Author: For the sake of the joke, let's pretend that all stores are like Wal*Mart. Mild cursing, in case you get offended by that stuff. I hope you enjoy it!

"John."

"Jooohn."

"JOHN."

"For the love of god, Sherlock, what?"

"I need you to go to the store and buy some milk."

"But it's three in the morning." John groaned as he saw he clock and attempted to bury himself back under his covers. Sherlock, however, would have none of this, and merely yanked the sheets down to the foot of the bed. John gave a little whimper and curled his legs up to his chest in an effort to regain some warmth.

"John, it is of vital importance that fresh milk is procured within the next hour. I fear our flat will face the direst of consequences should you fail to bring me milk."

"What? Are you going to take it out on the wall if I don't get you a little milk to go in your tea?"

"No, but the highly acidic solution currently in our sink will certainly begin to burn a hole through the pipes."

"What?" John sat up, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes as he tried to sort what Sherlock had told him into something even remotely logical. "What did you do this time?"

"In an attempt to test whether or not an acid burn to the face could actually cause schizophrenia such as Harvey Dent suffered, I unintentionally created a highly volatile and destructive chemical that will begin foaming in approximately one hour, fifteen minutes if my calculations are correct. Unless we obtain enough milk to help neutralize the acidic properties of the chemical, I fear Mrs. Hudson will have much more to tack onto our rent than the wall."

"And why can't you go get the milk?"

"Because I have to remain here and monitor the acid. I doubt you would know what to do should an emergency take place."

"Right, because a toxic chemical melting its way through our drain pipes isn't an emergency."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, John, and it doesn't suit you."

"Fine. I'll go buy the damn milk, but I'm using your card."

"Wonderful. Here, I've made a list of additional times that are necessary for the proper disposal of the acid."

Grudgingly, John snatched the list out of Sherlock's hand. He yanked the previous day's trousers out of the laundry basket and over his hips before wriggling into his cream jumper. Not much caring for appearances at this hour, he didn't even bother combing his hair before stumbling out the door. He trudged down the street, muttering curses directed at Sherlock and the world at large while fantasizing of warm beds and downy pillows. His reverie carried him into the nearest Tesco's, wherein the harsh glare of the florescent lights drew him back to reality. He stifled a yawn as he grabbed the nearest cart and began working his way down the list.

Bloody fucking hell, the list was long, and most of it didn't even make sense. Why would Sherlock need gummi bears? And what business did he have owning a breast pump? John thought he was just going to be going out to make a quick run for milk, but apparently Sherlock had seized the opportunity to send him to restock the lab. Devising new combinations of expletives to describe his loathing towards Sherlock at that particular moment, John set off towards the dairy aisle.

He was loading the fifth container of milk into the cart when he happened to turn around just as the man that had deeply contemplating the many varieties of yogurt turned to face him. John was instantly jarred by sense of recognition, but the man's face was turned downward and John therefore couldn't get a good look at him. But there was something about that disheveled crop of black hair, and that pale skin. Abruptly, full recognition hit John. He turned his head, immediately sinking into combat mode. He didn't see anyone accompanying Jim, but that didn't mean that they weren't hiding somewhere.

To make matters worse, Jim dropped the two containers he had been examining into his cart and looked up just in time to catch John staring at him. He froze also, looking as one might if the Goblin King had just leapt out from behind the bread cart and begun dancing while singing about babies. He regained his composure quickly, however, drawing his lip up in a sneer.

"Fancy meeting you here, Johnny boy."

"Good morning to you, too." John slowly pulled his cart around, his eyes never wavering from Jim. Seeing him here, of all places, was about as shocking as walking into the men's loo to find that the woman you had been trying to seduce was currently standing at the urinal taking a piss. It was off-putting, bizarre, and frankly very, very disturbing. Especially since Jim wasn't wearing his usual suit, but rather a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, converse, and a t-shirt which said "There are 10 kinds of people in the world: Those who understand binary and those who don't" across the chest. John supposed that he didn't look much better, however, with his hair sticking up in random directions all around his head, and so he didn't comment. Best not to antagonize a criminal mastermind in the dairy aisle, anyway.

There was a tense moment where the two simply stood and looked each other over. It was only broken when Jim's eyes darted around to search for any signs of danger from John.

"Sherlock didn't come with you, then?"

"No, he was rather preoccupied this morning."

