It really wasn't John's choice to be running around London in the middle of the night. Actually, he had been reading and having a late night snack when Sherlock decided to strut into the room and declare that they had a case that immediately needed their attention.

"Sherlock, can't you see I'm busy?" John said around the biscuit he had just put into his mouth.

"Reading doesn't count as busy."

"That seems oddly out of character for you, Sher-"

"Well, not what you're reading," Sherlock snapped, rolling his eyes. "Obviously, I read things far more important than a science fiction novel written by some armature that has no idea what he's rambling on about."

"It's a good book," John said simply, turning a page. Sherlock watched him for a second before smacking the book out of his hands and leaning very close to him, hands on the arm rests of the chairs.

"Don't be a moron, I know you want to come with me – Hell, you know I know you want to come with me – so go get your gun, we'll most likely have a chase."

"I don't need my gun for a chase," John replied stubbornly. "You made me lose my place…"

"Come, John," Sherlock said, standing up and readjusting his shirt. "I can't assure you it will be life threatening, but it certainly will be interesting."

And, I mean, of course he was right. Maybe not in the way he thought he would be, but he was right.

The case was very interesting, it turned out. When they arrived, they were actually rushed right in without delay. The body was extremely fresh – she'd been alive maybe fifteen minutes before Lestrade had showed up.

"Who are the suspects?" John had asked Lestrade after a second of Sherlock checking over the body.

"John, please, don't ask irrelevant questions," Sherlock interrupted quickly before Lestrade could get a word in.

"It's hardly irrelevant, I-"

"John, come here, I need you to look at this." John rolled his eyes and moved forward, bending over the woman's body.

"Her neck is clearly broken," he said after a second. "Looks like she was shaken like a rag doll, there are no marks around her neck indicating strangulation – could it have been an accident?" John looked up to see Sherlock glaring at him. He pressed his lips together and said slowly, "They wouldn't have called you down if they thought it was an accident."

"No, John, they really wouldn't have," Sherlock said. "She had to have been with her husband at his work. He clearly works with large machinery." Sherlock stood up quickly, turning to Lestrade. "He should have a photograph on him."

"A photograph?" Lestrade asked skeptically. "One that will prove he killed her?"

"Yes, yes – look at her finger," Sherlock picked up her hand. Her pointer finger had noticeable callus and a slightly pinched look at the tip. "She's a photographer – at least in her free time – but she uses a rather old Polaroid camera that she usually keeps stringed around her neck." He moved her hair aside and indicated a faint marking on her neck, as if from a thin strap.

"Brilliant!" John exclaimed. "So, you're thinking she took a picture of the murderer?"

"She doesn't part from her camera – but she's parted from it. Her body was obviously moved to this couch-"

"The husband said he moved her body."

"He's a moron. If I didn't already know he's the one who killed her, than that would have given him away completely. He got rid of her camera, but he still has the picture – I assume he's here being questioned?"

"He- just left, actually," Lestrade answered.

Sherlock gave Lestrade a look before bolting out of the room. John gave a sigh.

"Come on, John!" came a shout. He shrugged at Lestrade and ran after him.

"You're not going to find him before the picture is destroyed!" Lestrade yelled after them.

But they did. Sherlock found him in the parking lot, working towards his car, almost there. He slammed into the door before the man opened it.

"Give me the photograph," Sherlock said simply, holding his hand out. The man gave him a panicked look and looked behind him as John caught up.

"What photograph?"

"Do you want me to search you for it?" Sherlock asked evenly. The man took another look at the two of them and bolted. Apparently, he was some sort of sport star, or something, because he was extremely fast. John gave a small groan when Sherlock sped off after him.

"Sherlock," he yelled after him, "the police are right there! We can just have them handle it!"

"No time!" came the reply as he sped around the corner. It was quite dark, but John wasn't far behind Sherlock. Sherlock sped up and John gave a huff and followed.

They sped around another corner, seeing the man come into view, but Sherlock ran straight into a young woman and they both tumbled to the ground rather harshly. Sherlock got up right away and bolted off, not giving her a second glance. John stopped right away.

"Oh, god," he helped her up carefully. She brushed herself off as he bent down at picked up her purse and handed it to her, all the while apologizing. "I am so sorry, ma'am! God, sorry, my friend – he's a moron, he's reckless, I'm sorry!" She gave him a smile and he said sorry again before following Sherlock, catching up just in time to see him being strangled by his own scarf.

"This again?" John asked, rushing forward and tackling the man to the ground, twisting his arms behind his back and holding him down roughly.

Sherlock sat up, gasping and taking his scarf off. His hand was at his neck when he looked over at John, gasping still.

"You are such an idiot sometimes, Sherlock," John nearly snarled. "That poor woman could have had a concussion, the way you ran into her – and we could have easily let the police catch him."

