"Sherlock," John called loudly, not daring to remove his eyes from the screen. Silence followed. "Sherlock, come here." After a couple moments, a head popped out from the bathroom door, green gas pouring out. The raven-headed man glared.

"What do you want, John?"

"Come look at this," he said, beckoning cautiously to the computer.

"What is it?"

"Just look." Sherlock's eyes knitted in frustration as he snagged a rag hanging beside the sink and dabbed it across his green tinted face. He ventured across the living room, stepping over the coffee table while doing so, and collided slightly with John's shoulder in his dramatic halt. "What?"

John's face cringed. "This...fanfic."

"Yes, we've established the fact socially awkward teenage female fantasize us about in bed." He gestured carelessly. "What are you even doing on such a pre-adolescent website, anyways?"

"Harry linked me. She said after reading, I'd want to crawl in my bed and cry."

"Did you read it?"


"Do you want to cry?"


"Interesting..." Sherlock plucked the laptop from John's lap abruptly, eyes glazing themselves forcefully over the first page. He opened his mouth to say something - then shut it. His lips remained in an embarassing parted fashion. Less than thirty seconds later, he'd gathered the concept of the first chapter and shut the screen, fingers (on instinct) stapling themselves together. John stared.

"Well?" he asked, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"I'm speechless."

"I think the author is just trying to be a troll. He or she couldn't possibly have written that to-"


John blinked. "What?"

"You said troll; why did you say troll? What on earth makes you think a mythical creature wrote..." Sherlock frowned at the laptop and gestured obliviously. "...this."

John had the nerve to laugh. He didn't. "It's what people refer to others who do stupid things for laughs. Or something along the lines of that." Sometimes, John mused, the clueless side to Sherlock's neverending knowledge was astounding. While the detective being such an advanced internet savvy, he didn't reckon he could possibly gather the, "foolishness," of trolling. Still, he couldn't help but gaze at Sherlock re-opening his Dell while he advanced towards the kettle in the kitchen.

"Mm," muttered Sherlock, his face intent. By the time John returned, two blue and white striped mugs in his hands, he'd noticed the laptop placed to the side of the couch. There was no doubt capturing the inane fatigue in his flatmate's orbs. "What did you think?" inquired the ex-army doctor.

Sherlock shook his head. "Morifarty."