SO. This is me testing out the waters when it comes to Sherlock fanfiction. Don't take anything here too seriously - this is just me getting used to the characters before I go into anything massively detailed. Kept me amused for an hour though! Anyway, enjoy :)

The question that everyone asked John Watson the most was this:

What's it like, living with him?

What's it like, living with him. He'd begin his answer with asking them whether the asker had any children. If they didn't, he'd tell them it was like living with a toddler. An unstable, emotionally void and easily bored toddler. And if they told him that they did, he'd tell them that he envied them. Dearly. Because it was like living with an easily bored child – Sherlock Holmes required a constant stimuli and around the clock observation in case he shot or blew up anything important.

And, much like a toddler, if there was anything he didn't want to do, he simply would not do it. At all.


And today, that thing was a blood test.

'I'm not doing it, John.'

'Sherlock – '

'I'm not. Doing. It.' Sherlock growled at John over the tops of his fingers, glaring at him. John huffed, and set his medical bag down on the armchair.

'It's just a regular check – ' John protested, but Sherlock was already talking over him before he'd barely got the first word out.

'I don't need regular checks, John – I know my own body well enough to know when something's wrong and nothing is wrong with my blood.'

'After the amount of time you've spent on crime scenes – '

'Gloves, John.'

'You could have breathed something in – '

'The smell of decomposing bodies is not something I particularly enjoy. I've trained myself to hold my breath for as long as I need to.'

John blinked at him, and then frowned. 'Wha – what.'

'It's remarkably simple, John. All you need is a bath and some resolution. On the way to a crime scene I'll slow my breathing until it's practically non-existent and then it's a simple matter of measuring the flow of air until you require as little oxygen as possible. Tricking a human lung is actually remarkably simple.'

There was a moment of silence.

'Sherlock – '

'No, John.'

'For heaven's sake!' John shouted at him. 'Just take the bloody test!'

The corners of Sherlock's mouth moved upwards behind his fingers, and when John saw his eyes glitter with barely concealed amusement, John began to fume.

'No.' Sherlock said simply.

John took Sherlock's answer very quietly. The floorboards creaked under his feet as he shifted with rising agitation, and he gripped the armchair he stood behind. The only sound in 211B was the sound of the ticking clock.

'So you can tell Mycroft that you won't have a sample of my blood for him by this evening.'

John's head snapped up. 'How did you – '

'How much did he offer you for it?'

John sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Ten grand.'

'Hm,' Sherlock's eyes moved from John and to a distant corner of the living room. 'Stingy, for him.'

John could barely contain himself. 'Ten grand, Sherlock! That'd pay the bills for a couple of months!'

Sherlock frowned at him. 'You've got your army pension.'

John snorted. 'It barely covers the shopping.'

'Oh.' Sherlock said, and John's hopes rose -

'My answer's still no.'

- and then were dashed spectacularly. He sighed deeply.

'We need the money.'

'And I'm not giving you my blood,' Sherlock stated as though that were the end of the conversation, and stood up abruptly, clambering over the coffee table and then striding past John.

Or rather, stopping short. Because John had simply had enough of Sherlock and not having enough money to make ends meet. And in one mad moment, he vowed that that was about to change. So, as Sherlock strode past him, he reached down, took the cushion from the armchair and threw it at the back of Sherlock's head. Sherlock stopped when the cushion bounced off of his head, and didn't make a move, even when it dropped to the ground. He only turned when a couple of seconds had passed, lacing his hands behind his back and giving John a very level look mixed with some sort of childlike amusement.

'Is this war, John?'

The clocked ticked. John shifted.

'Yes, Sherlock,' he said after a while. 'Yes. It is.'


And then the both of them jumped into action. John was reaching for another cushion when Sherlock dived for cover, narrowly avoiding the cushion that spun over his head and running forward, snatching the medical bag from the armchair.

'That's mine!' John yelled at him.

