1. Busy day at the clinic. John sighed as he shut the door of the flat behind him. All he wanted to do was watch a few shows of crap telly and fall asleep. But apparently that was not to be.

He took one step into the main area of the flat and froze. Then he shut his eyes.

"Sherlock," he hissed, "Why are there snakes all over the floor?"

Sherlock, who was sitting cross-legged on the couch with violin in hand, whipped out his phone and sent a quick text.

John's phone buzzed. He pulled it out and read it.

Experiment. Wanted to see if snakes are "charmed" by instruments other than flute. Seems successful. -SH

It seemed to also be a day that Sherlock communicated through technology only.

John looked toward the ceiling, but it offered no sympathy so he gave a long-suffering sigh and decided to take his chances. Picking his way around the masses of wriggling scales, he received one more text.

Also, you're room is full of tarantulas. They will be gone tomorrow. In the mean time, use my bed. -SH

John would have throttled Sherlock if the detective wasn't surrounded with poisonous reptiles. As it was, he muttered a few choice words and stomped upstairs.

2. John hurriedly leaped the stairs on his way to the kitchen. He had left his folder on the counter and he was going to be late for work if he didn't get it soon.

He located it, unharmed, and sighed a breathe of relief. Grabbing it, he turned to leave again-

-and found himself staring at a rather attractive man who was sipping tea. Both men froze, unsure how to deal with the other's presence, until Sherlock came downstairs and found them.

"Ah, er… John. You're back. I expected you to be at work." He said.

"Forgot my folder." John replied, keeping his eyes on the stranger.

Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes, well, this is Kyle. Kyle, this is my flatmate, John."

"Pleasure." Kyle awkwardly stuck out a hand to John, who ignored it and glared at Sherlock.

"And what is Kyle doing here, drinking out of my mug?" he asked, a bit angrily.

Sherlock motioned to Kyle to go upstairs, who took that as a means of escape and hurriedly disappeared from view.

"He wanted tea." Sherlock explained. "I told him where the kitchen was."

"I left less than ten minutes ago. How did he get here and make tea so quickly?" John asked.

Sherlock leveled his gaze at John. "He was here all night. We… were engaged in a rather private activity that quite frankly isn't any of your business."

John felt himself flush, though Sherlock looked unembarrassed. "Oh. Oh, er… right then. Good for you, I mean, that's… I hope you two, ah, well-"

"-Perhaps you should leave for work before you're late." Sherlock suggested, cutting him off. John closed his mouth with a snap, nodded, and left in a hurry.

As he walked to work, he marveled that he hadn't even known Sherlock was capable of a relationship, much less… well, THAT. He hoped Kyle was good for Sherlock, but he felt a strong dislike for the man and didn't know why.

3. John stormed upstairs, intent on finding Sherlock and making him pay. When he had come home from work, he had been greeted with a smashed petri dish and millions of ants crowded around the kitchen. He knew he was going to have to clean that up.

He rapped on Sherlock's door. No answer. Grumbling, he flung open the door.

Sherlock was sleeping, which in itself was a marvel, but what John nearly fainted at was the fact that he was curled into Kyle's embrace. Both men were wrapped in the sheets of Sherlock's bed, and Sherlock was sleeping soundly. Kyle, presumably awakened by John's knocking, put a finger to his lips and pulled Sherlock a bit tighter to him. John gaped, then composed himself and muttered a quiet apology, closing the door with a soft click behind him.

So Kyle was still in the picture. John figured it had been at least two weeks since he had first met him. Sherlock must really like him. He hadn't been acting any differently lately, still the same insufferable, arrogant, and amazing detective he always was. John sat on the couch, ignoring the ants in the other room for the moment.

He sat, thinking, for a few minutes, before fetching his laptop and checking his blog. He couldn't stand to think of Sherlock and Kyle anymore.

4. This time, when John got home, he was greeted with a bullet zipping past his head. He yelled, ducked, and cursed a few times before straightening to see a tear-stained Sherlock holding a gun and looking apologetic.

"Sorry." The taller man mumbled. "Thought you were Kyle."

"You want to kill Kyle?" John asked when the adrenaline slowed down, though he probably should have asked, "Kyle has a key to our flat?"

Sherlock stared at John for a second, then dropped the gun and moved over to the couch, lying down and putting his hands in prayer position. John counted six nicotine patches adorning his arms.

"Sherlock, did something happen between you two?" John asked sympathetically, coming to kneel down beside the man.

Sherlock sniffed. "I simply realized that Kyle was much too ordinary for my tastes, and when I told him so, he accused me of loving another and said he didn't care if he was ordinary, he wanted to be with me. Then I told him to leave, and he wouldn't, so I threatened him with a gun and he left. Then you came home and I nearly shot you. I'm sorry."

John was dancing with glee inside when Sherlock finished, but compressed his feelings and laid a hand on Sherlock's cheek. "It's okay, we all have psychotic exes. I'll be here to stop him from getting near you if you'd like."

Sherlock leaned into his touch. "Thank you, John, but I don't believe that will be necessary. Mycroft has undoubtedly arranged for him to be hit with a bus or placed in the witness protection program or something equally likely to remove him from my life." He stated.

"Alright. Would you like a cup of tea?" John offered. Sherlock nodded. "Okay. I'll go make one."

John realized as he was pouring the tea that he was probably going to have to take care of an emotionally detached Sherlock for the next couple of days.

"Damn."

5. "John! You're home! Finally!" Sherlock called as John opened the door. "Can I have my gun back now?"

John shook his head. The gun, safe in his coat, was to be kept from Sherlock at all cost to ensure the walls were left alone.

Sherlock sighed heavily. "I'm BORED, John, so BORED. There aren't any cases and we're stocked with milk so I couldn't go buy any."

John hung up his jacket. "Just tell me the flat is still in one piece."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Then he thought, and his face changed to resemble that of a child that knows he's done something bad but isn't willing to admit it. "Er, the FLAT is alright, however, I MAY have done an experiment on your laptop…"

John groaned and rushed to find his laptop. Sure enough, it was in a smoldering heap on the table.

"Sherlock!" he growled, "You're buying me another one!"

Sherlock nodded. "Already called Mycroft. The replacement should be here tomorrow."

John gave his poor laptop one more despairing glance, then steeled himself and turned away.

+1. John re-locked the front door behind him and walked up the stairs to the flat. Hanging up his coat on the rack, he took a step forward to be met with Sherlock's hands on his shoulders.

"John." Sherlock said, staring intensely at the shorter man with his grey-blue eyes. "I want you to stop me if you're uncomfortable with this."

"With wh-" John started to question, before his brain short-circuited when Sherlock pulled him flush against him and kissed him full on the mouth.

For a minute, John was too shocked to do anything but stand there and let Sherlock kiss him, but then he closed his eyes and kissed back as hard as he could.

Sherlock grinned against John's mouth and snaked his hands under John's shirt and around his torso. His cool hands felt good on John's skin, and he shuddered.

Sherlock moved on to suck on John's neck, laying kisses all around the skin, and John opened his eyes.

"Sherlock… why?" He managed to get out.

Sherlock kissed him once more before saying, "You're not ordinary."