A/N: This idea just popped into my head today, and I thought I'd give writing Sherlock a shot. Reviews are always appreciated, especially since this is my first time attempting Sherlock fanfiction.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, obvi.

Dr. John Watson was sleeping.

To many, this wouldn't seem like much of a luxury. However, in the doctor's case, any type of sleep at all was a huge blessing. Sharing a flat with the world's only consulting detective certainly never made for a dull life, but recently, it had become a bit too exciting. Too many cases in quick succession, having his life threatened 4 times in the past week, and trying to hold up his job at the clinic had completely drained him of any energy he could possibly muster.

So, when a lull in all the excitement finally arrived, John took advantage of it and simply went to bed, and slept for what seemed like days.

He half expected for Sherlock to come upstairs and wake him at least once for one ridiculous reason or another. The detective hated being idle, and when left with no case or significant mental stimulation, often turned to various types of experiments, which involved John being the reluctant guinea pig more than once.

However, John was not disturbed from his slumber, and awoke at around 10:00 in the morning, still feeling tired, but not as exhausted as he had been before. He slid out of bed, stuck his feet into his worn out slippers, and shaking sleep off like a blanket, wandered out of his room to the bathroom. He flicked on the light and went to splash some water on his face, but stopped abruptly and stared at his hands. They looked...different. As he held them up to the light to see better, he absently glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and let out a loud yelp.

Downstairs, Sherlock Holmes sat with his long legs draped over an armchair plucking the strings on his violin restlessly. No cases, no new bodies to examine, nothing to occupy his mind, and John was STILL sleeping. How a person could sleep that much utterly baffled him. Sleep, in his mind, was a waste of time. After all, he only succumbed to the call of slumber when absolutely necessary, and even then, he thought himself weak for doing so.

"Sherlock! SHERLOCK!"

At the sound of his friend's howling, a rare grin appeared on the detective's face, and he jumped up from his chair and leapt into the kitchen. He shuffled things around to make it look like he was working on something, sat down at his microscope and began staring intently at a blank slide as John bounded down the stairs and slid into the room.

"Sherlock! Something is wrong...very very wrong with me! When I went to bed a few days ago I was fine! I mean, it seemed like I was, but when I woke up this morning I was- Are you even listening to me? SHERLOCK!"

The detective's eyes stayed glued to the blank slide in the microscope "hmm?"

"Sherlock, LOOK AT ME! I'm...I'm ORANGE!"

It was then that Sherlock slowly raised his eyes to his panicked companion, and had to stifle a chuckle. There stood John Watson, breathing heavily like he'd just finished a race, his eyes wild and panicky. Upon first glance, one might notice something off about his skin tone, like he'd used a bit too much spray tan, but if they looked a little harder, it was obvious that John was indeed, orange.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, an amused and somewhat Cheshire cat-like smile played across his face. "Indeed, you are. How...interesting"

At this point, John sat, defeated, in the squashy armchair behind him. "At first I thought there was something wrong with the bathroom light. Then I tried scrubbing it off, but it was no use" He placed his head in his hands "I don't understand how this could've possibly happened. How the bloody hell could I have gone to bed normal, and then wake up a day later...orange? This will ruin everything..."

Sherlock stood up from his "work", and walked around the kitchen table into the living room where his citrus colored friend sat. "The situation is...intriguing, to say the least. Tell me, John, is the coloring only on your face and arms?"

John shook his head "It's everywhere. Everywhere...Oh, this is just fan- the hell are you doing?"

Sherlock had whipped out his small magnifying glass, which he usually used when scrutinizing corpses, and was examining the more orangey parts of john's hands, all the while muttering to himself, making mental notes. "I'm merely observing, John." he said with a tone of annoyance in his voice. "Perhaps you should try it, sometime. Now hold still, I'm still trying to gauge your body's reaction..."

John snatched his hand back, looking confused "My reaction? Reaction to wha-"

The doctor stopped speaking suddenly, and realized what was going on. He stood up suddenly and backed away from Sherlock, his eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing. Sherlock noted that he looked remarkably like a goldfish, both in face and in color.

