A/N: Thank you for all the interest, it really makes me smile.
This next one is very different. Small, awkward, silly one. Don't really know where it came from. I wanted something light ...Is it?
Life is being complicated, and writing these small ones is more attainable. So 2 posts tonight (well, it's night here). -csf
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First of all, I didn't start it.
I know it sounds childish, but living with the great genius detective for a year and a half has brought me to this. While we shared 221B Baker Street quarters, he kept borrowing my computer. Because he couldn't be bothered to get up and use his. Even if mine was password protected. Honestly, I think he took it as a challenge.
My last password at Baker Street was don't-you-dare-Sherlock.
He still cracked it. Shamelessly.
So now the tables have turned. I'm in Baker Street, waiting to meet Sherlock that is returning from St. Bart's. I've just picked up the phone on the kitchen table with the intermittent light showing a missed call, text, email, whatever. I thought it was my phone. I typed in the password – john – and it worked.
This is not my phone. It's the same maker and model, hence the confusion. This is Sherlock's phone. He forgot it on the kitchen table. I'm holding Sherlock's unlocked phone on my hand, and its password is john. Is this some joke?
I look all around me, half-expecting Sherlock to step out of the shadows and laugh with me.
221B is empty.
john.
'John?'
The real sound of my name echoes as Sherlock is stamping up the stairs, hurriedly. 'There you are. Whatever you were doing, just drop it, John. Crime scene! We're running late!'
'Wait, Sherlock, your password...'
He halts at my request and looks down at my hand. He probably doesn't miss my own phone creating a volume in my coat pocket. Instantly he realises this one is his.
'Simple commodity, John', he argues back. 'Having the same password as you allows me to use whichever of our phones is first at hand.'
I almost fall for it. Then I remember I set the password not even a week ago and Sherlock had no way of knowing I had such an obvious passwords on my phone. I do a lot better in my computer. I tell that to Sherlock and watch him go tense.
'It's a well known memory technique, John', he starts again, 'to associate a password to a word with an emotional connection, that way it's easily remembered. Granted, choosing your name was a tad easy, but that's why it's so good. In reverse psychology, people don't expect me to use a simple password, and...'
I cut him short:
'You have an emotional connection to my name?' This is awkward.
'You are my friend, John.' Makes sense, now you put it like that. 'I could have chosen Gavin as well.'
'Greg', I correct.
'That could be a problem. Gavin, Greg, Geoff...'
'Mrs Hudson?' I add.
'A bit long, don't you think?'
'Mrs H. Four letters.'
'Yeah, I guess.'
'Mary.'
'Yeah.'
'Molly.'
'That's five letters.'
'It's still short.'
'So are you.'
I death-stare at him. I know he didn't mean only my name. It's like he's changing the subject. As if he's embarrassed his password is john.
Hey, I'm the one that should be embarrassed. I'm John and my lazy password is john. Maybe mine should be sherlock.
I finally let it go. 'Crime scene?' I volunteer.
He smirks. 'A bit too long, no?' he asks taking his phone back. He knows what I meant and we both go to the door.
'221B?'
'A bit too obvious, don't you think?'
'And john isn't?'
'You're anything but obvious, John', he plays along. 'You keep surprising me.'
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