John yawned softly. Light...coming in...window―flipping over. Ah, that was better. But what was that...sound...ugly loud. Ugh. Alarm...clock. He would have to get up. But why? Sheets...so soft…
"John!"
A voice cut into John's sleepy thoughts like a dagger. He found himself shocked into waking up-at the best of times, an hour-long ritual for him.
"Ullgghgh…" he croaked. "Sorry, what?"
"John, it's six in the morning! Get up! We need to talk," Sherlock's voice said. John blinked a few times and looked over at the otter that was his flatmate. Then it all came back to him: how, the previous day, they had bolted the door of the flat to stop Ms. Hudson from spotting Sherlock as an otter, and tried to figure out exactly which of Sherlock's experiments (gone awry) had caused the transformation. After hours of research they established that no human, in the history of the earth, had ever mysteriously morphed into an animal. Not that John was surprised at Sherlock's capability, but if this was a completely unique phenomenon, that just made it one step harder to fix─and to deal with emotionally. How was he supposed to react to this anyway? John rubbed his eyes and realized Sherlock was still waiting for a response.
"Oh, okay. Right. Just...let me, uh, get changed! And...make some me tea!"
Sherlock's bored voice responded from the sitting room. "You're up, get it yourself. Besides, I'm…an otter. Otters can't make tea!"
John grumbled under his breath. In ten minutes, he emerged from the kitchen, fully dressed and carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He handed one to Sherlock, who made no move to take it, forcing John to personally place it into the otter's paw for him.
"You're welcome," John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You—don't, mean that, correct?" Sherlock asked, still keeping his eyes locked onto his computer screen.
"Correct!" John answered, rolling his eyes irritably.
"Now, we need to talk about that—program you showed me. Are you telling me that...we aren't real? That we are just fictional characters, invented by some random person?"
"I...I guess so. Listen, Sherlock, you never finished the episode, did you?"
"No, I didn't. I am most certainly not interested in what some producer," Sherlock spat the word, "thinks about us."
"Forget it, Sherlock, you have to finish watching," said John firmly. "It's called…A Study in Pink."
It was ten o'clock in the morning. John and Sherlock sat in their respective chairs, twenty minutes into the first episode of Sherlock.
"What is this?" Sherlock said to John, bewildered. "How is this even possible―we're all fake? Me, you, Ms. Hudson? Lestrade? Anderson? Well, that one's not a pity…"
"Mary?" said John incredulously, chiming in.
"And look how I'm portrayed! Some freak of nature, that you have to be warned about by my useless brother and Donovan! ...Come to think of it, a lot of this did happen to us, didn't it?"
"It's a little disturbing...how these people know so much about our lives…" John mused. Then, the TV Sherlock started talking nonstop about a suitcase. Real Sherlock leapt to his feet and began shouting at the television screen.
"It's obvious, you morons! The murderer left the case somewhere after he gave the woman the pills, so the police wouldn't find her mobile! Obviously! How dense are they?!"
"Thanks so much for spoiling the ending, Sherlock," John said, annoyed. "Look, I know this must seem simple to you, but some of us enjoy letting it all play out, you know…"
"If you're that bothered, just leave!" said Sherlock. "Oh, and, while you're out─"
"Get milk! I know!" John cried, exasperated. There was no hope.