'Too slow, John!' Sherlock yelled back at him gleefully, diving behind the other armchair and hurling another cushion at John from there. It hit him with unnerving accuracy, and John staggered back.
'Oi!' He yelled, and snatched a blanket from a sofa, and approached Sherlock's armchair carefully. He could see Sherlock stirring behind it, but he made no move to stop him. And just as John got close enough, Sherlock's eyes widened, and he pointed over John's shoulder.

'Look out!'

'Wha - ?' John looked around, and he grinned. 'Oh, if you think you're gunna' fool me like that, then you've got another thing coming – 'John laughed, and then upon turning around, had a cushion thrown at his face. As he struggled blindly, Sherlock threw himself at John, tackling him to the ground and laughing gleefully.

'Gerroff Sherlock!' John yelled as Sherlock pinned him down. For a thin man, he was bloody heavy. 'I can't breathe!'

'You're a liar John - you're shouting at me.'

'Oh just get off!'

'So do I win?' Sherlock demanded.


'Do I win John?'

'Yes, yes – you win, Sherlock!'

'Aha!' Sherlock jumped off of John, and clapped his hands together. 'I like winning!'

'Yes, right. Well done, Sherlock.' John grunted, managing to kneel. He eyed his medical bag in hand's reach, and bided his time. And when Sherlock was turned, wrapped up in winning, he lurched forward and wrapped an arm around his legs, yanking him back down. And when he was on the floor, yelling, John pounced – twisting his arm, he brought his knee down firmly between Sherlock's shoulders, and held him there.

'For God's sake John!' Sherlock shouted at him as he squirmed under John's weight.

'Sorry mate,' John grunted, reaching over Sherlock to grab the bag and rummage inside of it until he found the needle. 'Had to be done. We do actually need to eat.'

'You cheated!' Sherlock wailed.

'No, I was clever, Sherlock – ' John managed to wrap the medical strap around Sherlock's upper arm with the owner of the said limb snarling in defiance. 'And you were a bad winner.' John found a vein in a matter of seconds, and poised the needle. 'Y'know, this'll hurt if you keep moving.' He told Sherlock in a matter of fact sort of way, who continued to squirm desperately. 'May as well accept it.'

There was a moment of stubborn refusal, and then Sherlock relaxed with a sour expression.

'Good.' John said, and after a swab, gently pierced the skin and started drawing blood. Sherlock kept very still, until John had pulled the needle from his arm and swabbed his arm, and then began to squirm again.

'Now let me up.' He demanded. John clambered off of him, admiring the blood in the needle, and Sherlock scrambled to his feet and stormed off.

'That's right, you go and sulk.' John said simply – Sherlock wheeled around in the doorway of his room and fixed him with an angry look.

'I am not sulking John, I am walking away from a situation which is no longer in my favour – it's called common sense.'

'So yeah, you're sulking.'

'I am not sulking!' Sherlock yelled, and then slammed the door. John grinned, and was packing everything away again when Mrs Hudson emerged at the top of the stairs, looking flustered.

'What on earth's going on up here?' She asked, eying John and then Sherlock's closed door. 'Have you boys had a row?'

'No –I won and now Sherlock's sulking.'

'I am not sulking John!' Came the shout from behind the door.

'Oh dear,' Mrs Hudson sighed. 'Shall I put the kettle on?'

'Please,' John replied. 'Give Sherlock some sugar with his – ' he waved the needle at her. 'He'll need it.'

'What've you got there?' Mrs Hudson asked, frowning at John as he went past her, heading towards the stairs.


'Oh. Well, that's alright then.' Mrs Hudson said, waving John out. 'Are you alright in there, Sherlock?' She called into his room. When she got no reply, she sighed. 'Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.' Making her way around the science equipment in the kitchen and finding the kettle. 'I do hate it when they fight.'

So yeah, as I say, a bit of fun the characters really! I'll have some more serious stuff done when I have the time for it. Review and tell me what you think! :D