Sherlock fic: It's for an Experiment
Title: It's for an Experiment
Author: PipMer
Characters: Sherlock, John
Spoilers: Series 1 and 2
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 947
Genre: Gen, friendship
Disclaimer: I don’t own, no money is being made from this
Summary: Sherlock and John texting :D. That's it.
A/N: Unbetae'd, all mistakes are mine.
John.
John.
John.
John.
John.
For Christ’s sake, WHAT??
I need you.
I’m busy.
It’s important.
I’m at work. It’ll have to wait.
This is more important.
More important than earning rent money? Not likely.
I need to know the time of your last bowel movement.
Oh my g… why in the world would you need to know that, Sherlock?
It’s for an experiment.
Of course it is.
…
…
…
Well?
Well, what?
When was it?
When was what?
Your last bowel movement.
Why do you need this information, Sherlock?
I told you, it’s for an experiment.
What kind of experiment?
It’s a double-blind study, so if I told you that, it would skew the results.
Really.
Yes, really.
Wait a minute. That doesn’t make any sense. If it were a double-blind study, then you wouldn’t be privy to the conditions of the experiment either. Who’s the third party?
Sherlock?
Never mind that, the fact that you must have dosed me with something to affect my bowel movements is A BIT NOT GOOD!!
Sherlock!!
Sod this, I’m turning my phone completely off. I’m off to the pub after work, don’t expect me back at the flat until after midnight; if I see your face before then I’ll punch it into next week.
No, don’t turn your phone off. What if there’s an emergency and I need you?
Not bloody likely, Sherlock. Piss off.
Don’t be like that, John, I would never do anything to endanger your health.
You’re kidding, right?
Turning my phone off now.
John.
John?
John, please.
…
…
…
Where are you?
It’s 12:05. You said you’d be back after midnight.
Is your phone still off?
What if Harry needed to get in touch with you?
What if something happened to Mrs. Hudson?
What if something happened to ME?
Dammit it John, stop being childish.
If you must know, Mycroft is the third party.
And he has reliably informed me that you were in the group that was given the placebo, so no harm done.
Really, John, what purpose does it serve to ignore me? You’re going to have to come home and face me sometime.
Fine. Don’t expect me to come running when you’re kidnapped by thugs and in need of rescuing.
Or when you’re kidnapped by a criminal mastermind and wrapped in enough explosives to bring down Parliament.
Or when an American CIA agent puts a gun to your head and threatens to blow your brains out.
Or when an imaginary hound stalks you in a darkened lab and corners you in a cage.
You also shouldn’t expect me to fall to my death when a sniper’s rifle is set to snuff out your life.
What more could I possibly do to convince you that your safety and well-being is of paramount importance? If I conduct an experiment on you, you can rest assured that it will be done in the safest manner possible.
Being a doctor, you’re also a man of science. You know how stringent the parameters of clinical trials are. All precautions are taken to guarantee safety and efficacy.
…
…
…
Bloody hell, Sherlock, can’t you go one evening without texting me endlessly?
No.
I suppose you’re sulking now.
I do not sulk.
Yes you do.
Are you coming home?
I’m on my way.
Are you still angry ?
We’ll talk when I get home.
That’s a ‘yes’, then.
Sherlock, this is the second time you’ve dosed me with something... or rather, thought you’d dosed me with something. You promised that it wouldn’t happen again. I took you at your word. So yes, I’m still angry.
I cheated. I made sure that you were in the control group. There was never any chance of you being given an active drug.
Still doesn’t make it better, Sherlock.
Why not?
You still experimented on me! At Baskerville you didn’t actually give me the drug, either, but you still used me as a guinea pig. Not appreciated, Sherlock.
I’m sorry, John.
Yes, well, you’ve apologized before, usually as a means to the end of being able to continue to use and manipulate me for your own purposes. Forgive me if I doubt your sincerity.
And lord knows, I let you do it, too. Each and every time.
Guess I can’t blame it all on you.
After all, I’m still living with you, aren’t I? Even moved back in with you when you came back after… after.
Damn it! Apology accepted, you wanker. I guess if I can forgive you for faking your death for a year, then I’ll probably forgive you anything else.
Never going to let that go, are you, John?
No, and I shouldn’t, either. Some things go way beyond a bit not good. But I still forgave you. And I’m still here.
You’re not here, though. Where are you?
Five minutes from Baker Street.
Cab?
No, Sherlock, not a cab. Cabs are expensive. Walking.
It’s seven degrees outside.
I’m well aware, Sherlock.
It’s 23 degrees in the flat.
Thank you, Sherlock.
It wouldn’t do for you to get sick, what with the holidays coming up.
I won’t get sick just by being out in the cold weather, Sherlock; as a scientist, you should realise that.
I’m not a scientist, I’m a consulting detective.
Says the man conducting an experiment on bowel movements.
Technically it’s for a case.
Wonderful.
We’re still talking about this when I get home. It’s still not okay to experiment on me without my knowledge.
Fine, we’ll talk.
Alright. Good. Just remember that you have to listen as well. Agreed?
Yes.
Good. I’m at the front door now, am coming up.
See you soon.