A/N: Something that randomly popped into my head. It seemed amusing enough to write out and post. ;D
I just no one else has written anythign exactly like this before...
"Come here, Wilson, I need your help with something." House beckons with a swoop of his arm, a folder clenched in his hand.
"…Why do you always drag me into your cases?" the oncologist complains in a small grumble as he stands from his desk chair.
"Not always," House corrects with a small squint of his eyes. Shrugging, he adds, "And anyway, I would only come to you with the important stuff I already know the answer to."
"Which makes me wonder: what's the point in coming to me with it when you know the answer?"
"Because I've been wrong before," House amends mildly, "And because a hero always needs the opinion of his sidekick."
"Whoa, wait a minute. I'm your sidekick now?" Wilson retorts with a raise of his eyebrow and a cross of his arms over his white lab coat.
"Of 'course! What, you didn't know?" House smiles faintly, evident mirth in his blue eyes. "You're the Watson to my Holmes, the Robin to my Batman, the Spock to my Kirk! It's a glorious thing, really. You should be honored."
Wilson snorts in protest. "No, I think I should be concerned. Are you on another Vicodin high, House?"
"Nooo," House answers with honesty on his face. But the drowned-out word says otherwise. "And even if I was, it wouldn't matter, because there's still a case I need your opinion on." He waves the small folder at Wilson, causing his brown mop to flutter on his forehead.
Batting the folder away, Wilson shakes his head. "No."
"No?"
"No, I won't help you this time. Not until I'm at least a fellow super hero in your deranged mind. I'm your friend, House; your equal. I'm not some bench-warming character on the sidelines."
"I never said that," House sniffs. "I just said that you were my sidekick. What's so wrong with that? You get to run around in tights, get checked out by all the girls… it's one hell of a gig, really."
"Get out of my office, House. And take your metaphor and folder with you," he sighs as he pushes his friend.
House places his cane against the doorframe to stop the movement. "Just look at it, will you? It's an Easter-egg case, pack full of surprises! Like possible cancer," he adds quickly before the pressure of his cane gives out from Wilson's shoves. It's a lie, too; there is no possible cancer. But it'll intrigue the other, so it's worth it.
"Cancer, huh?" Wilson says slowly, as if he knows that it's a lie.
"Yep," House pipes up as he looks over his shoulder and lowers his cane.
The flame-decorated pole touches the ground, and Wilson inspects his friend with a cautious eye. "Fine," he consents idly, "I'll look at it."
"Great!" House bursts as he tosses the folder down onto Wilson's desk. As he exits, Wilson shakes his head. But, just before he's out of earshot, House adds, "Thanks a bunch, Watson."
Wilson proceeds to chuck a pen out the door at the stubble-chinned jerk. "Don't even start!" he yells, but all he gets in response is the low rumbling chuckle laced with a smug smirk that he's all too familiar with.