Chapter 20

John entered the flat, greeted Mrs. Hudson and continued upstairs. He'd spend the last hour talking to a very beautiful young doctor and therefor felt quite elated, at least until he entered the living room. Where there had once been the entrance to the kitchen there was now a gigantic whiteboard. John stepped carefully around the stacks of books unceremoniously dumped on the floor by his slightly messy roommate, and cocked his head to the side.

"Predictability" was the headline, followed by multiple tables, arrows, mathematical formulas and the whole thing mentioned Johns name surprisingly often. John opened his mouth to call for Sherlock, to question him about his newest project when said detective entered the room, whispering "12:48, John enters Bakerstreet and discovers the whiteboard. I knew it. "

"What are you doing?" asked John.

Sherlock smiled his very annoying smile and gestured at a specific spot on the board. Directly below a mathematical formula that had managed to incorporate Johns name as a variable, were tine written lines. The doctor leant closer, read, and scowled. "12:48" stood there. "John enters Bakerstreet and discovered the whiteboard."

John straightened up and looked at his friend who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed before his chest. "What's that Sherlock?"

Sherlock shrugged. "A predictability chart. It's about you."

John exhaled slowly. "I got that much."

"Oh good. I have to explain so much to you, I wasn't sure if you were following."

John growled silently, and, unexpectedly, Sherlock's face lit up with a smile. "See? I knew you'd react like that, because you are predictable!" he exclaimed gleefully. "Look!" he gestured at the whiteboard. "I can predict your actions with an 80% accuracy."

"I don't always do the same thing at the same time," argued John while trying to make sense of the stuff on the board.

"Of course not. That would make it too easy, and way too boring. But there are clear indications. When you were out drinking you eat heavily greased meet the next day. When you meet a woman you want to impress you start using a ridiculous amounts of hygiene products. I could go on for ages." John opened his mouth to tell Sherlock that that wouldn't be necessary, but it was too late, the consulting detective already continued. "And I might as well. The likelihood of you yelling at me increases exponentially with the absence of new cases, god knows why. You start reading books about the meaning of life when you get too many spam emails in a short time span, possibly because you try to convince yourself that there is more to life than useless emails. And every time you get dumped by one of those distractions you seem to care so much about, you..."

"Alright, alright!" interrupted John, not liking where this was going. "So you decided to analyse every move I make. How long has this been going on?"

"Quite a while," answered Sherlock, he moved the board a bit and slid behind it. "Tea?"

John raised an eyebrow. "Since you figured me out so well, why don't you tell me?"

Sherlock didn't answer, instead he emerged again with two cups, raising an eyebrow at John daring him to decline. John sighed and took the offered beverage. "The notebook!" He suddenly remembered the small reddish brown notebook Sherlock had had on him at all times. "That's what it was for? Your observations?"

Sherlock nodded while stirring his tea. "Very observant John," drawled the consulting detective. "It got too small after a while, the board is much better."

They sat in silence for a few minutes until John remembered something. "Hang on," he said and his tone made the consulting detective cough on his tea. "How did you know about my emails?"

Sherlock seemed to disappear behind his cup.

"Sherlock... if I'm so predictable you must have known that I was going to ask. And don't even try to lie to me. I might not deduce stuff as quickly as you do, but I do know when I'm being lied to."

Sherlock deemed it not wise to mention that somewhere on the white board was a tiny line telling that John would be upset about the data gathering part. "Fine. If you must know, I read your emails."

John stared at him deadpan. "I changed my password."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him, maybe not the smartest move because John now became visually agitated.

John leant closer. "Now think very carefully about my next question. What else did you do that I would not have agreed to?"

To John's surprise, Sherlock actually seemed to think about the question. It took him a good five minutes to reply. "I talked to your ex-girlfriends." John winced. "I stole your calendar and copied it while you slept." John frowned. "I might have observed you when you thought I wasn't at home." John growled. "I stole some equipment from the yard to monitor your phone calls." John allowed his head to drop forward, Sherlock took that as a clue to stop.

"And I thought we were clear about the whole privacy issue, Sherlock."

The consulting detective shrugged and stated "I needed to do something!"

John shook his head slowly. "You do know that I will punish you for that."

Sherlock shrugged again, it started to fray John's nerves. "Nothing new there. Predictable. Boring."

John assumed that, had he been a cartoon character, steam would be rising out of his ears. "Get yourself in the corner!"

Sherlock shot him an exasperated look. "We had that before. So uncreative."

John huffed. "Fine, then go to your room!"

"Boring and predictable."

"No telly, no coffee, no specimen in the fridge!"

"Always the sameā€¦ wait, no specimen in the fridge? Would you rather have me keep them out here where they start to decay?"

John mentally counted down from ten and Sherlock interpreted the silence wrongly, thinking that John had run out of options. "See? You can't even think about a new punishment, god, everything's so boring."

John stood up abruptly. "Boring?" he growled and marched over to Sherlock, grabbing the consulting detective at the upper arm and yanking him up. "Boring? I'll give you boring!"

Apparently the look in his eyes was nothing akin to murder, Sherlock tried to shy away from him but couldn't, John was still firmly holding his arm. "Okay John," the consulting detective tried to reason, but it was too late. "You made your point, I'll just go to the corner now!"

John shook his head. "Oh no, you don't." He hauled Sherlock out of the living room, down the stairs and out of the house, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's enquire about another 'domestic'. John stopped the first cab that came their way and ordered the cabbie to take them to Hyde Park. There he still hadn't let go of Sherlock, but the consulting detective no longer cared, he had no idea what John was up to and that was something new. He wouldn't go so far and say that new was exiting, but it was definitely less boring.

They reached a small pond with people sitting on benches all around it. John pointed at a young man who was slumped on the bench and fed ducks with bread crumbs. "Go ahead," ordered John, gesturing at the man. "Tell me all about him?"

Sherlock looked unconvinced, suspecting a trap, but finally complied. "Twenty to twenty-five years old, musician by the shaggy hair, fancy clothes and the guitar case, still lives at home, because no-one that age can iron clothes properly. Recently dumped by his girlfriend, three days ago judging by the length of his beard. You can see it by the bags under his eyes, he hasn't been sleeping well. Also there's the three day beard, clearly there had to be a reason, because he's otherwise very clean. He was going to meet her here, to make up with her, but she never showed, otherwise he wouldn't have discarded the flowers so easily." Sherlock gestured at a bouquet on the ground. He opened his mouth to continue, but John interrupted.

"You wanted punishment that is not boring? Something new, yes? Fine. Go and talk to the poor chap and do not say anything about what you just figured out. Because it's private, even if it's visible to you, and people have a right to decide when to share something private with you."

"I don't want to talk to this guy. There is nothing interesting about him."

John grinned diabolically. "I know. Now go!"

Sherlock glared at John and shuffled over to the young man. John saw them making conversation and he actively had to keep himself from laughing when he saw how miserable Sherlock looked. "Serves him right," thought the army doctor. "He really has to stop looking througsh my stuff."

A/N.: Another chapter that quickly, don't you think that values a review? I think it does.