Pranking a genius consulting detective isn't as easy as it sounds.
Well it sounds pretty hard to begin with. But even so it doesn't even compare to how hard it really is.
The man is incredibly attentive to details, so something as simple as stretching plastic wrap over a doorway wouldn't fool him. He hardly ever sleeps, so doodling on his face in the night wouldn't work either. He doesn't frighten easily, so popping out from a hiding spot wearing a scary mask would cause result in either a calm greeting or strangulation. Or he might just ignore you completely.
Not to mention, many of his every day habits are very prank-like already, so it'd take a special brand of deviousness to really affect him.
Good thing John had that particular brand copyrighted while he was in the army.
Sherlock may claim that he doesn't care what anyone thinks of him, but that isn't completely true.
Sure, he may not care what a random bystander may say about his constant dashing about and firing guns. Or what the papers may say about the validity of his abilities and his relationship woth John. Or what his fan club may say about the appealing qualities of his left eyebrow.
Really, he doesn't care what the world on the whole thinks of him, but there are several individuals whose opinions mean the world to Sherlock. And John's go them all on speed dial.
John hadn't understood the appeal of something as extravagant as a smart phone when it was given to him. But after rebuiling his life and cramming a good chunk of it into his ever-so-handy phone, he's not sure how anyone lived without them. Right now, he was especially grateful for his pocket-sized scrap of advanced technology. Because hidden away behind a wall of strategically placed porn clips to ward off prying eyes, was a small but juicy collection of videos depicting Sherlock doing embarrassing things. He picked out one of his favorites, (but not the absolute best, he wanted to save that for later) and set it up to send out to everyone Sherlock ever wanted to respect him.
John flipped through his contacts list, picking and choosing his weapons of choice. Soon he had the nuclear bomb of video messages.
"Aaand send." In just a few seconds, a 12 second video of Sherlock dancing to Michael Jackson's Thriller in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a white shirt, plastic goggles, and a pair of briefs that made his legs look like pencils, was sent off to Lestrade, Mycroft, his mother, Molly Hooper and someone who knows someone who knows the email address of the secretary of someone who works for Moriarty.
Downstairs, a girlish moan sounded off. Sherlock scrambled off the couch, fumbling through a pile of papers to reach his phone. He hadn't heard that moan in ages and, knowing the moaner, it was bound to be interesting. He eagerly unlocked the screen of his phone and pulled up the tex-
-Wait. What if she's part of the prank that John had so stupidly announced he was pulling? No. Impossible. They're not exactly friends, Irene and John. John doesn't even know she's alive. It's also too early to be a possibility. The only way John could've included Irene this early is if he gained 50 I.Q points and a time machine.
He swiped his thumb the rest of the way down the screen.
Nice moves, Mr. Holmes
Forget dinner, how about dancing?
That was only the first in a barrage of texts, emails, facebook messages, and even a few phone calls (from a certain brolly wielder who loves the sound of his own voice) all centered around one subject.
Sherlock slammed his fingernail into the power button and hurled the offensively expensive object out the window, where it hit a strategically placed cat. Most of his pale features went paler, while others turned a unique rosey hue that would look fabulous on the walls of a nursery. One of his vocal cords was struck paralyzed and was seriously considering just dying on the spot. The other disagreed completely. It couldn't stop thrashing if it tried. Which it didn't try. It didn't even try trying to try. It just went on producing disconnected whimpers and squeaks until finally it got a grip on itself and it's twin and let out a truely formidable roar before collapsing into Sherlock's stomach.
"JOHN, YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!"
And so it began.