Don't Blink [1/3?]
A/N: This is written to fill an anonymous request I got over on my tumblr. There are three accompanying gif-sets for the request, which are basically brief summaries of each part of this story. I'll provide a link for each over on my profile. Also, I'm sure it goes without saying, but I don't own any of these characters. Obviously. That unique privilege belongs to Steven Moffat, and I am not him. So! With all that said, Anon, I hope this satisfies the request.
"Don't blink. Blink and you're dead. Don't turn your back. Don't look away. And don't blink. Good luck."
Footsteps on the stairs – John then, returning with the shopping. You entertain the idea of shutting the laptop and feigning innocence, but it wouldn't do any good. He would know. You rewind the clip.
"-you're dead. Don't turn your back. Don't look away. And don't blink. Good luck."
He's in the doorway now, hands full with heavy bags. You can see him out of the corner of your eye as you rewind yet again. He's watching you with that small frown of his – the one that makes you want to cringe, like you've been caught doing something you know you're not supposed to. You don't let it show. And you don't look up.
"Sherlock?"
You hum a vague response, pretending to be completely engrossed in the dark-haired man on the laptop screen, even when all your attention has been diverted to the jumper-wearing, milk-toting man who's huffing a long-suffering sigh and dumping the shopping on the kitchen table.
"Is that my computer?"
He's by your side before you can respond, slamming the laptop shut with stiff limbs, cutting off the last bit of "-good luck" and carrying it away from you, out of your reach. Only then do you look up, feigning wide-eyed surprise when you're really anything but.
"Right, okay," he's saying, running a hand through his cropped hair. He's stressed – you could easily deduce why (traffic on the way home, got a call from his sister, a million other possibilities) but right now you're too busy waiting for him to continue.
He meets your eyes, and for a moment he looks faintly regretful before he plows on. "I've had about enough of your ridiculous obsession with this," he says, gesturing to where he dumped the laptop on his chair. "If you want to watch those DVD extras over and over again, do so on your own computer."
A frightful silence stretches between the two of you. He looks down and away, letting out a long breath of air. You remain sitting, staring up at him with what you hope is coming off as cool indifference.
"You have a problem with it," you eventually say – not a question, but you're curious. John's reaction to the video is overblown and you both know it – he's never really bothered paying too much attention to what you do, so long as you're not hurting yourself or anyone around you. Most of the time he likely wouldn't understand it anyway. He simply assumes it's part of your work. He's never reacted negatively to something without just cause, and right now you can't quite figure out what pushed him over the edge.
He continues avoiding eye contact, and it takes him a minute to respond. "Because, Sherlock," he says your name with exasperation, like it should be obvious to you why he's so upset. "You've been sitting in front of that same video clip for nearly a week and it's not for a case or you would have mentioned something by now. Besides, you never asked to use my computer."
His argument weakens at the end, and he ducks his head and presses his lips together. You very nearly huff a laugh, but you don't for fear of adding more fuel to the fire. Instead, you clasp your hands under your chin and adopt the emotionless mask you'd managed to perfect well before adolescence.
"John," you reason. "You're right."
That throws him off. He looks up again, opens his mouth like he has more to say. His brow furrows in confusion.
"I should have asked," you finish lightly and rise to your feet. You're about to start for the stairs – perhaps Lestrade has a new case for you down at the Yard, otherwise you'll find something else to do for a few hours – but he moves in your way, arms crossed over his chest.
You're glad he stops you.
"No, Sherlock, wait. Why are you so…obsessed with this? What's it got to do with anything? From what I've seen of it, it's just some man holding one side of a conversation."
"Precisely, John."
A flicker of understanding begins to brighten his eyes. "So it's a puzzle to you, then? Figure out the other half?"
You give an elegant shrug. "That, or figure out who it's meant for. Those extras were never supposed to be included on those discs. There are seventeen in total, all completely unrelated. Those clips were put there for someone."
"And you've decided to take it upon yourself to figure it all out. Of course" he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. He turns, heads towards the kitchen. "Do you want tea, or are you still leaving?"
You could leave. Catch a cab to the Yard. The DVD will still be there when you get back, along with the dark-haired, unnamed man.
"I'll have a cup."