Summary: Some days, John and Sherlock's life seems to come straight from the pages of a badly written fanfiction. Neither are particularly amused.
Disclaimer: I claim nothing.
Some days, John though, his life was completely and utterly ridiculous (and, of course, today was one of those days, or else you wouldn't be reading this, would you, because it would be booring).
"John?" Sherlock said tersely. "We really need to rethink your blog."
John had to agree. He could only really nod, because he was gaged and chained up and suspended five meters in the air over a pool with an overgrown iguana-um, I mean alligator, and his current captor, a fangirl-um, I mean homicidal maniac, was threatening Sherlock across the room.
"Go on," she said. "Tell me it's your greatest challenge yet. Tell me how I outsmarted you."
"Yep, this one's still delusional," Sherlock called out.
"Delusional? I'm the one who's got your friend suspended about about a pool full of alligators-"
"First of all, alligator, singular. There's only one. Second, you're not even talking about Alligator mississippiensis, which don't live in this country; you mean your brother's pet Varanus salvator. You do realize that it's going to drown soon, don't you? They really don't like chlorine."
The girl didn't even seem to notice he had interrupted her. "Go on. Try to deduce something about me. You'd be surprised how little you can discover."
"Boring. Why don't you just let John down, I call Lestrade, and your Daddy will come up with something interesting to pass as an excuse, coupled with a nice big bribe. Boring, boring, boring."
The girl narrowed her eyes. "You can either play my game or I will burn a heart out of you."
"Strike two. John, you heard that, didn't you? The blog is coming down." Sherlock turned to the girl. "As for you-rich, that much is obvious, because your brother keeps exotic pets and you probably needed some very strong security guards to pull off the whole thing with John hanging from the ceiling. Besides that, everything about this setup screams 'rich, spoiled brat.' You read about us on the news, went and found John's blog, and if I'm not mistaken-" He pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched a button. "Yep, you're the kid who called us who wanted us to come to her sweet sixteen. You've got Daddy issues, you hate your brother, you think your stepmother is only there for the money-and fifteen years younger, I'm afraid you're right, but it doesn't matter, Daddy is cheating on her anyways-oh, don't look so surprised, your clothes, your posture, the covering on your phone. Anyways, you find John's blog and want to have an adventure, so you decide to kidnap him. Boring."
The girl looked somewhat shocked. "Boring? You call this boring? Your friend is in mortal peril!"
"I doubt it. The worst you can do is drown him, and I'd be able to free him before then. Besides, you're young, you're scared, and you're all talk. You don't have it in you to actually kill someone. You play 'Daddy's girl,' and you wouldn't let a murder soil your perfect record. You've never even gotten drunk before, except that one party where he let you have a bit of champagne, and you weren't really drunk, despite what you told your friends. Not that this particularly matters. No, you're rich, you're used to getting what you want, so you decide to fabricate a little story about being a supervillain, get your goons to kidnap John, then what? As I am amazed by your brilliance I invite you to be my new partner? You can't even find a proper alligator."
The girl just sort of stood there, clutched the big button that was supposed to lower John Watson into the pool. Watson finally managed to spit his gag out, to say, "Please don't. The last time one of you people lowered me into a pool filled with goldfish-as-pirranas, my jumper never recovered. I really like this one, too, it's my softest one."
"Then you start quoting lines from my archenemy, as if that makes you some sort of archenemy, too-did Moriarty seriously start a fan club? Or are you just so unoriginal that you can't come up with threats of your own? I can't tell you how many times I've had to rescue John from a pool with idiotic fangirls-although sometimes boys, too-quoting those exact words."
"Could stop showing off and get me down?" John shouted. "You know, it's kind of uncomfortable."
"You! Don't get me started on you!" Sherlock said. "You've been writing up all of these little episodes on your blog, and you know it encourages the buggers! They want a piece of the fame, a piece of the adventure. Besides, she couldn't have more than one goon here, completely loyal and probably somewhat stupid, because the others would report her to Daddy. Which means you came willingly. Why, John?"
John rolled his eyes. "You already know. It seemed a promising lead, on, well, her."
"You're not serious? You couldn't tell the kid was faking?"
By now, the abovementioned girl was sobbing. "I was just trying to help out. I thought you would be less bored."
Sherlock dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Yes, yes, that's what they all say. The only mystery here is what you chose as your codename, or rather, why you chose that particular codename. Your name is Tessa Wollen, no, come on, Caller ID, don't be an idiot, so why have you been calling yourself Irene Adler this entire operation?"
