You guys shouldn't have met each other
John Watson had a lot of experience dealing with Sherlock's enemies. Why, he had been kidnapped by his flatmate's very 'archenemy' even before he decided to live with the detective in a moment of madness. So yes, he got used to odd enemies barging into their flat and disturbing peaceful days, but he never had delicate ones that would promptly lose consciousness upon seeing a bit of blood. Whoever heard about intruders who fainted upon seeing the gruesome act of their targets? It was so lame and twisted that John didn't even know what to think.
He glanced at the fainted one's supposed friend to get some idea about his next action. It looked like there would be no help from there, though, seeing that the guy looked truly gleeful at the fallen one's fate.
"Oh, don't worry, he has an awfully thick skull," he even commented cheerfully after feeling John's stare.
John stopped and looked back at Sherlock for a second. He was, of course, completely absolved in his task of disembowelling the arm. At this state, it wouldn't have bothered him if the guy was screaming in agony. It was idiotic of John to even unconsciously seek help from a sociopath.
Realizing that he was the only one who had an iota of human decency here, John heaved a sigh and crouched next to the guy on the floor. It seemed the man indeed possessed one hell of a thick skull, for there was no scratch on him. Except for the fact that he was not conscious he was absolutely fine. John wondered for a second if he had to provide blanket for that man, but waved the thought away as he remembered the rude entrance that had happened few minutes ago. A stiff back and pounding headache would serve the guy right for having been so annoying.
Finished with his doctoring duty, John stood up, and his eyes met with the short – yes, he was shorter than John, thank you very much- guy's. The goofy grin that had been sported on the bespectacled face wilted uncertainly. It seemed like the fact that he was all alone in the 'enemy territory' finally dawned on to the guy. Even his backup, albeit a dubious, trouble-magneting one, was presently out of the world.
"So, what's your business here?" Sherlock's calm yet menacing tone certainly didn't help the matter. Especially when he was holding a bloodied mass.
"Um.. what?" came the eloquent answer.
"State your business, whoever you are, so John wouldn't frown at me when I throw you out."
"Oh, that, um, actually… I just tagged along - reluctantly I tell you! – so I don't have any reason to be here. I don't really know what Sheldon had been thinking to barge in here, though. Not that I know what he's thinking the most of the time," the man shrugged in a helpless fashion. "However, it's reasonable to guess that he just wanted to insult you or something silly like that. Certainly nothing important."
"Then you can show yourself out, and take him with you," Sherlock said while pointing the bloodied knife at the man, making the poor guy step back in terror. Really, someone should have taught some social manners when Sherlock was young. Not looking like a serial killer while holding a conversation would have been a good way to start the lesson.
"I really want to show myself out, I really do," stammered the man. He seemed to have more guts than he looked like. He was white as sheet but was still speaking his mind. "But how am I supposed to get out with Sheldon in that state?"
"By carrying him, of course."
The man blinked. "You are… joking, right?" More blinking, staring nervously at the knife. "Do you honestly think that I can carry him?"
That got Sherlock's attention. And sadly, it was a reasonable question. The Sheldon guy looked more than a head taller than the man, and while the guy was lanky, his dead weight would cause some trouble in all likelihoods.
Sherlock cocked his head slightly, apparently judging his options. John certainly was not a mind reader like he suspected the Holmes brothers to be, but he could follow the detective's line of thought in this circumstance; Sherlock wanted those American blokes out, but he wouldn't carry, nor even touch Sheldon, because that was just beneath him. However Sheldon's friend couldn't do the work, because he was physically lacking. That would leave….
"Oh, no, don't look at me! I'm not carrying that guy out."
"Why not? You were a soldier. You would have carried several fallen comrades of yours, who would definitely have been taller than you."
Seriously, Sherlock knew how to flatter a guy, especially when he was asking a favour to that someone.
"That's not the point. I don't want to do it. Besides, I have a leg problem."
"Haven't I proved to you that it is merely a psychological injury?"
