Sherlock POV
I don't understand why John is so upset. He didn't even listen to what the experiment was. He just naturally assumes any experiment I ask him to be a part of includes him ingesting copious amounts of dangerous chemicals. This time was going to be different. I wanted to do a social experiment. I thought he would approve of me widening my understanding of people.
My lip curls a little at the thought. Understanding people. It's so tedious. Ordinary people are so dull and predictable. Yet there is something about them that alludes me. And it frustrates me!
I'll just do the experiment anyway. He most likely expects that anyway after the last time. Unless he's slower than I thought. I need to test that as well. He may be slipping. I can't have an ordinarily dull partner. I might as well have Lestrade or, god forbid he ever get that bad, Anderson.
Social experiment: Stage one. Tolerance exercises. How much can John put up with from me? And how does this compare to other people who are "good friends"?
To find out, I rip through the kitchen like a mad storm. John cleaned the kitchen before he left so everything would be easier to put away when he returns. That should irritate him. And to add a little more fuel to the flame, I head to his room.
John's room smells like him. It's not unpleasant. It is a mixture of his natural scent, whatever cologne he's attempting to attract a mate with this week, and Mrs. Hudson's laundry cleaner. He's made his bed like a good, little soldier. Tucked and neat. Hmm.
I forcibly plant my body in the middle of the mattress. The blanket wrinkles around me, and I feel the sheets come loose. Somewhere in my head, I hear someone scolding me for being childish. It isn't John's voice, though. Mycroft's. I detest hearing his voice; unfortunately he is generally right, and that makes his voice useful.
Though, just because it's right doesn't mean I heed its advice.
After sliding to the edge of the bed, I sniff the air to see if the scent of my experiment has wafted through the flat yet. It's faint, but there is a hint of sulfur there. John will be angry, but that was the point. It was an experiment in how much my flatmate could take. For now he can leave whenever he's angry. He often does. I've been quite lucky thus far; he's always come back. I've prepared for the day when he doesn't, but it's not something I like to think about.
For the experiment, I did everything John hates: I used his favorite mug; I created a foul, pervasive odor. I left bloody parts to bleed everywhere. My jar of human eyes is sitting on the table. If he can put up with that several times a day, then I'll know it's time to move on to the next stage.
I want this moment in my mind palace. I'm not sure why. Sentiment, most likely. Often whenever I do something irrational, it involves John and sentiment. I have a hunch about that, hence the experiment. However, this time I may be willing to concede that I may have been wrong. I don't think I am, though.
I slip into my mind palace to reexamine the evidence. John. He is always watching me with that indecipherable expression when he thinks I'm not looking. That in itself is so frustrating. I don't understand what it means, and I can usually look to John for that. As Lestrade so succinctly put it, I am the mind and he is the heart. That's another piece of the puzzle. Everyone else believes we are one being. Can they see something that we cannot? Why does John's pulse shoot up whenever I take it? His pupils dilate slightly when I'm near. If I'm right, why does he keep trying to attract a woman?
The trip into my mind palace lasts longer than I expect. When I come out, there is a paper lying on my leg. I immediately recognize John's scrawl. 'Gone to the gym'. Yes, that fits. The writing says mixed emotions. The fact that he's gone to the gym confirms it. It also says that he wasn't willing to go far from the flat. If he needs to work off emotions, he goes for a walk. Interesting. Could it be time to move to the next stage already? Maybe I should gather more data first?