Sherlock always said that, after you've eliminated the improbable, whatever remained had to be truth. Or something along those lines. Usually John's attention began to trail off when the conversation progressed, as it always did, to one of Sherlock's little lectures. He had far greater things on his mind, like kittens and whether or not he could teach one how to shoot. The thought of a kitten with a firearm filled him with warm, fuzzy feelings; the adorableness of it would be criminal.
That wasn't to say, of course, that Sherlock's lectures had passed completely over the army doctor's head, and as of late John had been doing a bit of deducing on his own. His experiments ran the gambit, tested every scenario. His notes, if you discounted the scribbling of kitties wielding guns he'd drawn in the margins, were pristine, and after several long weeks decided that the facts he'd uncovered about his roommate were undeniable.
He'd noticed it for the first time about a month prior. He'd been in the morgue, talking about the possibilities of kittens wielding guns with Molly Hooper. The fellow cat-lover had nodded, listening to him politely, then began to list all the reasons as to why a cat would never be able to wield a gun. John had been dismissing her argument about needing opposable thumbs in order to be able to fire a firearm when Sherlock, in his usually dramatic manner, came sweeping into the morgue.
Immediately, Molly's intelligent counterpoint was reduced to gibberish. She squawked a bit like a parrot before falling into unintelligible mummers. Sherlock ignored her and John, instead swooping down on some poor, helpless telescope and conducting some sort of experiment that involved a lot of squinting and "aha's!" The longer he stayed in the room, the more distressed Molly became, until at last, when John attempted to redirect the conversation to their initial debate, she retracted her earlier opinion and agreed full heartedly that kittens wielding guns would be simply adorable.
The next instance came a few days later at a crime scene. The serial killer Sherlock had been tracking had struck again, and they had been called down to investigate the scene by Detective Inspector Lestrade. Sherlock had sent John on first, and the doctor arrived at the scene a quarter of an hour later. He'd passed under the yellow tape, smiled politely at Sergeant Donovan, and went in search of Detective Lestrade.
It didn't take long to find the middle-aged man. He gave John a few facts, which both of them knew would mean nothing once Sherlock arrived on the scene, then they fell into a hearty discussion on how a gun could be modified so that a kitten would not need opposable thumbs in order to operate it. Detective Lestrade brought up the excellent point that the kitten would need a different way to aim the gun as well, and the two stood there tossing around ideas about how to mix a scope with meow mix.
Sherlock entered in his ostentatious manner, this time choosing to come parachuting in from a helicopter. He rolled expertly as he hit the pavement, rising to his feet with a cat like grace, and making a nasty quip at Donovan, which literally sent the sergeant into a frothing rage. Several horse tranquilizers later, and the woman was subdued enough for Sherlock to pass into the house and investigate the murder scene.
Again, the change was evident. Detective Lestrade lost the ability to function rationally. He removed his shoe and threw it in a trash bin before securing a rubber glove to his foot and proclaiming himself Princess Anastasia of the Cheese Continent. John would have been completely okay with this, as long as it was decreed on the Cheese Continent that kittens were able to carry firearms. Just as Princess Anast…I mean Detective Inspector Lestrade was about to make the verdict, Sherlock came paragliding down the stairs, his coat flowing magnificently out behind him in a truly captivating manner, and tugged John out the door.
It was around that time he got the idea for his experiment. John began keeping track of how people began to act around Sherlock. Intelligent people were reduced to blubbering idiots, and blubbering idiots reduced to flailing flocks of girls whose speech consisted only of "MY FEELINGS." It was a phenomenon that intrigued John, and so he put his kitten with guns idea on the back burner and focused solely on his research.
Rising from his desk chair, he turned to confront Sherlock with his findings.
"Sherlock!" he cried triumphantly.
"Watson," Sherlock replied.
"I've made a deducted something about you."
"Oh?" Sherlock raised a brow and twisted on the couch to face his friend. "Do tell."
"I've noticed that whenever you come into contact with someone, they seem to freeze up," John began.
"Yes, they do seem to do that," Sherlock sat up. "And what have you deduced from this?"
"Well, I deduced that maybe it is not the fact that their own insecurities begin to bubble up around someone as intelligent as you which causes them to question their self-worth, but rather something different altogether."
Sherlock remained silent, but an intrigued look passed over his features. John felt himself grinning like a fool.
"I believe…that you legitimately suck the smartness out of people!"
"John," Sherlock breathed.
"Yes?" John felt his excitement bubble over.
"You're an idiot."
WELL THAT WAS MY 2:30 A.M. NONSENSE. I hope you all enjoyed the randomness.