Hand In Fridge

John let out a relieved sigh after finally returning to his and Sherlock's flat from a long day in the clinic. He had done some shopping on the way home, the usual, milk, tea, disinfectant... He frowned a little, noting that Sherlock wasn't in the sitting room where he usually would be, the consulting detective was probably out on another case.

He heard a 'thump' and the clatter of footsteps from upstairs. Okay, maybe he was in on another case. John cocked his head a little as he made his way into their kitchen with the groceries. Sherlock only ever kept important information tucked safely in his room, mostly need-to-know government secrets, compliments of Mycroft. Stuff John had no right to know about.

He swung the refridgerator door open carelessly. It had taken a while, but John had ingrained the importance of Sherlock telling John, or at least texting him, if there were to be any body parts in the fridge. But John had recieved no form of warning today. He whipped the door closed quickly with a hissed 'fuck!' He never could get used to Sherlock's 'surprises'.

He stood, stock still, forcing down bile. Then he sucked in a breath... "Sherlock!" he shouted, turning toward the stairs leading to the third floor. "There's a hand in the fridge! I believed you promised me a warn..." There was a flash of blue eyes, and World War 2 military uniform before John walked straight into it.

"What the...?" John's military training kicked in before his logistics, and he lashed out with his fist.

Surprisingly, the blow was caught deftly and avoided. "Woah there! Careful, tiger!" The stranger chuckled a little at John's fluster.

"John! What happened? Is everything alright?" Sherlock bounded into the scene a moment later to see John practically pulled up, flush, against the stranger. "What did I miss?"

John spluttered a little, finally realizing the compromising situation he was in as well as the pleasant aroma of, what John guessed to be, the man's aftershave. He stumbled back a few steps, grumbling a little under his breath and fighting down his embarrassment. "I believe that's my question, Sherlock!" he frowned. "Who is this?"

The stranger stepped forward, causing John to instinctively step backward to keep a safe distance between them. Unperturbed, the man just smiled and thrust out his hand to shake. "I'm Jack Harkness, and you would be...?"

John reached over and gave Jack's hand a wary, but just enough to be polite, shake. "John Watson." Then he pulled his hand away like he had been burned. Then he turned to Sherlock with an annoyed look. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. "I know! It's not like I forgot to warn you, actually, that is Jack's hand, not mine."

John looked carefully from Sherlock to Jack, and then back to Sherlock with an evaluating look. "Hand. In. Fridge." he enuciated the words slowly and clearly, just to annoy Sherlock. "No excuse, you text me at least!"

"Alright! Alright! I get it!" Sherlock groaned, throwing himself on their sofa. "I promise, happy?"

John rolled his eyes. "Ecstatic." he responded sarcastially. Then he looked around. No sign of used teacups. He turned to Jack. "I suppose Sherlock hasn't offered you tea, then?" Jack smiled sheepishly and John decided to go about his hosting duties the right way. "Would you like some?"

"I'd love tea, thanks." Jack smiled appreciatively. John nodded and shot Sherlock one last glance before disappearing into the kitchen again.

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock finally spoke. "John Watson is an army doctor... my assistant." he stated simply, stressing the possesive pronoun.

"Personal assistant, I can see it now." Jack smirked, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes.

"Flatmates, nothing more." John corrected, trundling into the sitting room with tea before retreating back for scones. Then there was a startled yelp and John was barreling back into the room, eyes widend with horror. "Sherlock, it moved!" he exclaimed. "The damned hand twitched, I swear!"

Jack patted John soothingly on the shoulder. "Yeah, sorry, it tends to do that sometimes." John levelled a look of subdued horror at him.

"I don't want to know, God no." he muttered quietly, preferring to go to Mrs. Hudson downstairs for scones.

Jack and Sherlock watched him go with slight amusement. "So," Jack prompted when they were alone in the flat. "how do you think he'd take the news that aliens actually exist?"

"John's surprised me with his adaptability in the past." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders amicably.

"Meaning... you don't know?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Meaning, he's sometimes unpredictable." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Jack, as if challenging him to pursue the subject.

"Sherlock Holmes, the man who could calmly psychoanalyze aliens, can't predict his own flatmate?" Jack crooned with glee.

"Oh, sod off! I'm thinking!"

John jumped slightly at the knock at the door. He looked to Mrs. Hudson, she was the landlady, after all. He knew it couldn't be Mycroft or Lestrade, neither knocked. The door was opened and a suited man with a boyish face appeared in the frame. "Hullo," he greeted the elderly lady kindly. "Is this the residence of Sherlock Holmes?" he questioned politely.

A Welsh, the man's thick accent indicated. An American and a Welsh meeting Sherlock on the one day the detective decides to go poking around in his mostly forgotton, top secret data? John frowned a little. This was all too much to be coincidence. He stood up and approached the man. "Hi, sorry, Sherlock's in a meeting right now..."

A look of understanding washed across the baby-faced man. "Oh, Jack's here, I suppose?" John blinked.

"Erm, yeah." he admitted.

The man smiled. "It's all right and good, then, I was actually looking for Jack. Thought he might drop by an old friend's house."

John motioned him to follow him upstairs to his and Sherlock's shared flat. "Where's my manners, what's your name?" he queried.

"Jones," the man replied. "Ianto Jones."

John smiled at him politely. "John Watson." They reached the landing leading to their flat. "Sorry, have you met Sherlock before?" Just a question.

Ianto looked a bit wary when he responded. "Uh, no. Is there something I should know about him?"

John grimaced. "Just a warning, don't be intimidated by him. He's observant." Ianto chuckled nervously.

"Well that's not in the least intimidating." he sighed cynically. John led him inside.

"Ianto! Just the man I wanted to see!" Jack's voice boomed out.

"Oh, you spend all morning hiding away and now you want to see me?" Ianto deadpanned, then he nodded at Sherlock. "Evening."

Sherlock just looked Ianto up and down once, gleaning all the information he could from the man's appearance. Then he sent Jack an accusing look. "At least I can boast about keeping my relationships professional." John dropped his head in his hands as Ianto, bless him, had the decency to flush and glance at Jack nervously like a trapped rabbit.

"Well can you blame me?" Jack grinned back raunchily. "He looks too good in a suit, and he wears it... everyday!"

Ianto collected his wits and reminded himself what he was here for. "I can remedy that, Jack. But, more importantly, you really can't continue abstaining from your work."

Jack pouted a little. "Yep, can't wait to get back!" he responded, sarcasm intended.

Ianto ignored it. "Cardiff, Hub, sometime today? We've got Rift activity that, literally, can't wait for tomorrow." Point made, he turned to leave. "Oh, and Jack? You know how much I dislike people taking things out of the archives without notice."

Jack's mouth opened in protest as he retrieved the horrific hand from the fridge before following Ianto out of the flat. "What...! This doesn't count as...!"

"It doesn't matter that you keep it in your office, Jack, but I've taken the liberty to enter it into the list of archives, so technically..." And their voices faded out.

John waited until after the two guests disappeared down the street in their SUV before turning to Sherlock. "So, what was that about?"

Sherlock levelled a perfectly sober look at him. "John, what are your thoughts on aliens?"

The End