Jim's eyes fell of John's cart and he gave an understanding nod. "Playing with acids again?"

"Yes." John was doing his best to edge away from Jim without him noticing, but he also felt uneasy at the thought of leaving the man loose in the store. God only knew what mischief he would create if left alone. Probably he'd squish all the bread and crack the eggs for laughs.

"Of course he sends his pet out at this ungodly hour to clean up his mess." Jim had carefully stepped around John and was retrieving his own carton of milk from the cooler. Soy, John noted.

"And what about you? Don't you have a whole team of hired muscle waiting on you hand and foot?"

"Of course I do, but I prefer to do the shopping myself. They always muck it up somehow. One time I asked for donuts and they brought me back donut holes. I had to go without breakfast for a week." His eyes still firmly glued on John, Jim edged his cart towards the next aisle. John did the same, pushing his cart such that he was level with Jim and they could therefore keep a watch on one another.

"That was very...inconsiderate of them."

"Indeed." Jim was now stopped in front of the freezers containing ice cream. He would pick up little cartons of it, give the nutrition facts a precursory glance, and then toss it into the cart. John frowned, peering into Jim's shopping to see what he had selected thus far. There were about thirty cups of yogurt and now ten containers of ice cream. "Don't be judgmental. The ice cream isn't just for me. Sebastian is sick, you see."

"Sebastian?"

"Oh," Jim turned around, a pleased smile adorning his face. "You haven't met Seb yet? No, I suppose you wouldn't have; he was a bit busy hiding and pointing guns at you last time we met. I think you would like Seb, though. He used to be in the military, too."

"He sounds charming." It was a bit disconcerting to see Jim gushing over another person like this. John had assumed that he was incapable of any sort of fondness towards people. He had, after all, ruthlessly used Molly to achieve his own ends. He supposed that it would take an ex-military sniper to gain Jim's true attention.

"Yes, well," Jim smirked, "He's certainly more capable of dressing himself than you."

"I don't think you have room to talk, all things considered. Is that a hole in your jammie bottoms I see? Too busy strapping people up in semtex to do a bit of proper clothes shopping, then?"

Jim scowled, looking down at his pants with the slightest hint of a pout. "I like them. I've got them worn in enough so that they're nice and soft. Besides," he looked up with a faint smirk once again, "I so rarely get the opportunity to actually wear my pajamas, I thought I might as well seize the opportunity when it arose."

John rolled his eyes, but directed his cart towards the aisle containing the assorted candies. He snatched the closest bags of gummi bears off the shelf and then tossed in some Kit Kats for good measure. Considering he was using Sherlock's card, he didn't see any problem with indulging in some snacks of his own. He sighed when he turned to see Jim wrinking his nose at his selection.

"What now?"

"Nothing. Just hoping that you don't get too fat. It would make the chase terribly boring if you keeled over and had a heart attack in the middle."

"Thank you for your concern, Jim. Your input is highly valued. Now if you would be kind enough to shut it, I would be ever so grateful."

"No need to get snarky. I'm just looking out for your best interests."

"Sure. Because caring people always try to keep their friends healthy so they can blow them up later."

"Don't be so obvious, darling. I wouldn't try to kill you twice in the same method. Oh no, next time will be much more fun, you see. And I almost hope you survive that one, so I can try out another plan I have drawn up. I think you'd like them both, really."

"Wonderful. Hey, do you know where to find breast pumps?" John had been peering around the store, futilely searching for a sign that listed this sort of information. He really didn't want to have to ask a sales associate where to find them. That would just be far too humiliating.

"They're this way." Jim aimed his cart in the proper heading and began strolling off. John quickly stepped after him, having to shove his own cart around various displays which Jim easily navigated in his much lighter buggy.

Jim stopped in the middle of an aisle pointing at an assortment of the things. John already felt the tips of his ears heating up as he snatched the nearest one off the shelf. Jim, however, stopped him with a light tsk.

"Darling, you mustn't rush into these purchases. Selecting the proper equipment is half the key to a successful experiment. Now, what does our dear Sherlock need this for?"

"I don't know. He didn't say. And this one is fine, thanks. They're all the same, anyway."

"No, dear, they're not. You see how the pads are shaped differently? That's very important. Depending on what Sherlock is intending to use them on, it could make a difference in the proper application of suction. Now, do you think Sherlock will need a more rounded one or a more conical one?"

