Summary:

In which Sherlock is bored and John makes him have a bath, Sherlock grugingly obliges until he finds a spider in the bathtub. When Sherlock eventually gets in and John has to talk to him...The conversation slightly gets a bit out of hand.

A Study in Spiders

"John." Came the insurrerable wail for about the 100th time that day, John sighed and continued to atleast try and read his book.

Sherlock had been bored for about three hours now, so far he had not yet shot a wall, yet he had thrown the Flat's fire extingisher across the room and about three minutes later had set the curtains on fire by "accident". How he managed it, John still has no clue.

There hadn't been a case in two days, yesterday at least, they were out most of the day grocery shopping, at the bank and running errons. John had made sure Sherlock come with him, no matter how much of an embarrasment he may have been, otherwise he was sure he'd come back to find the flat either blown up or missing.

Today unfortuently, he hadn't been lucky in distracting Sherlock Holmes, and now he was wailing like a cat begging for it's dinner, somewhere in the flat.

"John." It came again, this time closer. His hands tightened their grip on the book and he tried his best to ignore anything around him. This proved difficult.
As about five seconds later a spoon was flung into his head, John dropped the book and clutched at his now sore head and turned to face a sheepish looking Sherlock in the usual black suit pants, bare-foot, and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows.

"What the hell was that for?"
"Experiment." Was all that was replied, Sherlock's eye's narrowed as if he were taking in data.
"What kind of bloody experiment involves you throwing a metal spoon at my head?" John exasperated before forwning at his book now upturned on the floor.

"The kind of experiment that checks wether or not you're in a coma."
"Why would I be in a coma?"
"You weren't responding."

John slowly turned his head to look him dead in the eye with fury, a small, sly smile was returned as Sherlock proceeded to dart out of the room again and into the kitchen.

"Sherlock!" He tried, standing now, trying to see what the hell he was doing now.

"Yes John?"
"Before you start a cutlery war-" John was then interupted by a fork sailing past his ear and sticking into the wall behind him.
"I missed." Sherlock frowned.
"...Sherlock." John whispered.
"Hm?"

He knew he had to be quick, otherwise he'd loose whatever tame he had on the bloody wild animal, "Why don't, you take a bath...and relax?"

Sherlock stopped whatever he was doing, now holding a knife in his right hand, his expression turned to that of thoughtful.
"Why would I take a bath?" Sounded his eventual response.

"Because they're relaxing, and you need a wash."
"I had a shower this morning John."
"Too bad."

Sherlock's brow had now furrowed, his lips slightly parted, he blinked a few times before replying, "You're likening me to a dog."
"That's a good deduction." He nodded, wary of coming closer, yet needing to block an escape.

"Why can't I just shoot the wall instead?" The whining began again.
"Because Mrs Hudson won't like it, and I don't like it either." He took one step closer and instantly Sherlock's eye's narrowed further.

"I don't want a bath." God, he sounded like a stubborn six year old.
"That's too bad, you're having one. It'll relax you."
"But they're boring John." He cried, ditching the knife at the ground, it stuck out.

John took this distraction to move closer and brought his arms out slightly, "Before you break anything else, go into the bathroom."

Sherlock looked back up and frowned, "No."
"Sherlock, go to the bloody bathroom."
"...No."
"Now."
"No!"

At this moment, Mrs Hudson decided to walk in. "Hoo, hoo." She knocked.
"Shut upppp." Sherlock groaned, looking at the ceiling.
"Oh dear, is he quite alright?" She asked, stepping in beside John.
"He's never alright." He murmured.
"Yes, well..." A worried look appeared on her features as he started muttering to himself and stepping here and there aimlessly.
"Sherlock." John tried again.
No response, although his movements seemed to appear more aggrivated and restless.

"I'll leave you to it." Mrs Hudson said before escaping, John sighed.
"Sherlock, just go take a bath and after we can go out and do something if you want."
"I'm not a dog."
"Yeah, ha, I don't care." His voice turned commanding. "Sherlock Holmes, get your ass in that bath right now."
The expression on Sherlock's face was priceless to John, he could have laughed if he wasn't so pissed off. Slowly, Sherlock edged his way to the side and around John, down the hallway and into the bathroom.

"Do you need help?" He called after him, amusement now in his voice.
"No." A grumbled reply came back.
Taking a breath, John picked up his book, found his page, and sat back down, comfy.

It was a mere minute later that the infurtile voice broke his comfortable silence once again, "Jawn!"
"What?!"
"JAWN!"
"What? What Sherlock?" John yelled back, standing up.
"JAAAAWWWWNNN!" His loud, hollering wail was that of a terrified child.

He started to head to the bathroom's closed door, "What the hell is it?"
John opened the door to find Sherlock, long limbs and all, in a crouched mess on the sink, pressing as far away from the bath tub as possibly, an expression of pure terror.

It was cute, funny and alarming at the same time. John didn't know how to react so he frowned. "What's the problem?"

Sherlock's eye's glared at a certain spot in the bath, blazing with fear and hatred. John's frown deepened and he turned to look in the white bath, there, on the far side of the bathtub was a little Daddy Long Leg's.

"It's...Its a spider Sherlock."

A small whimper followed his comment.
John tried his best not to laugh, "It's a Daddy Long Legs, it's hardly going to hurt you, it's tiny."

A grunt replied him.
"You could have just thrown some water on it, it'd fall down the drain."

