Title: Experiment 1753 : What Normal Humans Do for Fun
Fandom: Sherlock
Author(s): Cumberbatch Critter AND ScribeofRED
John listlessly scanned the back of Mean Girls, catching perhaps every seventh word. There was no way this would offer enough mental stimulation to engage Sherlock's voracious mind.
Not that a movie night with Sherlock was something he imagined he'd find himself doing. Movie-watching wasn't exactly Sherlock's forte and what they were watching—romance movies—seemed like a good way to get Sherlock in a strop within ten minutes. It was for a case—a murder had been staged from a scene in a new romantic movie—and now Sherlock (and by design, John) had to figure out which movie... by process of elimination.
Great way to have a night-in with his flatmate. Wonderful. He was excited beyond belief.
It was going to be a horrible night.
"I don't see why you can't watch the movie for me and then let me know what happens—" Sherlock paused; then leaned over John's shoulder. "What are you doing?"
"Reading summaries, Sherlock," John replied without looking up. He could practically hear the scowl on Sherlock's face through each disdainfully spoken word. "It's how most people determine which movie they want to watch." But then, you're not most people, are you?
He put the plastic case back onto the shelf. "And no, I won't watch the movie for you—you always complain I never recount the correct facts, so watching it together will save us both time."
Sherlock huffed. "You do realise the implications that are going to come of our 'night-in', as you so put it. We're watching romance movies. If Mrs Hudson comes up, I have no doubt the rumours are going to follow us around for weeks." He reached for another movie case—hesitantly, John noticed, as though the movie might bite him or infect him with its romantic sentimentality.
"You and I are the only ones who know the truth about our relationship, Sherlock," he retorted with a bit more snap to his voice than he intended—they were in public! "If you don't care what others think, I don't care."
Sherlock snickered as he put the DVD case back. "Anyway, it could be any of these movies. The woman said all she remembered was that it had 'heart' in the title. Hardly a clue when all romance movies have to do with the 'heart'."
John blinked at the case he was holding, realising that it didn't contain the necessary word. He returned it to the shelf. "Explain to me why you didn't Google this information? Normally you don't bother with legwork when your phone or laptop will suffice."
"Google what? I Googled some of it, but all of these screenshots came up from all these movies and then Lestrade called with another case, so I abandoned the task. You could have, though. Besides, this is your area, not mine. Why didn't /you/ Google it? There's one," he said, pointing.
"Because I was too busy chasing you across the ugly half of London," John said as he snatched the case. He glanced at it, taking a moment to admire the busty woman on the cover before passing it to Sherlock. Chances were he'd be able to deduce what they needed merely by holding it.
"Oh, don't act like you weren't enjoying it," Sherlock said coyly as he took the case.
John snorted. Of course he enjoyed it, torrential downpour notwithstanding, but that wasn't the point. "Besides, I thought you'd already solved—oh, there's another one." He picked up the ninth case so far with the word 'heart' in the title, handing it off to Sherlock. He didn't take it. "Sherlock?"
He looked up and realised that Sherlock had moved. He was focussed on something else: the fantasy section of DVDs. John sighed and straightened up. "Sherlock? Ohh, Lord of the Rings," he exclaimed, grabbing Fellowship off the shelf.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Remind me to move out of the way the next time you see a movie you like. What is that, anyway? The Lord of the Rings? Sounds stupid."
John scowled. "It's really good. Why haven't you seen them?" He grabbed the other two in the series. Extended editions, too—fantastic. Why didn't he own these already?
Sherlock sighed. "I take it we'll be adding this to our pile of movies to take home?"
John grinned. "Yes! And you're going to watch them."
"Doubt it." Sherlock flicked his gaze to the pile of DVDs that they had acquired. "I think we've probably got enough to keep us busy for the night. Or weekend," he muttered dryly. "I hope I get a case. A case better than watching romance movies. Did you bring cash?"
John sighed as he fished around inside his pocket until his fingers found his battered leather wallet. "Of course, because you never think to bring yours with you." Or you've already 'borrowed' mine and conveniently forgotten to give it back.
That had happened before, including one particularly embarrassing incident where John had stopped for a quick meal while Sherlock employed his knowledge of London's less known paths to track an international gangs of thieves. John's blood still simmered at the embarrassment of having to call Sherlock and demand he return to the restaurant so he could pay for his Vietnamese sub.
"Did you want to finish finding 'heart' films or come back if we don't have the one we need?" John asked as they made their way to the till.
"I brought my wallet," Sherlock said, patting his chest where the interior pocket apparently housed his wallet. "I'll pay for the cab since you don't like handling the charge. And we'll just come back if we don't find it. I'll know the scene immediately; apparently, the crime scene was a date setting built to be an exact replica of a certain date spot in one of these horrendous movies." He fell into line next to John. "With any luck, we'll be able to bypass the movies altogether by getting lucky on the first go."