"Oh god." John ran his hand over his face, desperately wishing that he was anywhere except here, doing anything except discussing the shape of breast pumps with Jim. "You know what, I'll buy one of each and then Sherlock can decide which one he wants to use."

"That's reasonable." Jim tossed the two pumps into John's cart just as an associate wondered into the aisle. He blinked at the two of them while organizing the goods on the shelf, watching them warily as Jim turned and led the way back towards the personal care section. John thought that if his face turned anymore red he could be used as a human heat radiator. "Come along, dear. We still have to look at lubricants and produce."

John sped up so that he was next to Jim once again, and he hissed at the scrawny man, "Could you please not announce that you're shopping for lubricants? People might talk."

"People do little else. And besides, what do you care? We could very well strip down to our skivvies and run through the store singing show tunes and it shouldn't matter to them. Now quit sulking. You're much less entertaining."

"My apologies, Princess. I'll try to be less boring for you."

"Thank you." Jim abruptly yanked his cart around and into an aisle, his eyes wide and excited as he ogled an assortment of toys. They were strange things; they looked like deformed animals living in red and white balls. "Pokemon!" Jim shrieked, his hands already reaching out to tear some from the hangers. John blinked, completely shocked by Jim's 180 degree turn from condescending bastard to squealing child.

"Pokemon?"

"Yes! And look, they have Charzard! He's my favorite. He 's like a dragon, well, he's pretty much a dragon. He can blow fire from his mouth and make fire balls and just burn stuff in general. And he flies!"

He happily tossed a few of the funny looking creatures in with his food and directed them towards the lubricant aisle once again. John was quietly laughing to himself at the thought of Jim sitting and playing with his little toys, but he supposed it would be no more absurd than the time he had walked in on Sherlock watching My Little Pony. In fact, he thought that seeing Sherlock watching a little girl's cartoon was probably more surprising than finding out that Jim collected action figures of mutated zoo animals.

"You've never seen Pokemon before, then?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Pity. They're a lot of fun. Especially the video games. I think you'd like them."

"I sincerely doubt that I would."

"Is that a challenge?"

"What? No. I'm not interested in your Poke-thingies."

Jim looked slightly affronted, but he grew quiet while wearing an expression close to that of his Devious Plotting face. Once again, he spun his cart around in the opposite direction he had been heading in, shoving it towards the video games section. John groaned, fearing that his flat would be burnt to the foundations before he got home, but he also didn't want to leave Jim alone with the unwitting employees of the store. So he stood to the side while Jim harassed a sales associate about something, eventually drawing his wallet out to make a purchase of some sort. By the time Jim returned, John had his head laid on his arms which were folded across the handle bars of the cart. He was half asleep when a loud thunk reverberated through the metal of his buggy. He jolted upwards, blinking at the sack which was now nestled among his other shopping.

"What's that?"

"It's a Pokemon game, a Gameboy DS, and all the extra stuff you'll need to play the game properly."

"Why? I don't want it."

"John, you are going to try playing Pokemon, or I will personally come to your house and force you to learn to play the trading card game with me. And trust me, I don't take mercy on losers."

John scowled, suddenly feeling very angry that he was even out at the store at 3:45 in the morning, not to mention trying to do his shopping while keeping an eye on a deranged psychopath. He wondered what deity he had so thoroughly pissed off to deserve this kind of treatment.

"Fine. I'll play your stupid game, but you have to buy yourself a decent pair of pajama bottoms."

"No. I like these, and they're perfectly decent. Besides, if I were going to get new night clothes, I wouldn't buy them here."

John shrugged. "Sure, they look decent if you're going to a costume party dressed up as a homeless person."

Jim stared at John for a long moment, his teeth clenched and his nostrils flared as he simmered in anger. Taking pity on the man, John threw him a smile and said, "I'll even pick them out for you, if you like, since you picked out my game."

Jim gave a sharp laugh. "Fine. But if you pick out ugly ones I'm not wearing them. I'll burn them, probably as fuel to help catch your precious flat on fire."

"Fine. And if I don't like the game I get to chuck it at your crazy little head the next time I see you."