"Exactly my point. Carrying that guy would trigger my 'psychological injury' because I would get upset. Also, I would have you know that my shoulder injury is real. I don't want to overexert my shoulder just so you wouldn't have to do your own dirty work."
Sherlock frowned. It seemed like John won this argument. It made him almost giddy, because winning anything against Sherlock was such a rare occasion.
"Fine," Sherlock heaved a sigh, as if John had made the most ridiculous suggestion and he consented to it just to appease John.
"I tried to be 'social' as you put it," John wondered if definition of 'social' had changed while he didn't notice. Had waving a knife while talking and trying to bodily throw someone out been included as 'the social behaviour'? "But you leave me with no choice. I'm going to wake him up," Sherlock said while stomping toward Sheldon, for all intent looking like he was trying to kick Sheldon into consciousness. Surprisingly, it was a meek voice from the guy that stopped him.
"Um, sorry to intrude, but I think you should put those," the man vaguely gestured toward the bloody mess in the kitchen, "away before you do anything. Chances are, he would just faint as soon as he see those… things. Again. And as amusing as it would be to see Sheldon on loop, falling and waking over and over again, I don't think that's what you want."
Sherlock growled, but amazingly didn't throttle the guy. He just whipped back toward the kitchen and started to put things away in record time. John felt almost betrayed. He had never prompted this kind of reaction in Sherlock. Maybe, he should become less tolerant?
"Wait, Sherlock, what do you think you are doing? That part is only for the food!"
"Yes, but the part of the fridge for my experiment is already full. You said so yourself that compromises are needed between flatmates."
"Of course, and there are also lines not to be crossed. This is one of them. Put the head away, and you will get enough room. Don't give me that look, I know that you are already finished with that particular experiment, and are just keeping 'George' for kicks. Throw it away, I think he will understand, too."
Sherlock pouted, but consented and removed the head from the fridge. John could see the bespectacled guy turning green, and looking like he wanted to puke at the unique seen of a head, an actual HUMAN head, lying on the kitchen floor. The guy sent a frantic stare at John, silently asking, 'Is this for real?'. John wished he could also do that. Panicking at the odd human body parts in the flat, that is. He became too used to these weird shits to be considered sane.
It seemed like the guy finally remembered how matter-of-factly John approached the problem of human head in the fridge, though, because he was giving freaked-out look to John, too. John worried that he might join his friend on the floor.
Splat!
The loud noise startled them both, blissfully freeing their minds of the head in the room.
Many things had changed while they were preoccupied in their silent communication. For one, Sheldon was now awake. Dazed and completely wet, coughing and spluttering like a poor, soaked kitten, but awake. Also Sherlock had finished cleaning the kitchen and came toward them without them knowing. By the empty pot dripping water in his hand, it seemed liked Sherlock was the culprit who had just dumped the whole thing on Sheldon without any mercy.
"What? He's awake now. He can go," that was an answer to their incredulous stare.
Unbelievable.
John understood what Sherlock had meant now; Sherlock had been trying to be social.
AN: Sorry for late update. My real life had been suffocating me. Actually, my mid-term exams are not over yet, but what the hell, I'm taking a break for a moment.
Please let me know what you think about this chapter, it would cheer me up in great deal! :)
And to the previous reviewers. Sugary-Sweet-Lemon-Spy, GrimlyFiendish, Anita Simons, Catindahat, theonewhodoesn'tquitefitin, Cause4Rebellion, Aria Dragoncrest, Elliej939, Syrus07, Socken, Willow Battlegale, thank you all!
Wow, eleven reviews, I can't believe it. Thanks for all the lovely reviews! In the middle of all the exams and reports, your reviews brightened my days :D! It made me really happy that you guys liked my story.
Sugary-Sweet-Lemon-Spy, GrimlyFiendish, Socken, Willow Battlegale, thanks for your suggestions for how things are going to be next! Nothing dramatic happened in this chapter, but your suggestions made my imagination go wild! I would have to rein it in and make it into interesting plot XD.