"And then we'll be able to watch Lord of the Rings," John said enthusiastically. He didn't get a response and glanced up at Sherlock, who was focussed on the plain, young cashier checking out an elderly woman's movie, brows crinkled in the familiar pattern that meant he was in the middle of deducing someone... which meant Sherlock was bored again. "No," he snapped in an undertone, tugging on Sherlock's sleeve to ensure he earned his attention. "No deductions right now. We're paying for these movies and then we're leaving, without blurting out everyone's sordid love lives."
Sherlock's expression was too innocent. "What? I wasn't deducing anyone."
That was a lie, but Sherlock didn't say anything else, so John didn't press the topic.
The cashier handed the old woman her receipt and smiled as she shuffled towards the door, and then nodded them forward. She didn't comment on their unusual selection of movies, although John noticed her eyes dart to the clock twice between scanning the movies, before stiffening as the door buzzed a new patron through.
"Oh," Sherlock said suddenly, voice dripping that smug tone that had, in the past, preceded more than a few fists thrown his way, John's included. "You like gingers."
"Sherlock, don't," John warned, glancing over his shoulder long enough to determine the short, early twenty-something man with red hair curling wildly about his ears who had arrived wasn't a threat before turning to glare at his flatmate. "Now isn't the time."
Sherlock ignored him, looking between the red-headed male and the cashier, who stared up at the tall detective with wide eyes blotted almost colorless by the reflection of the fluorescent lights. "Or perhaps you like pilots. That's what he's planning to be, right? You wish to catch his attention so that he can whisk you away to the other side of the world, where you have a misguided delusion that you will live in perfect harmony and happiness with total disregard to the rest of the world and its happenings."
John drove his elbow in Sherlock' ribs as the cashier spluttered and blushed the colour of the supposed pilot-to-be's hair. Sherlock ignored the jab and bowled ahead.
"I wouldn't pin your hopes on him. He's bisexual and currently engaging in coitus with two other men, all three aware of the situation and revelling in their new threesome. But they are looking for a female participant, so, if that's your thing..." He trailed off cheerfully and flashed her a brief smile as he slipped his hands into his pockets.
This time, John did blush as Sherlock laid bare every ugly detail. "Yeah, that's enough," he muttered, handing over the cash for their rentals. He yanked Sherlock, who barely had time to grab their bag of DVDs, towards the door. The redhead gave Sherlock and then him a knowing leer that froze John's intended-on-behalf-of apology into a lump that burned like dry ice on his tongue. "Forget it," he snapped, shoving Sherlock through the door.
It was supposed to be a simple movie run.
"Why," he demanded, escaping into the cool, rain-scented evening air, "do you always have to keep going? Why can't you ever leave things alone?"
Sherlock glanced sideways at him. "The ginger pilot-to-be thinks we're going to go cuddle up under the blankets tonight, watch our movies, and be spurred on to have passionate sex until the break of day." He paused. "Actually, I think he would have been happy to join that scenario, to be honest."
John sighed heavily. "Thanks, yes, too much information, Sherlock," he muttered, anger giving way to muted irritation. Some people would never change, he decided, and Sherlock was Exhibit A. He derived far too much pleasure from exposing everyone's dirtiest secrets for the world to gawk at. And speaking of love and dirty secrets...
"Will you need to watch the films through or can you fast-forward them? You're just looking for a specific set, yeah?"
Sherlock licked his lips, hailing down a cab. "I think we can fast-forward through them. Well, parts of them, anyway. Once we find what we're looking for, we can go back and watch the whole movie front to finish. Less wasting time on rom-coms that way."
He slid into the cab and settled down, John following his lead.
"So, what else does a 'night-in' entail?" Sherlock asked, as they merged into traffic. "I did a search on my phone"—which he pulled out of his pocket and waved twice—"and it said to enjoy a proper 'lad's night-in', there needs to be movies with scantily clad women, several different kinds of junk food, and various types of alcohol, depending on your choice of companion." He looked at John, features unusually open. "Is that right?"
John chuckled, turning to face him. "You forgot the fast cars and explosions," he added. "But it depends on the lads involved. Alcohol is typical. Junk food is a must, not that you'd eat any of it, bird-like eater that you are, and scantily clad women are an added bonus, although I have no idea if you'd be into that sort of thing anyway. Besides, I want to watch LotR."
"'Lotrah?' Oh," Sherlock mused. "Acronym for Lord of the Rings. L-O-T-R. LotR. Couldn't you just say the name instead of coming up with idiotic-sounding acronyms?" He looked back at his phone, thumbs flying. "There," he said, after a moment. "I placed an order for an extra-large pizza from Angelo's. He'll have it ready in twenty minutes. Now, as for the scantily clad women... You enjoy that sort of thing and, given that some of these movies are rated R for sexuality and nudity, that should get you your fix for the night. Lord of the Rings has to come after the other movies. Case work first, jewellery lords later."
