A/N: Not slash. Friendship fic. Don't kill me. Enjoy!
John Watson was no stranger to abnormal, bordering-on-psychopathic-weirdness.
Not since sharing a flat with Sherlock, anyway.
So when he woke up at 9am one dreary day, walked into the bathroom and was confronted with:
A dead tarantula. In the bathtub. With a smiley face spray-painted on its carcass, leering at him.
John simply blinked, before turning to brush his teeth at the sink.
.1.
John Watson was no stranger to being bossed around in imperious tones.
Not since getting to know Sherlock, anyway.
So when Sherlock requested -no, demanded- that he cut his date with Laura short and come home:
"If you're quite done with that abhorrent bovine of a girlfriend, John, get my laptop for me, will you? It's on the other end of the sofa."
John simply sighed, excused himself, and left for Baker Street with a jumper drenched in wine.
.2.
John Watson was no stranger to chasing criminals down darkened alleyways.
Not since he started blindly following Sherlock, anyway.
So when the mime (who really wasn't a mime at all) sprinted off with the (priceless, unique, irreplaceable) painting:
Sherlock fired John's (not really legal) pistol to signal 'those imbeciles' of Scotland Yard, before dashing off in pursuit.
John simply exhaled, and wasted no time hesitating as he dove after his brilliant flatmate.
.3.
John Watson was no stranger to introducing and excusing a person at the same time.
Not since he realized what a bloody prat Sherlock was, anyway.
So when John brought his date home so they could take things up to his room:
"Karen, this is Sherlock. Sorry for any insults, snide comments, or otherwise unhelpfully precise deductions he'll make."
John simply recited, before tugging a gaping Karen by the hand away from the sprawled figure on the sofa.
.4.
John Watson was no stranger to immature, childish tantrums blown to a disproportionate, incendiary scale.
Not since he was faced with Sherlock when they lacked cases, anyway.
So when Sherlock decided to test the reactions of explosive chemicals combined out of boredom:
"Which do you think, John? Potassium and sodium? Or lithium?"
John simply frowned, and took away the detective's skull (for leverage) from the mantelpiece.
.5.
John Watson was no stranger to being regarded as someone with the intellectual capacity of a starfish.
Not since Sherlock and his brilliant, brilliant mind came into his life, anyway.
So when he posed a (reasonable) question and was given a look of incredulity at his woefully lacking intelligence:
"Of course it was the manager, John. Why, it's distressingly obvious - goodness, how you cope with such diminutive thought processes astounds me."
John simply nodded, watching with rapt fascination as the sleuth made amazing deduction after amazing deduction, with the occasional insult (to Scotland Yard, the victim's lawyer, Anderson, the solar system, Anderson, the manager, Anderson Anderson Anderson) thrown in.
.6.
John Watson was not used to getting sick. (For all that he was a doctor, and regularly came in contact with bacteria from his patients, he rarely ever got sick.)
He just didn't get sick often. Not since his army days, anyway.
So when he came down with a particularly bad bout of flu and he had just about sneezed his nose off and it felt like his head was being repeatedly bashed into a brick wall and there was a hollow ringing in his ears and every bone in his body ached and Sherlock had been out on a case all day, the inconsiderate arse:
"Tea, John?" Sherlock asked, materializing at his bedside, a steaming mug in hand.
John simply smiled, and took the cup from his (best) friend.
.1.