Consulting Pineapples (Psychlock)

Chapter Ten--Breaking In

Sherlock was still awake when John came down to go to work, bouncing a rubber ball against the side of the couch, obviously deep in thought.

    “If you were a serial killer, who would be your third victim?” he drawled, not glancing up.

    John rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen. “The leg is still-”

    “There are more important things in life than that leg.” Sherlock slumped against the wall, hitting his head on it to accentuate each word. “Answer. The. Question.”

    John sighed and put water on to boil. “I don’t know, depends on the killer.”

    “You watch enough of those crime dramas! What usually happens?”

    The kettle whistled and John shook his head. “In crime dramas, everyone dies. There’s no patte-”

    Sherlock cut him off. “Suppose there was. Crime dramas are so predictable.”

    John just stalked out, leaving the tea and pulling on his coat. “Have fun with the crime drama theory.”

    The consulting detective sighed, then got to his feet--six thirty was a reasonable time to get the American, was it not?--and rushed out to catch a cab.

Shawn groaned at the knock on the door. “Go away!” he called, turning over and throwing a pillow in the general direction.

    “Oh, excuse you.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and picked the lock. “Get up.”

    Shawn grabbed another of the ubiquitous pillows. “Sherlock. It’s six forty.”

    “Yes, I am well aware of the time.” Sherlock sighed heavily and began to walk out. “I was going to break into the courthouse, thought you’d want to join.”

    Shawn sat up, his intentions of pelting Sherlock with pillows until he left forgotten. “Give me ten minutes.”

    Sherlock smirked. “I’ll be outside.”

    Shawn burst out the door seven minutes later, half his hair sticking up and his shirt buttoned the wrong way. “Right. I wrote a note to Gus so he won’t freak out. Let’s go.”

    The British detective took one look and shook his head decisively. “You can have another ten minutes.”

    Shawn seemed to just have noticed that he hadn’t done a very good job. “Three,” he said, ducking back inside. When he returned, his hair was flat and his shirt normal. “Better?”

    Sherlock shrugged and hailed a cab. “Was I too early?”

    The American snorted. “You could say that.”

    Sherlock climbed into the cab. “You haven’t heard the rumours about me yet?”

    He shook his head, following Sherlock into the cab. “I’ve been here two days.”

    “Explains a lot.” Sherlock sat forward in his seat.

    Shawn frowned. “How so?”

    The consulting detective shook his head indifferently. “You’ll know when you hear them.”

    “Anderson and...what was it, Donovan? They don’t seem to like you much.” Shawn looked out the window, watching the city flash by.

    “No one seems to like me much.” Sherlock pulled out his phone. “Any ideas for the infiltration?”

    Shawn grinned. “I excel at distractions. Would that help?”