Sherlock knew that John wouldn't approve. Knew that he would be absolutely furious. And yet he chose to do it anyway.

He'd planned it out carefully, knowing that one little mistake could be the difference between life and death. Sherlock knew John's shower routine, both during and after. It took John 3.5 minutes after getting out of the shower to emerge into the kitchen, head still dripping. Sherlock was prepared. He waited 3 minutes after John turned the water off before sticking the knife into the wall socket.

He was barefoot and sweaty from having spent the last 15 minutes inside his coat while crawling around on the floor. Reduced resistance=higher current.

Damn John was gonna be mad.


Sherlock would have been interested to note that this was the day that John's shower routine changed, but he was a little unconscious at the time. Had he known this in advance, he may not have chosen that day.


John emerged only 15 seconds later rather than 30, having cut out a part of his post shower routine. At first, when John walked into the room and saw Sherlock sprawled on the floor, his only reaction was a sigh, assuming his flatmate was simply being dramatic out of boredom. After all, it had been some days since their last case, and even John was feeling sightly restless. "Sherlock." he said, holding up the bottle that was in his hand. "You DO know this is woman's shampoo, don't you?" He snickered as he read the label out loud. "'For curls with extra bounce.' REALLY? I-" It was then that John saw the knife. And the power socket. The shampoo bottle hit the floor and broke open, strawberry-scented shampoo seeping out.

"Sherlock?" John asked nervously, hoping, praying, it was some sort of sick joke. Sherlock doesn't joke.

John knelt down on the floor next to Sherlock, pausing before touching him. Does the current carry over? Will I be electrocuted? God, I wish I'd paid more attention to those science classes.

"Mrs Hudson!" he bellowed, praying yet again that their landlady was home.

He heard something that he couldn't quite make out, and took that to mean she was home.

"Call an ambulance! Tell them there's a cardiac arrest from electric shock!"

Well, at least if I get electrocuted, there will be someone on the way.

And with that cheery thought, he hesitantly pressed two fingers to Sherlock's neck. He didn't get shocked, but there was no pulse.

How long have you been laying here? How long did I kneel here before I touched you? How much damage is it going to do to your brain?

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," he hissed at Sherlock as he began chest compressions.

"Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson called, coming up the stairs. "What have you done now dear?"

She paused in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Oh dear," she fretted, eyeing the knife in the wall socket. "That's not allowed!"

"Don't touch it!" John snapped.

Mrs Hudson startled and John felt bad.

"Come here," he said more gently, still keeping up the steady rhythm of compressing Sherlock's chest.

"Sherlock," she murmured, kneeling down at his head and smoothing his hair down.

"Did you call the ambulance?"

Mrs Hudson looked up, shocked to see John there.

"Yes, they said seven minutes."

"Dammit," John hissed. "Sorry," he apologized to Mrs Hudson.

"I need you to do breaths. Pinch his nose and breathe into his mouth."

Because if I did that, John noted wryly, people would definitely talk.

They stayed like that for what seemed an eternity, Mrs Hudson breathing for him and John pounding Sherlock's chest to provide blood to his brilliant brain, the only thing- according to Sherlock- that mattered.

Then why the hell did you think this would be a good idea?


There was a pounding on the door, and John nodded to Mrs Hudson.

"Go," he said breathlessly.

Mrs Hudson scurried off and a moment later the paramedics were in the flat, crowding around John and Sherlock.

"He's been down for about eight minutes," John informed them.

They nodded and gently pushed John aside so they could rip open Sherlock's shirt to press defibrillator paddles to his chest.

"Ventricular fibrillation," the one paramedic noted to the other.

"Shock him."

"Clear!"

Sherlock's body jumped as the second shock of the day went through it.

Nothing...

"360. Clear!"

Sherlock's body jumped again time.

Still nothing, oh god...

"Again. Clear!"

Sherlock's body jumped again and John ached inside.

"We've got a rhythm."

John collapsed in relief.


John watched as the paramedics set up an IV line, covered his chest with ECG leads, and his face with a mask.

They thought they might have had to intubate him, because he wasn't breathing, but an injection of epinephrine fixed that.

Just wanted the good drugs, huh?

John shook his head as they packed Sherlock up for a trip to the hospital.

As long as he's unconscious, we may as well go, John noted, tagging along behind him.


It had been for science.

Of course, John didn't understand this, and was furious, just as Sherlock had expected him to be.

"I don't expect you to understand," Sherlock told him haughtily.

"You could have died! Why didn't you tell me so we could, I don't know, have done it in a hospital with doctors, and a defibrillator, and drugs!?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Right, because you would have been all for that. Can you honestly tell me that if I'd proposed that idea to you, that you would have gone 'Oh Sherlock! That's brilliant! I'll call up all my doctor friends right away', because I don't think so," Sherlock hissed.

John stopped pacing for a moment. "Well... I suppose not." he admitted. "But that still doesn't make it okay!"

Sherlock sighed. "I apologize for worrying you. But it should help to know that I trusted you entirely."

"No Sherlock," John said flatly. "That doesn't help."

Sherlock attempted to stifle a yawn, but John was having none of that.

"Go to sleep," he ordered. "You're going home in the morning." He paused for a moment, thinking. "When you say science... what do you mean by that?" John paused, a look of shock growing on his face. "What the hell were you doing it for?!" he demanded. "Was it because you wanted to have a near death experience? Because if you just wanted to see what an electric shock felt like, you would have done it in front of me, and wouldn't have gone to the trouble of reducing your resistance. Dammit Sherlock! Have you not nearly died enough times for your liking?"

When he paused for breath, Sherlock interrupted. "You did just tell me to sleep," he pointed out.

"Whatever," John said, throwing his hands up in the air. "But don't think we're done with this."

"Of course not," Sherlock replied breezily. "You can read my blog post on the subject." He paused. "Although, you did rather ruin it, changing your shower routine."

John groaned. "Don't tell me you're going to have to redo it. Because I swear, I will baby proof the whole house and put those plastic things in the outlets if I have to."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Please. Like I couldn't remove those. But no," he said, examining his hand, which had received a slight burn. "I will not be repeating it. Although your concern is touching."

John rolled his eyes and muttered something to himself as Sherlock's eyes slid shut and he fell asleep.

Idiot.