"Ah, but that takes the fun out of a good chase, John," Sherlock gasped out, standing up. "And they were taking too long – he was going to get away." John opened his mouth to argue, but gave a resigned sigh and shook his head.

The man struggled suddenly, but John slammed him hard onto the ground, twisting his arms tighter. He yelped.

"You should go say sorry to that woman, Sherlock."

"You're not the boss of me," Sherlock muttered, picking up his scarf.

"Oh, no, of course I'm not. No one's the boss of you! God, you need a sitter. I'm like your sitter, for Christ's sake!"

"Does he have it?"

"The photograph?"

"No, John, your missing cell phone – of course the photograph!"

"My cell phone is missing?"

Sherlock moved towards the man, eyeing him with distaste and clearly ignoring John's words. He bent down and quickly tugged out a photograph from his front jacket pocket, nearly ripping it. All of the day's stress was forgotten with this one photograph. He smiled smugly and they heard sirens. Sherlock looked at John.

"Yes, I texted Lestrade," John confirmed. Sherlock looked over his tense figure for a second before grinning. John gave a reluctant grin in reply, looking away and giving a soft laugh.

After the police took the man away, John and Sherlock were left to walk back to the flat. John couldn't stop giving off little laughs, which just made Sherlock grin.

"Doctor Watson, I believe you said it was inappropriate to giggle at a crime scene?"

"Yes, well, we're no longer at the crime scene."

"Do you find it funny that he murdered his wife?"

John gave a shocked bark of laughter.

"No! No, of course I don't!"

"Then why are you laughing?" Sherlock chortled along as they turned towards their flat only to see the woman Sherlock had knocked over earlier. They both stopped laughing and looked at her.

"Hello," she said simply, smiling politely and hugging her purse to her chest. John glanced at Sherlock and back to her, his shoulders sagging slightly.

"Look, miss, I'm really sorry about earlier," John said, not letting himself fidget under her smiling gaze. It was nearly creepy – if adorable and polite could be creepy. John decided that yes, it could.

"I know you are," she said kindly, nodding at him. Sherlock gave a scowl.

"I would much appreciate it if you would kindly move out of the way, as you're blocking the way to our flat," Sherlock sneered, sensing that she didn't mean her smiles and nods. She looked at him, her smile turning cold, no longer genuine.

"You really need to learn manners."

"Move out of the way."

"Sherl-"

"I could teach you manners, as your mother obviously didn't."

Sherlock nearly snarled.

"My mother raised me very well, thank you very much. I was on a job and I didn't have time to stop just because you got directly in my way."

"Sherlock!" John snapped. "Would you please!"

Sherlock gave a slight huff to his sneer. The woman opened her purse.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked. She smiled at him. "What are you, a witch? There's something off about you." His expression turned amused. "Are you going to curse me? Oh, please curse me, it would be great to gain that experience."

"Sherlock," John said in warning, putting an arm on his shoulder. Sherlock shrugged him off, glaring at him. "I'm so sorry," John said again to the woman.

"Oh, no, I should be saying sorry! Ignoring a direct request!"

"I… What?" John asked, shoulders squaring in his confusion.

"She means the curse," Sherlock sneered. "Clearly."

"Clearly… Right…" John muttered, watching the woman take a game controller out of her purse. She smiled and turned towards Sherlock, pressing buttons. The controller began to glow – and, soon after, so did Sherlock. John gave a yelp and jumped away, but Sherlock stopped glowing and was merely looking at John in confusion and annoyance.

"Calm down, magic isn't real."

"Right," John muttered. "And, uh… Tell me – Why exactly are you hugging me?" Sherlock looked at John in alarm that his arms were wrapped snuggly around him. He jumped back several feet. John looked back to the woman just as she put the controller away.

"It's okay that you think that for now," she said to Sherlock. "You'll soon change your mind. Enjoy your Sims curse!"

And she was gone.

No, literally, she was just gone. She didn't leave; she was just not there anymore. They both stared at where she was standing. John gave a small awed grin.

"Amazing! How did she do that?"

"Must have been a trick," Sherlock replied, uneasily looking all around where she was standing. "It HAD to have been a trick… Where are the props? It can't have been flawless! John, I-" but when Sherlock looked at John, he saw a blue diamond above his head. He looked up at it curiously. John looked up for a second.

"What are you looking at?"

"The diamond above your head, clearly, John." Sherlock replied. He looked back at John, frowning – but his frown turned into an expression of alarm. "There are buttons! Buttons!"

"What?"

But Sherlock was apparently clicking the buttons, frowning and looking genuinely freaked out. He stopped pressing buttons and looked at John.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"What is Sims?"

"Isn't it that video game? The one where you make characters and live as them through their everyday life, or something? They get jobs and raises and have children…"

"That sounds incredibly dull."

"I wouldn't know. I've never played it."

