Chapter two: Don't call me Sherly
John woke with a groggy sigh, his eyes bleary with sleep. He could hear various moans and groans coming from the flat below, and then a large thump. He pushed himself up on his hands, suddenly awake. "Sherlock?" he shouted. He was answered with a moan of recognition. John jumped from his bed as quickly as a middle aged man with a bum leg could manage, and hurried down the stairs in only a tee shirt and his pants. He entered the flat, panting slightly, and was greeted with a curious sight. Sherlock was lying face down on the wooden floor of his bedroom, his hair disheveled, a large red mark on the cheek that was towards the ceiling, a testimony to him having spent the night with his face pressed to a hardwood floor.
"You drugged me John…" the detective mumbled sleepily, and he tried to push himself up with his hands. Unfortunately, his limbs, still held by the soporific drug, failed to comply efficiently, and he got about six inches off the ground before falling back down with a loud slapping noise. A groan of pain and displeasure was made by Sherlock, and John couldn't help but laugh.
"I did indeed drug you, you git, but it was for your own good, and besides, you've drugged me more times than I can count. I get full immunity for this one." The soldier said cheerily, and he moved to help his flatmate, who was currently making dying whale noises.
"Make me some tea, John." Sherlock demanded as John neared. His request was met with a snort of derision and hands wrapping around his chest to lift him from the floor.
"Sherlock, you will get your tea when you actually get up." John grunted forcibly as he lifted the detective from his place on the floor, managing to get him into a kneeling position and then helping him up from there. Unfortunately, a certain man-child decided he didn't want to move, and went full rag-doll on John, letting his limbs go limp and nearly smacking against the floor again. John caught his shoulder and supported him with one arm while trying to grab his legs with the other. He sighed and decided it would be easier to just carry Sherlock, who's head snapped back as John quickly lifted him from his place on the floor, bridal style.
"OW! John, please be careful! The human neck is a fragile structure, and I need it to support my head, in case you hadn't noticed!" Sherlock whined as he was carried to the kitchen. John grunted with a smirk on his face, and staggered to the kitchen, pulling out one chair with his foot and dropping Sherlock in. Sherlock groaned as his rear connected with the hard wood, and he slumped forwards onto the table, his head landing with a hard thump.
"Sherlock, the drug shouldn't still be in your system, much less paralyzing you. Get up." John was calling him out on his bullshit, and they both knew it, so he sat up, glaring at his flat-mate with a death-stare that would have had a lesser man shaking. John stood there nonchalantly. A cup of tea was placed in front of Sherlock, and some toast and jam followed it. The breakfast was scrutinized and glared at until Sherlock sniffed the tea.
"For god's sake, Sherlock, I would not drug your tea!" John exclaimed, sounding rather offended actually, "So just drink the damn stuff and go sulk on the sofa for the rest of the day, just like every other day for the past week!" John stormed off in a huff, leaving Sherlock with his breakfast, and went back up to his room to get properly dressed.
When John returned to the main flat, now dressed in jeans and a jumper, Sherlock sat in the same spot, although John smiled at the absence of the toast and tea, and he collected the dishes. Sherlock stood shakily, and stumbled over to the couch, falling onto it. "So, my dear Watson, what is the plan today? Speaking of which, what day is it?" Sherlock looked over the back of the couch to his flatmate/colleague/friend with disinterest.
"It's Saturday." John answered, blowing on his cup of tea as he scanned the newspaper for anything of interest, anything of interest being a case, or a mystery, or really anything to keep his insane charge entertained, or at the very least, occupied.
"Right Saturday. Not working at the surgery then, but judging by your outfit you are going out, but no where special, probably just Tesco's, but you definitely plan on stopping by Lestrade's to see if there are any new cases, and you also were hoping to have enough time to have lunch at the pub you went to last night and properly asking for that waitress's name-"
"Hold on, the going out bit, with the clothes and that, that made sense, but how could you have possibly known I was going to ask a cocktail waitress for her name?"
"It's obvious, your left cuff gave it away."
John studied the cuff of his left sleeve, the green wool of the jumper clean and freshly washed, not even a speck of lint. "Okay Sherlock, now you're making things up. There is no possible way you could have deduced that from my sleeve. You took my phone, didn't you?"
The aforementioned device glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window as the consulting detective waved it above his head. "Yes. Lestrade isn't the only one I pickpocket when I'm bored."
John's eyes widened and he patted his pockets. His eyes narrowed and he stalked over to the couch. "Wallet, mobile, keys and napkin." He demanded, thrusting his hand out to receive his belongings.
Sherlock exhaled with annoyance and dropped the phone, wallet, keys and a napkin that featured the mobile number of the particularily attractive cocktail waitress that John had met last night.
"Right, now, I'm going out. Do you need anything? Crisps? Milk? Sulfuric Acid?" John asked with a coy smile, which was answered with a snort.