John gave the cabbie a wary glance, then remembered that they probably heard a hundred things a day they'd rather not, shrugged, and turned his attention back to Sherlock. "You do realise what you just said, don't you?"
Sherlock's head tilted a slight degree to the side. "What? What did I say that has trodden upon your level of embarrassment?" he asked. "Was it the comment about you getting off on the scantily clad women in the movies?"
John's eyes involuntarily jumped to the cabbie again, who gave no sign he'd heard anything, even though he probably had; they had mics in cabs these days, right? "Of course it was. I don't know how many times I've told you that there are some topics that should be discussed in private." Oh, that didn't have salacious undertones at all. Whatever. He couldn't change how people thought. "Not every single detail of everyone's lives—including my own—should be advertised to the general public, no matter how amusing you seem to find it."
That was part of the problem, though, wasn't it? Sherlock was bored, so he created his own amusement however he could, even if it came at the expense of his flatmate and friends' embarrassment. For the countless time since he'd met Sherlock, he wondered why he continued to accompany Sherlock in public.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Trust me. Both I and the cabbie have been privy to far more conversations about sex than you - or Mycroft on my account, for that matter—seem to think. Besides, the way you phrased that sentence made it seem like we talk about this sort of thing in private..."
He trailed off for a moment, tapping at his mobile again, before picking the conversation back up. "But I think I did read something about this. Guys, or women, depending on who's spending the night with whom, sit around and talk about sex." Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly. "I don't want to hear about that woman you were dating... the recent one who thought she was pregnant but didn't want to tell you? Did she ever tell you?" he asked, despite the fact that he had just said he didn't want to talk about her.
"No, she didn't," John said evenly. There was no point getting upset—he'd broken things off with Jenna when she'd let it slip she had another boyfriend. "But that explains why you never "deduced" her. I was wondering about that—you generally love showing off." He pursed his lips. "You know, I really should have seen that coming. Your silence says more than most people's speeches can accomplish."
A feat in and of itself, for Sherlock.
Sherlock smiled frankly and turned away. "I don't always ruin your date nights. You were quite keen on her," he said as the cab pulled up outside of Baker Street.
Sherlock handed over the cash even before the cabbie gave them the charge, told him to keep the change, and slipped out of the cab.
By the time that John had gotten out of the cab, grabbing the bag of movies Sherlock had left on the suspicious-smelling floor, Sherlock already had the door unlocked and was pulling off his scarf as he stepped foot in the entrance of 221. John followed him, and as he stepped into the flat, the delightful aroma of fresh scones tickled his nose. He inhaled deeply, mouth already watering. No one, not even Sherlock, could resist Mrs Hudson's scones.
"You get the movies cued up," he told Sherlock, slipping free of his coat and passing over the bag of movies. "I'll see if I can convince Mrs Hudson to part with a few of her scones." Of course she would; John figured they'd make the perfect appetiser before they delved into the real snacks. "I don't suppose it would be too much to ask for you to gather the rest of the food if I'm not up in two minutes?" he asked slowly.
Sherlock paused on the stairs, turning around with his gloves half off, brows furrowed. "What other kinds of food am I supposed to gather? We have pizza coming and you're getting scones... I'll put on some tea and coffee?" His eyes sought John's in a rare show of asking for approval.
John came to a full stop. "Tea and coffee?" he repeated, staring incredulously up the stairs. "Sherlock, this isn't a formal get-together." He softened his tone, reminding himself that Sherlock was genuinely confused. "We only get to splurge like this once in a while, so we need to make it count. There's soda in the fridge, next to the half-dissolved pancreas, bags of snack and nut mixes in the food cabinet, and several bags of crisps in my room, just inside the door." And Jelly Babies and fudge brownies and mint chocolate chip ice cream, which was in Mrs Hudson's freezer to prevent Sherlock from having eaten the entire container already, as it was thus far the only flavour John knew for certain that Sherlock liked.
He wondered if they had too much food for just the two of them, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. It would keep. More or less.
"Well, I don't know what we're supposed to 'splurge' on, do I?" Sherlock retorted. "I don't sit around and watch movies and stuff my face full of food that will rot my teeth out." He shoved his gloves in his pockets. "And why do you keep crisps in your room? I keep thinking we're out when I go to find them in the cabinet and they're not there!" He huffed and turned around, taking the last stairs two at a time.
"I only put them in my room because you eat them all otherwise!" John called up at the detective's retreating back.
He didn't receive a response and John sighed, turning for the door to 221A. With any luck, the night would be salvaged once the rom-coms were out of the way and he had some good junk food to distract himself.
This was originally a role play between ScribeofRED and I. She played John - who takes the POV for this adventure! - and I was our favourite consulting detective. This is Scribe's first time role-playing (and writing) John and both of us' firsts turning a role play into story-format. This will (most-likely) be a threeshot, so stay tuned!
I, nor ScribeofRED, own Sherlock. Thank you kindly for your favs/reviews/follows!