"I assume that's what this is," Sherlock said, waving his arm in front of him.

"What… what is?"

"This! There's a bar here that's green, a bar here that's red – oh, it says food intake…" Sherlock frowned. "I don't feel hungry." Sherlock looked up and his face showed surprise. "There were words! Right above your head!"

"Were there?" John looked up and saw nothing. "What did they say?"

"It said 'John is confused.'"

"Clearly," John laughed. "And you're hungry."

"You see the words, too?"

"No, Sherlock, you just told me. Let's go eat."

Sherlock heaved a sigh and let John feed him up.

Over the next couple of days, John grew more and more impatient with Sherlock's insistence that he could live with this curse – that he didn't need to apologize to the woman. And Sherlock grew more used to the curse when he could control it for himself, rather than the witch lady forcing him to do things like pat John on the head or eat all of John's favourite biscuits with his tea.

He found out, very unenthusiastically, that the curse wouldn't let him get any work done if any of his emotions were in the red. He had to be fed, rested, social, comfortable – everything that he was used to doing without while on a case – or else become extremely grumpy and be in a sulk, refusing to do anything.

"John, come here!" Sherlock barked from the couch. John clenched his teeth and raised an annoyed eyebrow at the tea he was making. "I need to socialize."

John stood there a second longer, giving the tea a very unenthusiastic stir, before walking over to Sherlock. Sherlock got up and stood the perfect talking distance away from John before he began pointing at him, muttering to himself as he apparently pressed action buttons.

"Alright, I choose John, and… Why is "flirt" a category choice?" Sherlock scoffed and John sighed. "This curse is odd. It claims that I can make out with you, but kissing you isn't an option." John's cheeks flushed a little bit.

"Sherlock, would you just..?" Sherlock looked at him in slight alarm.

"Make out with you?"

"No! Pick something not in the flirting category!" John ran a hand over his eyes and Sherlock pointed at different areas in front of him.

"Alright, talking works. But now I have to talk about something with substance, because this obviously isn't doing anything." Sherlock frowned and went silent, so John took the lead.

"Uh… Has Mycroft been trying to call you?"

"What? No. Why?"

"He's been texting me. He… He hasn't been trying to contact you at all?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"That's odd. And doesn't he usually call? Why has he been texting me so much, then?"

"It will stop," Sherlock stated in a cold voice. The conversation ended and Sherlock frowned. "Apparently that wasn't enough. Well, it took too long and I need to get back to work. Alright, how about…" Sherlock pointed a few times. And then smiled oddly at John, as if the curse was forcing the smile and Sherlock did not seem to like it. His eyes were screaming and John grew worried.

"Now what?" John groaned slightly. Sherlock's smile looked strained, his eyes furious, as he lifted his arms and stepped forward. John stepped back in alarm and Sherlock frowned and his arms dropped, shoulders slouching. He then went back to normal. And his "normal" was furious.

"John!" he barked out, fists clenched and neck turning red. "Accept my hug!"

"Is that what that was? I thought you were trying to strangle me, by the expression on your face!"

"I'm doing it again, and you are to accept it or I will pick the little image with the devil horns and punch you in the nose." John closed his eyes and clenched his jaw for a second.

"Fine."

The same happened, but John didn't step back. Sherlock's arms wrapped around him and John's went around Sherlock's middle. Sherlock slouched slightly and kind of rested his head on John's shoulder a bit, leaning just a bit against him. John blinked in surprise and the hug lasted a lot longer than he expected it to. Eventually, with a sigh, Sherlock stepped back.

"Did it work?" John asked after a second. Sherlock was smiling in an odd way which was seemingly forced into a smirk.

"Yes, and now I continue my— Oh, what the bloody…" Sherlock groaned.

"What?"

"John, go make me some food or I will pick the little picture with the devil horns and punch you in the neck." John grumbled all the way to the kitchen under Sherlock's glare.

A few hours at a time were full of Sherlock not being able to control his own actions. It always caught him by surprise. A particularly amusing time it happened, he was in the middle of a case at the yard.

"Sherlock, you better not be just dragging us along for a ride!" Lestrade spat when Sherlock was being particularly quiet about the details of his observations, instead deciding to spit out where they needed to look and what they would find. "And why do you keep pointing at everything?" Lestrade turned to John suddenly. "Has he gone mad? Have you been poisoning his tea? Has he been poisoning his tea?"

Sherlock sneered and jabbed his fingers at Lestrade after striding over to him before John could do more than shake his head and open his mouth. Sherlock took a deep breath and John watched on warily.

"It would do you well to actually listen to me, rather than run around like a brain damaged baboon like you usually do with your little crew of moronic animals – Anderson certainly smells enough like one, and Sally's hair houses at least two different species. You know that every time you listen to me, you get to the right end, so listen for once in silence instead of complaining the entire time, you fucking prat."

