A/N. Just a silly little one-shot that I came up with with a little help from my friend. (Ps. See if you can spot the season 3 reference)
John always promised himself he wouldn't get angry with Sherlock again. After Sherlock reappeared in his life having been presumed dead for three years, John was determined not to do or say anything that would make Sherlock leave him again. He couldn't go through it, not again.
But then Sherlock brought a swordfish home and all hell broke loose.
It was a misty October afternoon and John was finishing up with his blog and thinking about making some dinner before he headed out for his evening surgery. He was also considering phoning Sherlock to ask when he'd be home and whether he wanted any tea. But all such plans were abandoned when the front door burst open and Sherlock came in, a suitcase in one hand and a goddam swordfish in the other.
John jumped to his feet as Sherlock unceremoniously dumped the enormous fish in the middle of the sitting room floor. It was obviously dead and starting to smell, what in all the world was Sherlock doing with it?
"That's a swordfish" said John, trying to keep his voice even. "And it's on the floor of our sitting room. Why is it here?"
"I needed it," Sherlock replied calmly. "And it won't fit in the fridge, you don't mind do you?"
John let out a groan and ran his hands through his hair in exasperation, as long as Sherlock kept his experiments out of the way, John didn't mind but this stinking dead fish was clearly not being kept out of the way.
"Where did you get it?" John asked. "It looks like you just dragged it out of the sea and I'm pretty sure they don't swim about in the Thames"
"London Aquarium" Sherlock said as though it was nothing. "They won't miss it"
"You stole a swordfish from London Aquarium?" John asked incredulously, not quite believing his ears. "You are unbelievable; get this thing out of the flat"
"No" Sherlock said simply. "I need it."
The defiance and insolence that reverberated through Sherlock's last sentence finally made John loose his rag.
"You don't get it do you?!" he yelled at his flatmate. "I am sick and tired of you treating this flat like you're the only one living in it, the head in the fridge I can deal with but not A SWORDFISH IN MY LIVING ROOM. I've been walking on eggshells trying to make sure you don't throw yourself off another building, putting up with all your crap, and this is how you treat me!"
John was shaking by this point, six months' worth of bottled up annoyance at Sherlock had just burst out of his mouth because Sherlock had brought a huge dead fish into the living room. The whole situation was completely ludicrous.
Sherlock looked genuinely shocked at John's outburst, and walked towards John, his expression morphing into a more apologetic one. John's anger began to fade away, Sherlock wasn't deliberately trying to upset him, he was just being Sherlock.
"I am sorry" Sherlock said softly, taking hold of one of John's hands. "You don't have to be nice to me. I'm not going anywhere; remember it's just the two of us against the rest of the world"
John smiled and gave Sherlock's hand a gentle squeeze.
"It's alright" he replied. "Just give me a heads up when you're thinking of bringing dead stuff home, I don't like those kinds of surprises"
Sherlock smiled properly, he looked happier than John had seen him in ages.
"I'll ask Mrs Hudson for the key to 221C" Sherlock said. "And if I need a space bigger than our kitchen table, I'll work down there"
John felt relieved that there hopefully weren't going to be any more dead animals in his living room and even more relieved that Sherlock wasn't going to be chucking himself off any more buildings.