"John, you just got me more sulfuric acid last week, I don't use the stuff enough to warrant getting more. Although I could do with some sodium nitrate for an upcoming experiment!" Sherlock called as John left the flat, half listening to Sherlock's request.
Five minutes later, after some trouble flagging a cab (he really needed to gain Sherlock's magic cab powers), John was riding through the streets of London towards a flat on the other side of the city to talk to Lestrade. While the cabbie navigated the dense traffic, John decided to check his blog via his mobile. 463 messages *insert annoyed groan*. John opened his inbox and scrolled through the usual, "have you admitted your feelings yet?", "when's the wedding?" and the horrifying "just fuck him already!" But his post did get a few answers, some of which were unhelpful, such as "introduce him to online gaming." Been there done that...
"Sherlock, I did not buy that Xbox so that you could dismantle it to try and turn into a death ray."
"Oh please John, I turned Mycroft's Nintendo into a death ray when I was a mere child. I do not need to try, I am fully capable."
*explosions*
"Apparently there is a difference between the two systems..."
Or how about "teach him something new, like cooking!"
Several visits from the fire brigade later...
But a few caught John's eye. "He obviously needs company, and you can't be with him all the time." "He's only human, he needs someone else." And "if you won't screw him, find someone who will!1! (Ps I volunteer as tribute)"
What an interesting thought, Sherlock with a girlfriend...
Or boyfriend, the man had said that girls weren't really his area, and John wasn't going to judge. More female Londoners for him. Then again, he imagined Sherlock would have girls crawling all over him if he'd wanted, what with his height, deep voice, good looks, long legs...
John shook his head at the thought, trying to force the image of Sherlock's legs from his brain. He didn't stop thinking of that idea though. Of Sherlock with someone else to look after him, to keep him company, to be his friend at the very least. John certainly wasn't going to be around to take care of him forever, and though he did genuinely care for his friend, that's all they were. Friends.
So an idea blossomed in John's mind. An idea that had the potential to forever alter everything about life at 221B Baker Street.
A few hours later, John stumbled into the flat, his arms laden with bags and packages from Tesco's. He looked to his friend, who was currently upside down, with his feet hooked over the back of the loveseat, his head on the floor and his hands tucked beneath his chin.
Typical.
Setting the bags on the table, John unpacked the shopping and put the items away in their proper cupboards.
Moving a container of human fingers aside, John put the carton of milk in the refrigerator, and turned to grab something else. He jumped, mostly due to the fact that a certain consulting detective was standing mere centimeters from him, and looking deeply into his eyes. John was about to reprimand him on the importance of not sneaking up on people like that, but for the moment he found himself studying Sherlock's eyes, the usually icy blue replaced with an almost cyan color, with flecks of green and gold around the pupil. He was faintly aware of Sherlock speaking, and shook his head, forgetting about the beauty of Sherlock's eyes.
"What was that Sherlock? Sorry, I wasn't listening."
"I asked if you picked up some sodium nitrate as I requested earlier. I wanted to do an experiment involving the compound, but I am assuming that in your rush to leave the flat, you didn't even hear my request, confirmed by the slightly lost look on your face, and as such, no sodium nitrate was picked up." Sherlock deduced, his eyes flicking around John's face. His curls bounced as he shook his head. "Pity. I am aware that you wish for me to do something productive, and the experiment I was planning could have been defined as such. " and with that, the detective spun on his heel and flopped back onto the sofa.
John sighed in frustration. Sherlock could have been keeping busy, and he botched it up. Perfect. Then again...
"Sherlock, you are a grown man, I am sure you are capable of buying your own sodium nitrate." There. That ought to put him in his place.
"No, you were just out and besides, Doctor Who is on in a half hour. Wouldn't want to miss that!" (It should be noted that the end of this statement was said with heavy sarcasm, although I shall mention that Sherlock found the programme much more entertaining than he let on)
Well fuck. "Sherlock, you don't even care about Doctor Who, and besides, the chemist's is only a few blocks away, you could get a cab, or even walk, and be back in time for the theme music." There.
Nope. "No, I think I'll just stay here."
John gave up, then and there, and grabbed his laptop from where it sat, open, near Sherlock's feet. He checked his email quickly, scrolled through the blog (twenty new messages, nearly all of them about when he and Sherlock were going to become public) and was about to shut the computer when, in the back of his mind, he remembered the messages about finding someone to take care of Sherlock.
Typing in the web address, John Watson, known on this site as "Doc John M.D", was brought to a page filled with pictures of men and women, all with painfully huge smiles and no hope in their eyes. Clicking "new profile", he typed in Sherlock's email (sholmescondet ) and created a profile. Using a picture of Sherlock (actually smiling for once) wearing a deerstalker, edited the profile, keyed in information, and created a username.
"Sherly" Sherlock Holmes
Single
Looking for: women and men
6' body type: slim
Employment: consulting detective
Relationship status: single
Sherlock Holmes was officially a member of an online dating site. John leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head in a smug grin.
Let the experiment begin.