Lestrade looked at him in shock, his arms crossed and his eyebrows higher than John had ever seen them. John cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly, and Sherlock swept around and continued examining the room.

"Well, all right," Lestrade muttered, maybe sounded a bit hurt for once. He swallowed and gave a sigh, uncrossing his arms and putting his hands in his pockets instead.

Sherlock froze where he was, as if whatever he was doing had just been cancelled. He turned around and strode towards Lestrade, stopping in front of him again. Lestrade looked at him warily, frowning, but squaring his shoulders in a sort of self-defense.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said. "I went much too far. I do apologise and hope you don't take any of the insults as honest expressions of how I feel about you giving me the opportunity to come onto these cases and give my brain a chance to express itself. I truly am grateful. Now for a hug." Sherlock pulled Lestrade in close, long arms wrapping around him. Lestrade awkwardly hugged Sherlock back. "Please don't be mentally scarred," Sherlock muttered. He then let go, pulled away, and smiled at him.

And then the smile fell off of his face, replaced with the expression of annoyance he held before.

"What are you both staring at?" he snapped. John burst out laughing. Sherlock looked at him for half a second before his expression turned to one of horror. "Oh, god, it happened again, didn't it?"

"Y-yes!" John choked out. Lestrade looked on in confusion, not able to hold back his own laughter. He had no idea why it had happened, but it had happened nonetheless and it apparently was an ongoing thing, which was hilarious in of itself with Sherlock involved.

The days dragged on and Sherlock was starting to get extremely annoyed with the curse. John insisted that he just apologize to the woman, but Sherlock seemed so determined to make both of their lives completely miserable.

"Alright, talk. At the morgue today, it really was quite funny, Molly got very flustered when I actually slammed some "nice man's" arm with a hammer." Sherlock laughed, but his expression grew cold suddenly as he seemingly read something.

"Erm... What is it, Sherlock?"

"It says "John thinks Sherlock is being rude."" Sherlock scoffed. John pressed his lips together, raised his eyebrows, and nodded.

"It's good. Wow, this game."

"It's not a game!" Sherlock snarled and pointed in front of him again. "Co— Um… Chat. John, the tea you made today was horrible. And yesterday, you forgot to make my bed. And you had the television on much too loud last night while I was trying to work. Stop that. All of that." John rolled his eyes.

"You didn't really pick "chat," did you?" but Sherlock suddenly looked furious.

"BORING? "JOHN THINKS SHERLOCK IS BORING?""

John's eyes widened, watching Sherlock's fingers pointing. Like he could control what the words said!

The next day, John was sporting a black eye with a very grumpy air.

And that was the day Sherlock realized that negative socialization brought the red down sometimes. He scowled and gave in. John was extremely relieved.

"She gave me an address," John told Sherlock as they exited the flat.

"I don't think we'll be needing it," Sherlock said when he opened the door. The woman was standing right there, smiling.

"Hello!" she said cheerily.

"Hello," John responded with a smile.

"I would much appreciate it if you would remove the curse," Sherlock said, bringing himself up and looking down his nose at the girl. John gave a helpless noise as he saw this.

"I'm sure you would, but you certainly wouldn't be thankful, would you?"

"Of course not. You're the one who put it on me in the first place. It is your place to take it off of me. I am sorry about not apologising when I knocked you over. It was inconsiderate of me."

"You're not sorry."

"Am I not? I believe I just said I wa-"

"Oh, yes, you can say you're sorry all you want, but I need you to actually be sorry. You seem to be missing my point." She gave a shrug and smiled. Sherlock reeled back slightly, looking like he might actually hit her. John stepped forward a bit, putting a hand on Sherlock's arm.

"Just take the damn curse off!"

"No," she replied with a smile.

"Please?" Sherlock managed to choke out.

"Better!" The woman clapped her hands together.

"So you will?"

"Nope."

"What," Sherlock hissed, "Do I have to do?"

"You know what you have to do."

Sherlock lunged forward, but John held him back with a yelp.

"Jesus, Sherlock, get a hold of yourself!" he yelled. Sherlock was shaking, but he attempted to pull himself together.

"You're not any better at all!" the girl said, looking extremely disappointed in herself. "This obviously isn't working."

"So-"

"No, I'm not taking it off. You're getting something else."

"And-"

"No, you're keeping this one, too. You're having both."

"Both?" Sherlock hissed.

"Yes, I really am rather sorry about this. Well, sort of, you know." The girl shrugged and gave off a sort of chuckle. "It really isn't as bad as you seem to think it is. Annoying, maybe, but not bad. This one might be better. And more fun. At least, for John." John gave a start.

"How did you- no, no, more important question. Why will it be fun for me?"

"You'll see!"

And, like days before, she was suddenly gone without a trace.