A/N; I've had this idea for a while. It didn't turn out as long as I initially expected, but oh well. It's probably a one shot, but who knows.

This is a slight crackfic about John turning into Tim from The Office (BBC). You don't have to have watched it to get this story, though.

Without further ado, enjoy and review.


It all started when Sherlock realized John had quit his job.

Of course, this realization was deleted a half minute later, when Lestrade came up the stairs, a file folder clamped under his arm.

John and Sarah had not lasted long.

Their relationship, like the job that had brought it on, was made on a whim.

In fact, the only reason both had existed was because John needed something mundane to balance the psychotic (i.e. Sherlock) in his life. Only, he realized that the psychotic was good. Good enough, in fact.

Anyway, he didn't think of any of this when he and Sarah were still together.

He thought of their eventual split as something mutual. They just weren't right enough for each other.

For example, John had enjoyed having a conversation with someone who didn't undermine his intellectual abilities. Someone who was caring, humble, a little humorous.

Then he had realized he was dating himself, and he stopped.

Then he had realized he was condemning himself to- well, he didn't know, and wasn't about to become all philosophical (or 'Ella') about it; and he stopped.

The job, that is - because after looking at dozens of throats and ears and noses and other trivial body parts, he had to.

He gave in his notice the day after, when he had properly thought about it (or, at least as much as he could with Sherlock's violin 'recitals' downstairs).

John had thought the crime would be enough - it was, but not for his lifestyle... what with Sherlock herding him over London in cabs (!) then sprinting out the door, leaving John to pay the fee.

He had quietly gone along with it, but only until Mycroft (of all people) paid him a visit to offer him money, did he comprehend his situation.

He looked through the paper for job ads while Sherlock dashed about London on a case he didn't need John for.

This continued for the rest of the week, until Sherlock suddenly flew through the door.

John hurriedly folded the paper and sat on it, as Sherlock explained (out of breath) that the bathtub had a crack, and that there had been chocolate cake served that night, and various other things John didn't bother to ask elaboration on.

Sherlock finally stopped talking. John saw his eyes squint minutely, but he dismissed it as paranoia (Ella, if John still went, would love it).

John breathed a sigh of relief when Sherlock moved to his familiar sofa and flung himself down on it dramatically.


John obliged.

The next day, John put on his best dress clothes - a wrinkled white shirt, black trousers, and a too-short black tie. He surveyed himself in the small shaving mirror he had on his nighttable, then threw on his overcoat.

He passed Sherlock, staring into the fireplace. The latter looked up, squinting suspiciously.

"Out to get milk!"

He ran out the door before Sherlock could say anything.

You have 1 new message.

Sherlock: Tea.

John: ?

Sherlock: We are running out.

John: Oh. O.K.

Sherlock: When did you get a new job?

John: Wht do u mean?

Sherlock: You are terrible at lying.

Sherlock: Please don't use chatspeak. It's annoying.

John: Not lying!

Sherlock: Get tea anyway.

John: O.K.! Wish me luck then?

You have 0 new messages.

You have 0 new messages.

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You have 1 new message.

Mycroft: Good luck on your interview.

John: Thnx?

You have 2 new messages.

Sherlock: Hello, Thomas.

Sherlock: Since when was your surname Canterbury?

John: Since my dad died & took mum's name instead?

Sherlock: It doesn't suit you.

John: O.K., well, good 2 know.

John: to*

Sherlock: And sales? I thought you were a doctor, for God's sake.

John: Change of atmosphere.

Sherlock: Receptionist doing well for you then?

Sherlock: Tea?

John: Shit.

Sherlock: Tea.

John: I'm past Tesco!

Sherlock: Tea.

Sherlock: And milk.

John: Say please.

Sherlock: Please.