"You hacked my computer."
"Hello to you, too, Sherlock. And if by 'hacked' you mean I used your password to log in, then yes, I did," John said agreeably, moving to the kitchen to put away the groceries.
"Why did you use my computer? Yours was right there."
"And that right there is why I used yours," John replied, putting the milk in the refrigerator and turning to face his flatmate.
He'd arrived back from Germany the day before, and had seen evidence in the flat that Sherlock had returned as well, but this was the first time the two had laid eyes each other since John had come home from the surgery to find a scrawled note from Sherlock stuck to the kettle, and the man's computer next to his on the sitting room table. That had been ten days ago.
"How was the case, then?" John asked, his expression amused. "In the Highlands of Scotland, was it?"
"Cold," Sherlock replied shortly.
"Well, that's to be expected, isn't it? February in Scotland ..." John said, "Are you going to tell me any more than that? For the blog, of course."
"Are you going to tell me?"
"What, how I knew your password?" John asked, deliberately sidestepping the request to tell of his own week of travel. "You told me that the night before I moved in here."
"I did not," Sherlock retorted.
John chuckled. He could tell that Sherlock was replaying their entire conversation from the night in question, from leaving the scene of the first case they'd worked together, to the Chinese restaurant, to the return to Baker Street and the episode with the drugs bust.
"You did. You just didn't predict that I'd ever understand it. But I did. Eventually."
He saw Sherlock's eyes flash with something that might be pride. John wondered if he should feel patronized. He snorted softly.
"Go on, then. Tell me," Sherlock instructed, collapsing into his armchair, fingertips pressed together against his lip, an interested expression on his face.
John smiled and shook his head, putting the last of the groceries in the cupboard and filling the kettle.
"After I agreed that I'd get rid of Napoleon's head – and I haven't forgiven you for the trick you pulled with that, you tosser,"
"Yes, you have," Sherlock interrupted with a smirk.
"– and move in," John continued, ignoring the interjection, "you said that left only the cocaine on your computer. For a while I worried that you meant you'd hidden another stash in the bloody thing, but you'd said that cocaine was on the computer, not in it. You are precise with words. You didn't mean drugs."
"No," Sherlock agreed.
John flicked a glance over at him as he grabbed mugs down for tea.
"I couldn't figure it out, and decided that it honestly didn't matter. The flat was clean, and you were just playing some kind of word game with me. I let it go and forgot all about it, until I came home from the surgery and found your note on the kettle and your computer on the sitting room table right next to mine."
John finished preparing the tea and put the milk back in the refrigerator. He picked up his RAMC mug and sipped from it, before picking the other mug up by the rim and carrying it carefully over to Sherlock. His flatmate accepted the tea with a nod, sipping the hot beverage gingerly while John eased himself into his arm chair, mindful of his own full mug.
"Last I checked, a trip to Scotland did not require a passport, let alone three of them," John said amiably.
"You know where ..."
"I hide cigarettes for your bloody danger night seek-and-find games, Sherlock. Of course I know where you keep them."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he gestured with his hand for John to continue.
"You left me a note, Sherlock. A note about your case in Scotland. You text me twenty-seven times a day on average, and you leave a note to tell me that you're off to the Highlands of Scotland on a case, and you'll be out of contact the whole time? I know you think I'm an idiot, but I did think you thought more highly of me than that," John said with a disappointed frown. "So, yes, I checked and found your passports gone. Didn't take much to deduce that your destination was not, in fact, Scotland. Travel further afield takes planning, which you would not have done on my laptop. That's why you got off your lazy arse to get your own computer, and why I needed to get on it."
"Mmmm," Sherlock hummed in agreement.
"Cocaine. On your computer. Your bloody password was cocaine," John said with a snort. "You probably think that's some kind of cosmic joke, don't you?"
"You do, too," Sherlock drawled, his mouth twitching into a smirk.
"It is morbidly amusing," John admitted, shaking his head. "You are barking mad, you know that?"
"I've been told."
"Of course it wasn't in English. I tried translating it into each of the twelve languages you speak ..."
"Fourteen."
"What, really? Fourteen?"
"English, of course, Arabic, French, Frisian, Gaelic, Greek, German, Hebrew, Hindi, Latin, Mandarin, Portuguese, Russian, and Spanish."
"I should have guessed Hebrew, but Frisian? Why?" John asked.
"It was for –"
"– a case, yeah," John said with a smile.
"I can get by in Flemmish and Japanese, too," Sherlock said with a shrug.
"You're bloody –"
"– amazing, yes, I know. You were saying? About the password?"
John laughed and took a mouthful of his rapidly cooling tea.
"When I ran out of languages that I knew you spoke, I spent an hour with Google, translating it into every option they offered and typing it in. After that, I realised that as much as English might be your mother tongue, it's not your preferred language. You're a scientist. A chemist."
Across from him, Sherlock's eyes lit up. John smiled.
"The chemical formula for cocaine didn't work. I didn't really expect it to, though. Might as well have written it in English. It's a good thing you've got that periodic table on your wall. Well, good for me, anyway. You probably have the bloody thing memorized, but I needed to see it. I tried swapping the chemical symbols for their atomic numbers. I tried substituting atomic weights. I changed the numbers to their alphabetic equivalents – lower case to denote subscripts. Eventually I thought to add on your preferred dosage, using the chemical symbol in place of the percentage. Two hours of running through increasingly wild ideas of how to write the word cocaine in chemist code, and I had a string twenty-nine characters long that worked, and I was in."
"Well done, John."
"Ta. You should clear your browser history, you know."
"I did not think it necessary. I'll remember to do so in the future."
"Or you'll just change the password."
"Perhaps," Sherlock mused.
"Anyway, I saw the emails from the eyes you had watching the situation, and found your travel plans. I made arrangements to put myself where I could back you up, if it was necessary. Rather glad I did."
"Your assistance was timely," Sherlock admitted. "Will you tell me?"
"Will you tell me?" John asked, turning the question around.
John watched as Sherlock withdrew. His expression shuttered.
"The case was brought to a successful end. That's all that matters."
"Right," John said with a sigh, letting it drop. He pushed himself out of the chair and went to put his empty mug on the worktop. "Successful case, and a nice dinner with the client to celebrate."
"No," Sherlock's voice was heavy with distaste.
"No?"
"I don't socialize with clients, John. I don't do dinner."
"Right then," John agreed with a nod. "Hungry?"
"Starving."