The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson
So, it happened again. I got kidnapped. Seriously, why does everyone assume I'm some sort of damsel in distress? Kid found me on the street, told me she was Irene Adler, and not to struggle. I figured she looked genuine enough, and besides, Sherlock had been complaining about the flat for weeks, maybe this would get him out of the place, and in that instant of hesitation her goon knocked me out.
I think Sherlock purposefully took his time finding me this time. I had to hang from the pool over fifteen whole minutes before he strolled into the room. All the usual-she made threats, he deduced everything about her, told me to take down my blog again (and I'm not going to mention her name, no, not because her father paid me a great sum of money, but because you're right, Sherlock. Again. We don't want to encourage them by mentioning their names, giving them fifteen minutes of fame).
Anyways, Sherlock saved me, saved the iguana, sent the girl back home-although he could have been more careful getting me down, my jumper is currently sopping and in Mrs. Hudson's dryer-but I think that part was on purpose. Please, if you're a fan, do what normal people do and send a note or something. You don't have to kidnap me to get Sherlock's attention, and at least have the decency not to get me all wet, or quote old villains. It's starting to get ridiculous.
Oh, and why are all these fangirls calling themselves Irene Adler?
Harry-Well, of course you're the damsel in distress! You're dating Sherlock, and he's far to masculine to be the damsel. What did you expect?
John-We're not together!
Sherlock-Sally, why are you trolling this site? Besides, you couldn't take the time to pick up a thesaurus and come up with a better insult? You're lowering the amount of intelligent content on the entire site, although I have to say, John, it's a Asian Water Monitor, not an iguana. And I though we talked about taking down this blog?
Irene Adler-Hello, sexy. Come play with me-I like to see you dance. Oh, and keep a close watch on little Johnny boy, or I might be very naughty.
John-Are you serious? Another one? Sherlock, you can go out today and do the shopping. I'm staying home, where it's safe.
Sherlock-You do realize that 9.5% of the time you are kidnapped from home, generally because they wait for you to get hungry and order takeout then they make a fake delivery?
Mycroft-I could put an end to this, if you want me to. Up your security status. I'd even assign you some guards to live in 221c.
Sherlock-Mycroft, no. Why are you even reading this blog? John, sorry about this, it has to be stopped.
Error: this site has crashed due to an unidentified computer virus. We apologize for the inconvenience.
John-Sherlock, you idiot, you knew I backed it up.
Sherlock-Yes, and I could have gotten rid of your archives, but I was trying to send a message.
Harry-Are you just going to use this site to bicker like an old married couple? Go and talk in person!
John-Yes, Sherlock, I'm sitting right in the other room. Why not?
John-What? Seriously? You were just complaining about how bored you were!
Sherlock-I've discovered what the fangirls who don't have enough money to kidnap you do in their spare time. Oh, John, you would blush. Some of these stories, you and I...There seem to be a good number of communities dedicated to this Irene Adler person, I'll really have to look her up...No, wait, John, you don't want to-
John-WE'RE NOT TOGETHER, AND IF WE WERE WE WOULDN'T WANT IT SPLASHED ACROSS THE INTERNET, SO...GRAPHICALLY...JUST, GET A LIFE OR SOMETHING! GOD!
Harry-So you admit it's a possibility?
Harry-Yep, you said 'if we were,' implying that you really are. You know, denial isn't good for any relationship, and I...oh, I read some of those stories, I can see why you're blushing, John.
Sherlock-There has been a murder in 221b Baker street. Suspect: John Watson, victim: the English language, weapon of choice: Caps lock.
John-Could you possibly use that incredibly clever virus on this fanfiction. net? Please?
Sherlock-Are you kidding? There are some actual good writers out there, not to insult your blogging skills, but they focus more on my genius. Besides, there are some pretty good plots. I solved them all before fictional me did, but still, it kept me interested for two minutes.
John-Come on, please?
John-Oh, it's because they called you genius, isn't it? You and your big overblown ego. You know, you've got me to tell you how smart you are.
John-You're really enjoying this, aren't you?
John-That's it, I'm coming down and giving you a piece of my mind.
a/n: I'm not sure what particularly happened there. I've been waiting to write a Sherlock story for a while, and this just kind of...popped out. It turned out a bit ridiculous, but I hope you got a laugh from it, at least.