Warnings: none, but a bit of fluff (don't worry, smut is coming... pardon the pun)

Chapter Nine

The cab ride home was completely silent, but Sherlock broke it as soon as we entered the flat.

"Are you still angry with me?"

I thought for a moment. "No, but what I said earlier... I meant it. You can't just experiment on me whenever you feel like it. I'm a person, an ordinary, boring one, I know, but I'm still not a guinea pig. I'm your friend, and that's not how friends treat each other, high-functioning sociopath or not."

"You're wrong."

"What?" I was dumbstruck, unable to believe he was going to argue against me.

"You're wrong. You're not ordinary. Nor are you boring."

"Oh, that. Look Sherlock, I am very aware of the fact I'm not a genius like you, and –"

"No, you're not a genius. You're mind is average. Like Lestrade's. Or Mrs Hudson's... Yet, you are an enigma. When I first met you ..."

"You could read everything about me!"

"I could read everything about your life, what had happened, who was involved... But I couldn't tell you a thing about you. John Watson. As a person. Every time I think I've got it you do something surprising. Something unpredictable. I can't wrap my head around you."

"Is that, a, er ... compliment?"

Sherlock grasped me by my shoulders. "You are extraordinary." And then he let go. "Goodnight John."

I stared after him as he bounded into his bedroom, stopping only to pick up a laptop – mine, obviously – on his way through.

"Goodnight, Sherlock..."