You're the second person to say that to me today."

He watched with a impassive expression as John's eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his pale, papery skin brightened a bit, little creases appearing either side of his mouth.

"Really?" he asked, and Mike pushed his glasses up his sweaty nose. "Who was the other one?"

The dark haired man blinked, pausing for a second, as if to consider if this was the right thing to do, before kicking questioning proverbially in the face and grabbing John by the hand. Who, indeed, he thought, as John jumped a bit at the sudden contact.

"A friend of mine. A... A detective," Mike spluttered. He'd picked the first job that came into his head, thinking of a Swedish drama his wife had been watching the night before. When he thought about it though, it would have been a good suit for the man he had in mind, had he not have held his current... profession.

"A detective?" John asked, unsure, but Mike, again, simply laughed, letting go of a tense John and throwing his empty coffee cup into the bin next to the bench before slapping his hands down on his lap and guffawing. John simply observed him, if not nervously, fiddling with his cane and wondering if he'd finally have something to put on his godforsaken blog.

"C'mon," Mike said, leaping to his feet in a way that was unnatural for someone of his build. "I'll take you now."

John paused. Was a man he'd not seen since medical school seriously suggesting that he knew the right man to become his flatmate? He was dubious, not only because of the quick escalation of events, but bacause Mike had once been quite the trickster, and when things were going this smoothly, John knew better than to syay within a mile radius of "Sly Stammy", lest he get caught up in a scheme of his.

Then again, John told himself, Mike was hardly the life and soul of the party any more, with his bald patch, spare tyre and stain on his tie that looked like baked bean juice, though it just as easily could have been tomato ketchup.

"Wait... What's the catch?"

Mike Stamford feigned hurt. "Catch? Johnny, I'm just trying to do an old timer a favour." He winked. "If I drive you, we might be able to catch him. He's checking out a flat to rent in Westminster at one, or so he told me, so I'm guessing we've got fifteen minutes of so to get over there, if you're up for it," he said, offering John a hand. John pretended not to see this, and used the cane to steady himself with his bad leg until he was stood up, straight backed, just like in the military, at which point he looked up at Mike. Mike raised one eyebrow at him. People had told Mike that John Watson was different now he'd returned from the war- trust issues, they said- but Mike knew better. John was still the good boy, naïve as ever.

"You'd drive me?" John asked, figuring he'd nothing to lose.

"Of course!" Mike smiled lopsidedly, and John returned it trustingly, "Anything for an old friend!"