"Sherlock?"
"Hmm?"
"There is a Crocodile in the bathtub."
Sherlock looked up from the microscope to meet John's eyes below raised eyebrows, awaiting reply as he was standing at the doorstep. Sherlock frowned. "It's an Alligator, John."
John fought away the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay, an Alligator. Still in our bathtub."
Sherlock returned his eyes to the microscope. "It's an experiment," He said calmly.
John blinked. An experiment. John put up with many things while living with Sherlock; he often reminded himself that it was better than living with a mundane flatmate with whom the most exciting news would be that the ice-cream price became 2% more expensive. And yet sometimes John had to take a deep breath and count to ten before doing something he'd regret later.
"What experiment," He demanded, "Could possibly involve a real, alive Alligator?"
Sherlock looked up again, now impatient. "One to examine the connection between the quality of water and the animal's patterns of behaviour."
John paused for a moment, trying to process Sherlock's tone – like the answer was obvious. Then he shook his head. "I'm not even going to ask," He said, "But I would like to take a shower, so please, evacuate the damn thing from the toilet."
For the second time Sherlock's eyes were facing the microscope. "I never stop an experiment in process."
John couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stepped forward, reached his hand and grabbed the microscope, pulling it away despite the detective's protests. "I have put up with eyeballs in the microwave, a damn head in the fridge and you replacing the milk with liquid glue – which I almost drank – but when your experiments begin to interrupt my daily routine I will not just turn the other cheek. That Alligator, out, now."
Something shifted behind Sherlock's pale eyes. Unfortunately, it wasn't exactly what John hoped it would be. "Since you mentioned the fridge…"
"Oh no, we're not having that conversation again!"
"Why?"
"Because there's this thing called money, Sherlock, and right now we don't have too much of it. So we are going to use what we've got for basic, necessary things and not to buy new, unneeded fridges. Instead, you can stop putting in the fridge anything that doesn't belong there. Like glue."
"It was an experi –"
"On what?" John shouted in exasperation, lowering the hand holding the microscope, "How long it takes for me to die from glue consumption?"
Sherlock ignored the sarcasm in John's last comment. "You're not making any sense, John. You say you don't want to die of glue consumption, however you are refusing to purchase a new fridge."
"For God's sake – fine! Get the bloody fridge. But you are paying for it yourself." He rubbed his hand across his face. "Get the Alligator out of the toilet." He turned to leave.
"Interesting."
John stopped. He knew he'd regret turning on his heel. He did anyway. "Pardon?"
"Your reactions."
John frowned, and suddenly his eyes widened in realisation. "No. Do not examine me Sherlock; I am not another one of your experiments."
Sherlock explained. "I've been watching your patterns of behaviour in the past week in reaction to situations that would trigger your exasperation – like me constantly demanding a new fridge and animals in the bathtub. It is a Crocodile, by the way." John's jaw dropped, but Sherlock proceeded before he could throw the microscope at him, "The findings are quite interesting. Someone else would have had enough of me and left ages ago. I noticed that peculiar tendency of yours in the very first week of us living together. I needed to get to the bottom of the matter."
John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "And did you?"
"Not quite. I still haven't been able to decipher the reason behind you putting up with me."
John approached the table and faced Sherlock. Could he really not understand the reason? John sat down in front of him and placed the metal instrument on the table, catching Sherlock's baffled gaze.
"Sherlock, I am putting up with you because that is what you do when you care about someone."
Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. He blinked an opened his mouth to say something before closing it again. One moment later, John could swear Sherlock was blushing. He lowered his look. "You care about me?"
"Yes, Sherlock, of course I do. Surely you know that." John shot a man for him after knowing him for merely two days. It's been a year and a half. Even Sherlock would know what to make of that. John was far past the definition of flatmate. Sometimes, when Sherlock and he started giggling like a pair of twelve year olds over the smallest things or when they were risking their lives for each other, he wondered if they were past the definition of friends, too. "And when you care about someone, you make relinquishments in order to see them happy. So I keep my composure about everything you do because if I'm going to stick around, I need to accept you as you are. Including the bad things that might prevent me from dying of old age in my bed."
Sherlock looked up again. "That – uh, that's good. Good, yes. Thank you." He murmured hesitatingly, his eyes dancing around, trying to avoid John's. John's anger was replaced with mild amusement at the sight of his flatmate struggling with the human-relations territory.
"Oh, shut up, you nutter." John said and pushed the microscope toward Sherlock. "Your experiment ends today. Get that mini sized dinosaur in the toilet out of there sometime in the following hour and put it back where you found it." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "Where did you find it?"
"Mike Stamford's wife is a vet at the London Zoo." Sherlock replied, his voice neutral.
John nodded; that piece of information he knew. "Alright. Indian for dinner?"
"Yes, thank you." But as John turned to leave the kitchen he could feel Sherlock's piercing gaze drilling holes in his back, powered by the relentless mind.
He took it as a thank you.