Sherlock furiously shook his head and pressed even furhter against the wall. John sighed, grinning all the while, grabbed small cup and toilet paper, bent down and slipped the spider into the cup before turning and showing Sherlock, who let out a low rumble.

John could have fallen on the ground in laughter, was Sherlock growling?

"Look, Sherlock. It's a tiny, harmless spider. It's not going to hurt you in any way shape or form."
John held it closer and Sherlock instantly scrambled further away, backwards and to the side, a low wail/whimper emitting from his closed lips.

"Right, you, of all people, have Aracnaphobia. Yet you're not scared of anything else." John tried his best to steady in voice, but it kept wobbling with giggles.

Sherlock's head turned to the side a little, his eyes fixated on the cup which held the spindly little creature.

John sighed and walked out of the bathroom, down the flat stairs before letting the spider outside, closing the door and heading back upstairs and back to the bathroom to find Sherlock with two can's of Mortine and excessivly spraying the whole bloody bathroom. The smell was horrendous, John didn't even bother complaining he just ran back into the living room to get away from the fumes.

Twenty minutes later Sherlock reappeared with two empty cans of Mortine, he opened the window latch and threw them out.
"Sherlock!"
"What?"
"We have a bin!"
"Do we?"
"Yes!"
"Hm, sounds rather dull."

John glared hard at Sherlock, "Get in the bath."
"Can't, I'm waiting for it to air out."
"And who's fault is that?"
"The spider."

Sherlock threw a sheepish look at John before disappearing into the kitchen for a glass of water.

A half hour later, when Sherlock was sure there were no spiders and no fumes, he decided to then have a bath. We walked out to John.

"John."
"Hm?"
"I'll be bored in the bath."
"So?"
"I want company."

John paused, lowering his book, "What?"
"I want company, where two friends chat to one another. Isn't that what you do?"
"No, you have the wrong idea. You'll be in a bath, naked. I'm not going to "chat" to you just because you're bored in there."

"That's what you did with Sarah."

A long, loud sigh came from John as he rubbed his forehead, "Sherlock, just go have a bath."
"But I'll be bored and lonely."
"Go to your mind palace and have fun there."
"I might drown."
"Yeah, that's what I'll make it look like."

Sherlock frowned at John, "What if you sat outside the door and talked to me."
"Sherlock...I have better things to do than sit outside a door and chat to you while you have a bath."
"No...You clearly don't."
"Excuse me?"
"You've finished that book, you've been trying to savour it for the whole day because you'd know I'd be bored, and you'd have nothing else to do because I broke the T.V. a week ago yet you can't get it fixed without Mrs Hudson finding out. While you're also bored you can't be bothered doing anything, yet you don't wish to sleep because you want to be tired by tonight to sleep through my excessive violin playing, most likely. So, by talking to me, that's a "win-win".

"I hate you." John replied simply, getting up and picking up a wooden chair, following Sherlock down the hallway.
"Of course."

Sherlock entered the bathroom and shut the door, allowing John to sit outside it and curse his entire life as the water started to run.

A few moments later the water is turned off.

The conversation begins, with the occasional splash of water.

"Hi John."
"Hi Sherlock."
"What do you usually talk about in these situations?"
"How would I know?!"
"You and Sarah seemed to know..."
"That was ages ago, Sherlock, Bloody hell."

He supposed Sherlock was shrugging his shoulders, "Oh well. Start up a conversation. I'm getting bored."
John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't bloody know, how's your love life?"
"My love life?"
"Yes."
"You have a range of practically billions of questions and you choose that."
"Yes."
"John, I don't have a love life."
"Why is that?"
"Were you listening to me in the restaraunt on our first case together?"
"Yes, but then again, you weren't listening correctly either."
"Oh?"
"You thought I was asking you out."
"Well you should have said your words differently."
"Oh, so its my fault?"
"Very."

John rolled his eyes, "Well, have you had any different feelings to going out with someone, having a relationship?"
"I go out with you all the time John, we have a relationship."
"Yeah, that's really not what I meant."
"Ah, you meant sexual terms, yes?"
"Well, more or less."
"You should know I'm asexual, in fact, I thought you knew this by now."
"Yeah, because I would know..."

"Hradly my fault you weren't listening."
"When?"
"I don't know, a few day's ago."
"That really helps..."
"Sarcasm?"
"Yeah."
"Right."
"How could you be asexual, when you've never tried it before?"
"I don't enjoy the thought of it, plus, I have no need for it if I have no need for a relationship with a woman."
"Or a man."
"Or a man." He replied, agreeing.

"Yes but dont you ever...I mean you were a teenager once, you never had..."
"John, if you're implying what I thinkyou're implying, I suggest you stop, it's clearly making you uncomfortable."
"Thanks, lets change the subject."

There was a long moment of silence, and then.

"How's your love life?"

"Oh for gods sakes." With that, John took hold of his chair and walked off.

"John."

"John."

"John?"

"Jawn?"

Are you dead? - SH

Yes. - JW

Well that's hardly believable - SH

Don't care - JW

I'm bored. - SH

Clearly. - JW

You left me - SH

I did. - JW

I feel lonely. - SH

Good for you - JW

I'm coming out - SH

Please don't -JW

Little too late for that - SH

John sighed and pocketed his phone upon hearing the bathroom door open and the patter of bare, wet feet.

Sherlock appeared next to him, towel wrapped around his nude body and dark hair a soaked mess.

"John."
"Yeah?"
"I'm tired."

For once, John smiled genuinly. "Then go to bed."

Of course, Sherlock had to ruin it.

"I'll be lonely...Join me."
"No."