Life often liked to remind John Watson that it had worse things on offer than the poke-able dead. Life thought it was being funny, John supposed. Life was, frankly, a bit of a wanker.
Sherlock had dragged him to a spot across the road from the grammar school in St Alban's Grove. "Look. Look. They're just wandering free at the play structure. It'll take five seconds," said Sherlock.
"No," said John Watson flatly. "And we're leaving."
"They've already got little uniforms on. They're obviously trained."
"No. We're leaving now. I know you're incapable understanding exactly how incredibly creepy this is, and that's okay, it's why you keep me around. But this is not a good idea." He took Sherlock's arm and led him back to the cab. It took a bit of force to get him inside. "I'm not getting another ASBO."
"It's not a pet shop, you loon! They have parents. Probably."
Sherlock pressed his face against the taxi window as they were driven away. "Look at their little hats!"
It would be another three minutes before my supervisor was patting me on teh back while I choked into my desk and thanked God I set the screenlock. *waves* Have fun! READ NOW.
(Note: got Sherlock the computer yesterday, will discuss when I can do so without sounding really creepily obsessed with chipsets and NASs.)
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