MORGAN Freeman? Yes. yes I did.
Summary: In which JOHN WATSON is played NOT by MARTIN FREEMAN... But BY: MORGAN FREEMAN! Crack, one-shot, that is all.
Length:~700
Rating:PG (Scary Stuff)
Something was wrong. He couldn't quite place it, but, as John stroked his short white beard he wondered if maybe he was dreaming.
"John?"
John sat down across from him at the kitchen table, brushing crumbs onto the floor before he leant on the surface with sleeves of his pristine white suit. It suited him actually, contrasting with his dark skin, and matching his salt and pepper hair.
He didn't say anything, simply fixing Sherlock with a look. A subtle smile on his face, like he was amused by Sherlock as one would be amused by an eccentric, but adored child.
"Take that look off of your face."
John didn't.
He was probably acting out because Sherlock had called him dull yesterday. There really was no need. Sherlock had even washed the dishes to apologise! Wasn't that enough?
"It's not that strange. I do occasionally do the dishes you know. It's not a miracle."
"No, Sherlock, it's not a miracle," John sighed in a deep voice, "A single mom who's working two jobs, and still finds time to take her kid to soccer practice, that's a miracle. A teenager who says no to drugs and yes to an education, that's a miracle."
Sherlock was about to reply that actually it wasn't, but John just carried on.
"You always make me do the washing, but what you don't realise is that you have the power! You wanna see a miracle son? Be the miracle!"
Right then Sherlock got a text. "It's Lestrade, let's go."
John merely hummed and got up to follow the tall man as he swept out of the flat.
"Isn't it obvious Lestrade? The brother blamed him for his false incarceration and wanted revenge! Look at the biscuits!"
"I was in prison once," John began.
'Oh not this again...' Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"He what?" Lestrade looked shocked.
"He's been doing this all day, he's just being odd, ignore him."
There was a scoff from the corner as someone heard Sherlock call someone odd.
"Yep, the first night's the toughest, no doubt about it. They march you in naked as the day you were born, skin burning and half blind from that delousing shit they throw on you, and when they put you in that cell, when those bars slam home, that's when you know it's for real..."
This went on for some time, John not seeming to notice that no-one was paying him any attention.
"Mould samples in cups are funny... First you hate 'em, then you get used to 'em. Enough time passes, gets so you depend on them. That's institutionalized. They send you here for life, that's exactly what they take. The part that counts anyways... before you know it, you're in hospital with food poisoning..."
Sherlock didn't hear the rest, as he calmly stepped up the stairs, into John's room, took out his gun and placed it on his temple. This was really getting ridiculous now.
BANG! The gun exploded. Overreaction? Perhaps, perhaps not.
He woke with a start, completely unnoticed by John who was crashing about in the kitchen. Sherlock sat up on the sofa and waited with bated breath as he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen doorway.
As Normal John came round the kitchen Sherlock let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and leapt up to throw his arms around John, sending both cups of tea crashing to the floor, where it burned his feet but he didn't even care.
"Oh thank GOD John! I'll never call you dull again!"
Length:~700
Rating:PG (Scary Stuff)
Something was wrong. He couldn't quite place it, but, as John stroked his short white beard he wondered if maybe he was dreaming.
"John?"
John sat down across from him at the kitchen table, brushing crumbs onto the floor before he leant on the surface with sleeves of his pristine white suit. It suited him actually, contrasting with his dark skin, and matching his salt and pepper hair.
He didn't say anything, simply fixing Sherlock with a look. A subtle smile on his face, like he was amused by Sherlock as one would be amused by an eccentric, but adored child.
"Take that look off of your face."
John didn't.
He was probably acting out because Sherlock had called him dull yesterday. There really was no need. Sherlock had even washed the dishes to apologise! Wasn't that enough?
"It's not that strange. I do occasionally do the dishes you know. It's not a miracle."
"No, Sherlock, it's not a miracle," John sighed in a deep voice, "A single mom who's working two jobs, and still finds time to take her kid to soccer practice, that's a miracle. A teenager who says no to drugs and yes to an education, that's a miracle."
Sherlock was about to reply that actually it wasn't, but John just carried on.
"You always make me do the washing, but what you don't realise is that you have the power! You wanna see a miracle son? Be the miracle!"
Right then Sherlock got a text. "It's Lestrade, let's go."
John merely hummed and got up to follow the tall man as he swept out of the flat.
"Isn't it obvious Lestrade? The brother blamed him for his false incarceration and wanted revenge! Look at the biscuits!"
"I was in prison once," John began.
'Oh not this again...' Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"He what?" Lestrade looked shocked.
"He's been doing this all day, he's just being odd, ignore him."
There was a scoff from the corner as someone heard Sherlock call someone odd.
"Yep, the first night's the toughest, no doubt about it. They march you in naked as the day you were born, skin burning and half blind from that delousing shit they throw on you, and when they put you in that cell, when those bars slam home, that's when you know it's for real..."
This went on for some time, John not seeming to notice that no-one was paying him any attention.
"Mould samples in cups are funny... First you hate 'em, then you get used to 'em. Enough time passes, gets so you depend on them. That's institutionalized. They send you here for life, that's exactly what they take. The part that counts anyways... before you know it, you're in hospital with food poisoning..."
Sherlock didn't hear the rest, as he calmly stepped up the stairs, into John's room, took out his gun and placed it on his temple. This was really getting ridiculous now.
BANG! The gun exploded. Overreaction? Perhaps, perhaps not.
He woke with a start, completely unnoticed by John who was crashing about in the kitchen. Sherlock sat up on the sofa and waited with bated breath as he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen doorway.
As Normal John came round the kitchen Sherlock let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and leapt up to throw his arms around John, sending both cups of tea crashing to the floor, where it burned his feet but he didn't even care.
"Oh thank GOD John! I'll never call you dull again!"