This is the first on-demand fanfiction prompt I've ever done, so bear with me! ;)

This was done with Sherlock Nelms and TruffleHead. Be sure to read theirs, as well.
What we did was we each chose a random word and sent it to each other, and then we had to build a story around the words. Our words this round were "magazine", "jam", and "bet".

There are so many ways that this could have gone, and I wish I could have had more than two days to write this. The possibilities are endless. If you want, give it a go and see how you fare! :)

Anywho, the story...

"My head is going to explode."

Hands rubbed over the detective's face and into his hair. He didn't remember the last time he had any head ailment, even a small one. John sat nearby, sipping his coffee, unresponsive to the lamentations of the man on the sofa.

"Isn't it ironic, John," Sherlock said, forcing his friend into the conversation.

John rolled his eyes and regretted his question before it was even spoken. "What's ironic?"

"My greatest asset will be the thing that sends me to the grave," Sherlock responded dramatically with a hand flung to his forehead.

John sent a hand to his own face in response.

The intellectual conversation on the effects of headaches was cut short by a ring from the cell on the table. John picked it up and read the text.

"Lestrade. Says he's got a new case, this one with two women and a man who's dressed like one. Sounds like a complex affair, he says."

"Text back and say I'm out of town," Sherlock replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. The Yard would have a field day if they heard he had a headache.

"Do you want me to take this one for you?" John asked, picking up his paper again. He secretly wanted to try one alone to see how he'd fare. Sherlock had taught him a lot, whether he meant to or not.

"No, I think I'll do this one alone later. It may require a firmer knowledge in..." The detective trailed off. "Well, a firmer knowledge."

John's lips pursed and his eyebrows crouched. "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock looked over and cocked an eyebrow. "You don't really believe that you could do my job, do you?" he said, a laugh laced through his final words.

John sat back, astounded by his friend's rude retorts. "I do," he said, returning to his paper. "At least you could never be a doctor."

"Why?"

"Being a doctor requires people skills."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sherlock huffed.

John's paper fell to his lap and he sent Sherlock a look. "Well, what person in this room verbally discouraged a newlywed couple to the brink of divorce and threw a woman's tube of lipstick in the toilet because it 'wasn't her color'?"

It was Sherlock's turn to purse his lips. "You'd have to be blind to wear that muddy shade of burgundy," he muttered.

"I rest my case," the doctor said, raising his paper again.

It was quiet for a moment before Sherlock spoke again.

"I could still be a civilian if I wanted to."

John threw his paper to his lap once more. "If you're really so sure, why don't you give it a go?"

Sherlock snorted. "I have no interest in bets."

"Don't think of this as a bet. Think of it as an experiment. See who can pick up the other's life the quickest. "

Sherlock scowled to himself. Wagers were for brainless chimps who wanted nothing more than to show each other their stupidity. The very notion that he may wish to participate was appalling and quite frankly-

"Winner gets fridge privileges."

Damn.

"Fine."

And so it began.

.:.

Sherlock glanced around nervously. Supermarkets weren't really his area of interest. He didn't know the proper protocol for doing the shopping. Was there some sort of order to the items? Five things wasn't a lot, but such a big store would make them hard to find.

A shopping trolley. That was a good place to start. Sherlock took a handle and pulled. To his dismay, three trolleys came along with the first. What was he supposed to do now? Take them all? Was it like some sort of gambling thing, and you got a different number each time? Four trolleys was a lot for five items.

The best option, he concluded, was to try to shake a few unneeded ones off.

He rocked the first one back and forth until two peeled off the end. "Close enough," he hissed, already feeling ridiculous.

.:.

"Afternoon. Where's Sherlock?"

A cockney voice rumbled over the chatter of the other inspectors. John felt annoyed at the sudden mention of Sherlock but kept his mouth shut. Deductions could be made off of this. Umm...it was Lestrade...and...he was wearing some clothes. No one would go in public without clothes.

John turned and saw Lestrade standing fully clothed. He felt an air of satisfaction. It was a small deduction, but a deduction nonetheless. A rush of confidence swept over him.

"John Watson, Consulting Detective, on the case."

.:.

Jam. Where was it.

The last thing on the list. A box of noodles, a can of sauce, an automobile magazine for John, and some ravioli sat in the compound cart already, but jam evaded Sherlock's grasp. Humiliating. Completely humiliating.

He needed to consult someone. OH, the HORROR.

He pulled up to a cashier. "Ehm...where's the jam?"

The cashier, a woman with a ponytail low on her head, glanced at his double trolley but continued smiling. "Isle Three."

"Thanks," Sherlock said before speeding away. That had easily been the most terrifying moment of his life.

.:.

"Double suicide and a heart attack, then?"

"Yes. Contact the ID owner's mother. I wonder if she knows what he's been up to."

Donovan raised her eyebrows in pleased astonishment before taking out her phone and dialing the number on the victim's license.

John smiled and looked around. He was even better than he thought. It had taken longer than it would have taken Sherlock, but he was correct in his hypothesis and the case was closed.

John's smile faltered. Sherlock. The scene was different without him, like everyone lacked control or a motive. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn't feel right without Sherlock at the scene.

.:.

The first thing John saw in the flat was bags. So many bags.

Then Sherlock. Underneath the bags.

"John! Oh, John, it was terrible. They had fourteen different jams at the store. Fourteen! I didn't know what you liked so I got one of each. Then I remembered that you didn't like the brand of sauce I picked, so I got one of each of the other ones-"

"Sherlock..."

"Do you like Auto Weekly? I hope so, I got last week's-

"Sherlo-"

"Oh! The ravioli! Do you have a pre-"

"SHERLOCK!"

The flat fell into a deep quiet.

"You did fine, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked around at the bags sheepishly. "You got the bet, I suppose," he said, moving bags off of himself and standing. John nodded. "No matter. Brains stay fresh in freezers, too."

John opened his mouth to say something, but shut it. Sherlock had been through a traumatizing time and he deserved to think like that once in a while.

"I could still be a doctor, though."

John slapped his forehead.