Sherlock was not a psychopath. Nor was he a sociopath.
John Watson had know this for a while, after all, no sociopath would practically kill a man over injuring his landlady. But there was something... off about Sherlock. And Sherlock must have had a reason to tell everyone he was a sociopath. Sherlock always had a plan.
John just needed to figure out what it was. Sherlock had practically told him what to do after all. Him and the rest of Scotland Yard when they had been doing the pretend drugs bust.
"Do you get annoyed when people interrupt you when you're doing something that you really like?"
"Like you're doing now you mean?"
"I'll take that as a yes."
Sherlock grunted his approval.
It was silent again for a while.
Sherlock was trying to think, but was distracted by John's clicking and scrolling. It was louder than usual, if that was even possible.
"Keep it down," he snapped.
John looked startled.
"Your clicking. And scrolling. Stop it."
John half smiled, and clicked once more, quietly, and resumed scrolling.
There was a sudden roaring noise from the computer, and Sherlock practically jumped, startled.
"Sorry," John said, not very sorry sounding. "Advertisement on the page I was visiting," he claimed after turning it off. Sherlock was unconvinced.
John clicked again, then resumed scrolling.
"Motives..." he muttered to himself. Sherlock glared at him, but he didn't seem to notice. Or ignored him.
A little while later, Sherlock could feel John staring at him. Probably had been for a while, but he was too busy concentrating to notice until now.
"You've been staring at me for a great deal of time now."
"Oh. Didn't notice."
Sherlock sighed, noting John's hurried clicking as he resumed his thinking pose, fingers tented under his chin, eyes closed, humming quietly. He smiled to himself.
John interrupted yet again.
"Do you know you're humming the same song you've been humming for at least three days?"
"Sherlock," he paused for a moment. "Do you ever have difficulty with faces?"
"Only the boring ones."
Sherlock finally sighed exasperatedly.
"D'you just want me to tell you the answers to all of them."
John looked bewildered.
"To.. what?" he stammered.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid John. And apparently, neither are you. I'm rather impressed."
"With what?" he asked innocently.
"That night. I told everyone really, and yet here you are the only one who actually listened." John blinked, still pretending to be clueless. "I told Anderson, 'do your research'. And now you're not so subtly asking me all the questions you should be asking. I rest my case. Congratulations John Watson, you are not an idiot." Sherlock began applauding slowly.
"Am I right."
"It would spoil all the fun if I just told you."
John rolled his eyes. Mycroft was right about his brother tending towards the dramatic. Bet it runs in the family.
"Fine," he grumbled. "Are you going to help me answer the rest of the questions?"
Sherlock shrugged noncommittally. That was probably the best John was going to get, so he took it.
And hour and a half later, with much prodding from John and a few guesses when Sherlock didn't budge, he finally hit the calculate button, exhausted.
Sherlock seemed rather chipper though, and bounced over excitedly to peer over John's shoulder at the results.
"164," he announced.
John was reading through the page slowly.
"Does that mean something to you?"
He shrugged. "It was 150 last time I took it, and 159 the time before that."
"Hang on, what?" John looked rather shocked. "How long have you known for?"
"Since I was 14. I self diagnosed myself at 12, but didn't get an official diagnosis until then."
"Then why do you tell people you're a sociopath?"
"A high functioning sociopath," he corrected.
"Right sorry, so why do you tell people you're a high functioning sociopath then?"
Sherlock shrugged. "It's easier."
John pondered this for a moment. And another moment. Sherlock, perhaps taking pity on him or maybe just bothered by John's loud thinking, provided the answer.
"Because if I'm a sociopath, then they can hate me for being cold hearted. But if I have Asperger's, then I'm... disabled," he spat out the last word, disgusted with it. "Then they pity me. And I don't want that."
He eyed John suspiciously. "So don't even dare."
John held his hands up in a position of surrender.
"Wouldn't dream of it. Besides," he added, "it really makes no difference to me you know."
Sherlock studied him and, seeing no signs of lying or deception, smiled.