sharpshooting: (Default)
2013-02-21 10:11 pm
Entry tags:

January 30 : for your information

It was hours later before John finally found Sherlock, stretched out underneath John's desk inside the sick bay office.

"Where have you been?" he had the gall to ask, to which John's only response was to turn away and breath slowly in and out through his nose until he lost the urge to upend a cold cup of tea over Sherlock's head.

"We have to talk," he said when he turned around. "Now."
sharpshooting: (Default)
2013-02-21 10:11 pm
Entry tags:

the fall recreated

The holodeck was empty, black walls and yellow grid, and John's footsteps echoed as he walked across it. He moved slow, reluctant, his heart thudding dull in his chest. He still thought this was a bad idea-- but as usual, no one had bothered to ask what he thought.

Finally he stopped, almost in one corner of the big room, and turned to face Sherlock like a boxer in the opposite corner. His hands balled into fists at his side, his jaw set.

"Computer," Sherlock said, his eyes not leaving John's, "load program. London 2012, St. Bartholomew's Hospital."

The city street rose to life around him, and John kept his eyes firmly forward, not looking up at the roof now looming overhead. "I don't suppose it matters to you that I really don't want to do this."
sharpshooting: (a bit not good)
2012-10-21 09:41 pm
Entry tags:

where have you been all my life (and when are you going back?)

"You're never going to convince me," John said, shrugging. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but not even you are good enough to understand the random pranks that replicator likes to play on us." He ignored the way Sherlock rolled his eyes (he was a pro, by now, at that) and followed him around the corner from the Aurelia concourse to the main hallway.

They reached the lift and John hit the button to call it down, turning to face Sherlock with his arms crossed over his chest. "There's no way you're getting me to believe that ordering tea from the science lab replicator is putting the ratborgs off their food."

He didn't bother pointing out that if Sherlock were correct about his ability to affect the replicator's output, it was a surefire way to get him to go out of his way to order tea from it as often as possible. Anything that brought those things closer to the demise they deserved was a deed well done in John's book.
sharpshooting: (huh)
2012-07-10 11:34 pm
Entry tags:

(no subject)

It would've been an exaggeration to say that John hadn't stopped thinking about Sherlock and the cocaine since he'd found out about it. He was still worried about it, though, and not likely to stop anytime soon-- at least not until he'd found where Sherlock had hidden it and gotten rid of it.

It wasn't made easy by the fact that Sherlock had gone from following him around everywhere like a singleminded and sarcastic guard dog, to disappearing for long stretches of time. Each time Sherlock re-emerged from wherever he'd been (usually the lab, counting on the ratborgs to protect him from John's interference no doubt) John inspected him closely for signs of coming down off a high, but found none. After a few days he determined that Sherlock had squirrelled the drugs away for safekeeping, and it would be up to him to find out where.

He knew better than to try looking when Sherlock was in the room with him, so he waited until he was reasonably sure his flatmate was in the lab, and let himself in. The place was even more of a mess than the day John had arrived; he was almost surprised Sherlock hadn't begun colonizing his space as well, with the amount of crap he had shoved into his own.

He had no idea what Sherlock would consider a good hiding place, so he chose at random, and started with the dresser.