Sherlock:

[[Test #3, Control-3. Final test using a control "suitor". (Personal Log: Am somewhat nervous about next test. Considering a delay of more than one week, however am loathe to upset scientific method. -Holmes) Control has been coached repeatedly during week on Subject's various interests. Additionally, Admin has previously observed Subject's preferred compliments and flirtation styles and has likewise coached Control on aforementioned.]]

John:

"Absolutely not."

"You must!" Sherlock is pacing our sitting room, his dressing gown fluttering around him, and I'm updating my blog and pretending to ignore him. (As opposed to actually ignoring him, of course, which is bloody well impossible.) "I'm not available, and this interview is crucial."

I close my laptop lid and huff a sigh. "Crucial to what exactly? This isn't for a case."

Sherlock stops pacing long enough to give me one of those 'I can see right into your mind' stares. "Fine," he says, his teeth gritted. "The men you've been interviewing are involved in an experiment of mine. It is incredibly important that the experiment continues apace."

"Is he loony?"

"No."

"Creepy?"

"No, John."

"Understand, Sherlock, that if I decide he's nutters-"

Sherlock sighs, falls on to the couch dramatically. "Yes, fine, then you're free to end the interview at any time." He peeks at me, a sidelong glance, and I can tell that he knows I'm going to go. I close my eyes, let out a breath, and wonder (not for the first time, nor for the last) how I wound up with a madman for a best friend.

Sherlock:

[[Subject displaying obvious signs of attraction towards Control. (Personal Log: Have been repeating the phrase "scientific objectivity" under my breath for eight minutes, forty-one seconds. -Holmes) Subject seems at ease; hypothesis suddenly at risk. Further observation necessary.]]

John:

Actually, this one's pretty all right.

His name's Alec, and while he does look eerily like Sherlock (he's even got similar eyes, although the colours in his at least make sense- I can never make sense of Sherlock's, no matter how long I look at them) he doesn't act anything like him. Don't get me wrong: Sherlock's personality- however abrasive, abusive, or childish he can be- is part of his charm. But it's nice to sit down with someone who reminds me more of Lestrade, or some of my mates back in Afghanistan. Alec is an everyman sort of bloke. We talk rugby, medicine (Alec is a nurse, works at a private practice), politics. It's kind of surprising how well we get on. I do notice the way he touches my arm, letting his hand linger maybe a little longer than he ought, but it's not a big deal. I don't want to offend him by mentioning it. And besides, maybe I'm reading all this the wrong way, anyway.

I kept expecting a text from Sherlock but it never comes, so after about two hours of honestly pleasant conversation, I decide to end the interview. "Thanks again for meeting me, Alec," I say, smiling genuinely.

"It was my pleasure, really." There it is again: that flirty tone. Am I reading this wrong? I don't know. I hope I'm reading this wrong; I don't want to have to hurt Alec's feelings, especially not after we've gotten off so well. "Listen…" Oh no. I'm not reading this wrong. "…would it be okay if I gave you my mobile number? Maybe you could ring me this weekend?"

"I, um…" I rub the back of my neck, honestly flustered. "I don't want to give you the wrong impression…"

"Oh." Great, now I feel awful. Poor Alec looks well and truly crestfallen. "Right. No. My mistake."

Clearing my throat, I kind of stammer, "Maybe…maybe…we, um, me and the boys from the Yard, ah, we do a poker night? And maybe you could come. As… as a friend, kind of thing." I put my hands up and add, quickly, "Not a date. Just. Y'know." Bleeding hell, this is uncomfortable. I'm torn between wanting him to agree and wanting him to quickly turn me down.

Alec just swallows repeatedly and nods. "Sure, yeah, maybe. I'll, um, I'll get in contact with Sherlock. Find out when it is and…all that."

"Great."

He nods again. "Great."

I clear my throat again, awkwardly shake Alec's hand, and walk home feeling more confused than ever. Has Sherlock been trying to set me up on dates?

With men?

And did I just go on a reasonably successful one?

Sherlock:

[[Subject appears torn between heterosexual ideals and burgeoning interest in Control. (Personal Log: scientific objectivity, scientific objectivity. -Holmes) Surveys to be given tomorrow. Testing will resume in one week.]]