„Jooooooohn, come downstairs!“
Hastily drying himself off and pulling his clothes back on, he stepped out of the bathroom. That level of excitement in his flatmate had to mean case, and boy, they needed one.
But when he rushed into the living room, there was no one but Sherlock. With his – no, John´s, of course – laptop on his lap. And a TV show on it, he noticed now.
“Come here, come here, you have to see that!”, Sherlock commented, patting the small free part of the couch. The one he wasn´t curled up upon.
“I already knew that TV is a waste of time, but this is so awful, I will have to delete any knowledge of it immediately.”
John sat down. And watched, trying to ignore his partner´s rambling. The show was actually pretty good, and obviously depicting them. Just in America. And, well, John was a woman, not that he had a problem with it.
Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed insulted by the “brain-dead, slow, idiotic version of himself” and, even though he´d never seemed vain, his “bad looks, seriously, John, he doesn´t look like me one bit!” and how he used those looks to spend energy on “transport”.
If John was watching it every day from there on, openly on the couch, it was just between them. And the neighbors, if Sherlock managed to scream about it any louder.
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“Sherlock, you have to see this!”, Joan called between giggles.
She´d found this BBC show, obviously inspirited by them, and while it was meant to be serious, she just couldn´t stop laughing.
Those two had pretty much nothing in common with them, except – they did. Tiny details, mostly pertaining to Sherlock's habits of being insufferable. And annoying. But that was it, really.
And oh, the best thing, once the real one was there, was watching Sherlock silently fume about his film-self, until the comments burst out of him.
Well, she was definitely going to watch more of this, although not in the same room as him. That wouldn´t do her much good, but it was the least she could do. And the show was better without him stomping around the room.