A/N: It was delete something or post something, and I flipped a coin. Since I am incapable of a medium between those two options, instead of running through my stories clicking delete, I decided to try and find all the Sherlock meme fills I'd forgotten. So, oldest first (ish):

Prompt: John and Sherlock at a crime scene where the victim has been decapitated, and Sherlock asks Lestrade if he can have the head after the case is solved, which starts an argument between John and Sherlock about getting a new head when they still have to old one in the fridge. With everyone else at the crime scene just watching them in horror.

Domestic Debate

"No," John says.


"No," John says, in a tone that obviously hadn't seen the light of day since Afghanistan, a 'god-help-me-if-you-don't-obey-my-orders-right-now-I-am-going-to-fuck-you-up' tone. Donovan relaxes just a little. Lestrade waits for the punchline. "Sherlock, we've already got a severed head, remember? It's in the fridge."

Lestrade is the only one that looks like he saw that coming. Strangely, a lot of people still think John is sane, despite the fact that he willingly shares a flat with Sherlock Holmes and blogs about murders.

"Yes, but that's for a completely different experiment!"

"We don't have anywhere to put it!"

"You can't be serious," Anderson says weakly. Nobody pays him any attention.

"The kitchen table," Sherlock says triumphantly.

"Is already covered with your chemical experiments. I don't want to come home and find you've inadvertently succeeded in creating a zombie."

"Don't be ridiculous, John," Sherlock huffs. "None of the chemicals I'm currently working with will react in any way to dead flesh other than to maybe destroy it. Besides, a zombie consisting of just a head? That's not scary, that's pathetic."

"I have to cook in that kitchen!" John tugs at his hair, looking exasperated. The police officers look mildly nauseated and completely horrified at his priorities.

"There's a Chinese restaurant just down the street!"

"We can't keep it un-refrigerated, Sherlock, that's – you're thinking of putting it on the mantelpiece, aren't you."

"But I need to know the rate of decay at room temperature! Empirically!"

"You just want to wait until the flesh rots off and you can have another Yorick."

"I miss my skull," Sherlock says. The expression on his face is something close to a pout. "I get bored when you're out and talking out loud to myself is just crazy."

"And talking to a skull is so much better."

"Yes," Sherlock says, apparently missing the sarcasm dripping from that statement.

Lestrade coughs. John acknowledges his attempt to get their attention while still glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock hasn't quite managed to erase his innate politeness, but is working at carefully dismantling it by degrees. For example, small talk is irrelevant and unnecessary.

"I don't think I agreed to you keeping the head anyway."

Sherlock whirls and finally gives Lestrade his full attention. "But Lestrade–"

"That's someone's family, Sherlock. Someone will want to bury him. They'd probably prefer to have his head."

"Details!" Sherlock flails. "Irrelevant! He's dead, what does it matter if he rots underground with his head or not?"

He pauses. Everyone stares at him, waiting for him to get the hint. He looks at John. "...Not good again?"

"Not really," John says mildly.

"I thought you were working on that," Donovan says dryly. "In your dual function as Sherlock-translator and Sherlock-humaniser."

"I think that last is working in reverse," Anderson says.

Sherlock sighs. "Well, if you're not going to let me have the head, we're off. Come on, John."

"Sherlock, the murd–"

"Haven't I given you enough clues? If you can't work it out in five hours, I'll send you a text."