"You...YOU..."

"Now John, you were asleep for two days, and completely useless to me in that state. So, I thought-"

Sherlock stopped abruptly as he watched John pull the hunting knife that normally held the Cluedo board from the wall and start to advance on him slowly, a crazy look in his eye.

"John...John, what the devil are you doing?"

His eyes widened in shock. This was NOT the reaction he expected. He began to back away slowly, eyes never leaving the doctor's weapon wielding hand. "John, remain calm, and for God's sake, put the knife down. The effects won't last longer than-"

"Sherlock. What. Did. You. DO?"

John had cornered the detective, who had scrambled up to the top of the sofa. If he had the higher ground, there was less of a chance that he would get stabbed.

"What did you do to me!" yelled John as he waved the knife around. Obviously the lack of sleep from the past few weeks had really taken a toll on him, Sherlock noted. He would make sure he got more sleep on a regular basis. Exhausted John was definitely a hazard.

"Really John, insanity does not suit you well" stated Sherlock, adopting a tone of nonchalance, but continuing to remain at the very top of the sofa, as far away from the angry doctor as he could manage. "I merely injected you with an extremely concentrated form of beta-carotene, to test a body's reaction to a large amount of it all at once, rather than gradually over a longer period of time"

"You mean to tell me, that you injected into me, with some CARROT JUICE, while I was asleep..." John looked incredulous as he lowered the knife slowly and took a step back.

"Not carrot juice, John" Sherlock rolled his eyes "beta-carotene. Judging by the color of your skin, you've developed a strong case of carotenosis, and in record time. It's completely benign, you have nothing to be worried about" Sherlock sniffed.

"How-how long is this supposed to last?" said John, who had dropped the knife to the ground and let his arms go slack. Sherlock took advantage of this and jumped off the couch with great agility, swiping the knife from the floor and stabbing it into the wall once again, all with one fell swoop.

"2..3 days at the most, I'd say" Sherlock shrugged and sidled past John into the kitchen.

John wheeled around "2 to 3 days? Are you serious? Sherlock, I've got a DATE tonight! I can't go out looking like a bloody Oompa-Loompa!"

"Well John, if...what was her name, Christina? Yes, if Christina can't be bothered because you're not the proper shade of beige-"

"Her name's not Christina! This is a new one, and I liked her" John argued. "I doubt she'll want to see me now that I'm the color of a carrot..."

"Well, I think that'd be very shallow of her, don't you?" Sherlock said, continuing to write down notes about the beta-carotene, sarcasm dripping from his voice "After all-what is it that you say? 'looks aren't everything.'"

With that, John marched out of the kitchen and stormed upstairs, where he would try in vain for hours to get rid of his orange tint.

After debating canceling for what seemed like ages, John still ended up going out on his date. It actually went quite well, considering the disaster that he was expecting. His lady friend found it endearing, and John Watson came home that night a happy man. Why, he was positively glowing.

Seeing John happy on his return lulled Sherlock into a false sense of security, actually believing that he was in the clear, and that John had forgiven him about the 'carrot incident'. He didn't have to ask to know that the date had gone well, and John seemed warm and friendly enough for Sherlock to think that everything was water under the bridge.

The doctor might have forgiven him, but certainly had not forgotten, and planned to extract his revenge on his friend when the time was right.

A few weeks later, a non-orange John was sitting in the living room, hot tea by his side, typing up the latest solved case on his blog when he heard a loud yell followed by a tidal wave of expletives come from the bathroom.

"JOHN WATSON!"

Sherlock Holmes stalked out into view and stomped up to where John was sitting. The doctor continued to stare straight at his screen, determined to keep a straight face.

"hmm?"

Care to explain this?"

John pulled his eyes away from his laptop to look at the livid man standing before him.

There stood Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, still wet from his shower and wrapped in his robe, his eyes ablaze with anger. His arm was out and his finger pointing to his head, specifically his hair, which had turned a rather nice shade of bright blue.

And now it was John Watson who said "How...interesting", a Cheshire cat grin upon his face.