A/N: My attempt at a 221b. The beautiful BBC Sherlock isn't mine. Please review!
P A S S W O R D
Really, this was getting ridiculous. Sherlock had a laptop of his own, a nicer one, even, than John had. His insistence on using John's whenever he felt like it was utterly absurd. John had tried changing passwords a few dozen times, but Sherlock could always guess them. John had started with his usual password, 'd0n0harm,' then changed it to the RAMC motto, 'InArduisFidelis,' and tried a couple other phrases, but Sherlock seemed to have no trouble with them. Eventually, he'd tried a random group of letters and numbers. He'd forgotten them, though, and the fourth time he'd been locked out of his own computer was enough. He needed a password that he wouldn't forget and that Sherlock couldn't guess.
He'd been working in the clinic when the answer came to him. There had been a woman sitting there, texting furiously on her phone, with the same vacant look Not-Anthea habitually wore. The perfect password struck him in a flash of brilliance. He'd nearly laughed aloud. Even if Sherlock could guess it, he'd never actually type it.
He came back from work a few days later and found his flatmate staring viciously at the computer. John chuckled and fetched himself a cup of tea before sitting contentedly in his chair.
He pulled over the laptop and typed 'Mycr0ftWuvsYou,Sh3r10ck' into the password bar.