A/N 'Not going out' isn't a very original name, I know. These are just some mini-sodes that will pop into my head from time to time. It's not like the vast majority of us have handguns or even less the desire to shoot some walls. XD Enjoy.

John is used to going out alone. Sherlock never leaves unless necessary, so he accepts it as part of the deal. It isn't like Sherlock would enjoy a stroll, just for the fun of it.

What he isn't used to is what awaits him when he get's back. He's had the gunfire of a wall being shot. He's had his flatmate sitting on the floor completely engrossed in conversation with a skull.

Not anything truly terrifying, like this.

Sherlock sits on the couch staring at his hands. No, no on closer inspection, staring at the little objects in his hands.

Two pills, blue in his left palm and red in his right.

Everything goes out of John's mind, everything except dread.

Is he really that stupid? No he can't be, it cannot be what he thinks it is.

But, he wouldn't put it past the tall madman to do this, all in the name of a way out of boredom.

Sherlock looks up. "Which one, John?" Oh what he's asking John now. For an opinion? No for a choice.

Is he completely mad?

"What are they?" He tries, desperately forcing a tone of nonchalance.

The detective smiles and shakes his head. "Can't tell you, might affect your choice, now come on. Which one?"

He tries again. "Neither."

"I'm just going to have them both anyway."

Damnit. "Fine." Red or blue? His mind is screaming at him. "Red." Now he prays.

Sherlock smiles up at him. "Oh good. I really don't fancy 'Caribbean Punch'"

Then, and only then does John notice the bright red packet of Jelly Beans on the floor.

Trust me. 'Caribbean Punch' is terrible.