They walked in silence towards the lubricants once again. Jim kept casting John violent glares while John simply ignored him. He wasn't in the mood for an argument, and he thought that if he paid Jim too much heed he would end up punching him in the face, just to see the look of surprise when he did so. He suspected that it wouldn't be worth having a whole fleet of snipers show up at the flat in the dead of night, though. They finally arrived at Jim's initial destination, and he began examining each package of lubricant individually, muttering to himself about various ingredients before carelessly tossing it aside on the floor. John sighed, but ignored it. He certainly wasn't going to act as Jim's nursemaid, scolding him for making a mess.

"What exactly are you looking for?"

"Something to make my door hinges stop squeaking."

"Jim, you use oil for that, not lubricant."

"Yes, but oil smells so bad. And these are essentially the same thing. And look, they come in tropical fruit scents."

"If you put that on your door, it's eventually going to turn sticky and just gunk up the hinges even more."

"So then what do you suggest I do, Mr. Handiman?" Jim turned a scathing scowl upon John, sneering at his interjections.

"I suggest that you buy some WD-40 and air freshner if the scent bothers you that badly."

Jim chewed on his lip, weighing the various pros and cons of heeding John's advice. "Do they have tropical fruit scents in air fresheners?"

"I'm sure that they do."

"Okay. We'll do that, then. Lead the way." Jim gestured John to take the front this time. John did so slightly nervously, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Jim wasn't pulling a throwing knife from the fold of his pajamas. No, the psychopath merely looked happy to follow John to whatever ends of the store.

The rest of the shopping trip continued in much the same way. Jim would mock John for choosing one of the cheaper brands while also giving detailed explanations as to why the more expensive ones were worth the extra money. John would then sneer at Jim while he tried to figure out which medicines were most suitable for Sebastian. In the end, Jim had to describe all of Sebastian's symptoms in detail to John so he could pick them out for him. Before hand, Jim had been considering giving the poor man a cocktail of cough syrup, allergy pills, and gummi vitamins. John had sorted through the the medications that Jim and selected and put half of them back on the shelf, narrowing the whole mess down to a bottle of anti-inflammatory pain medication and some cold medicine. He had then written down explicit directions on how to use each of these, just in case Jim decided to ignore the warning label on the bottles that said not to give the patient all the medication in one go.

Finally, they ended the trip with John picking out a pair of sleep pants for Jim. He had carefully considered the many varieties before selecting a pair of simple grey drawstrings. They did, however, fill Jim's requirement that they be soft quite nicely. They were so soft, in fact, that John got himself a pair of identical ones, the only difference being that his were black. He tossed the pants to Jim, grinning at Jim's pleased expression as he ran his fingers over the fabric. He even went so far as to brush it against his cheek, giving a happy hum at the feeling.

"Fine. I'll concede that maybe these aren't so bad."

"Right. Maybe." John laughed and together they headed off to the check out lane. This was John's least favorite part of the shopping experience, especially considering that he oftentimes had items that he'd much rather the sales associates didn't see. Like the breast pumps, for instance. He began unloading his items, carefully passing them over the scanner repeatedly until he finally heard the little beep that meant they had been scanned. He then gently placed them to the side, making sure that he didn't put any "unexpected items" in the bagging area. Jim was behind him, giving little amused giggles as John was yelled at by the machine during various intervals of the check-out process. John merely gritted his teeth and continued fighting with the damned thing, viciously jabbing at its buttons as if he could inflict physical harm upon. Finally, he had his receipt. He considered just walking straight home now that his shopping was completed, but the angry growl that Jim gave as the machine proceeded to yell at him was compelling enough to make John stand to the side and laugh while Jim fought his own battle against the automated devil.

"There's nothing even in the bagging area yet, you snarky little bitch!" He shrieked at it as the machine refused to scan his next item until he removed whatever had been placed "unexpectedly" in the bagging area. John grinned broadly, sniggering at Jim's enraged features. Jim took two long, deep breaths before abruptly dropping to his knees and pulling a pocket knife from his pajamas. He flicked it open and began twisting at the screws which held the machine's casing closed.

"Jim, what are you doing?"

"Giving this damned piece of electronics an attitude adjustment."

"It's probably not a good idea to-" The metal plating dropped to the ground with a dull crash, and Jim's head and arms disappeared into the inner machinery. "Jesus, Jim! You're going to get arrested for destruction of private property." John shifted himself farther away, not especially wanting to be considered an accomplice in this latest bit of madness.

"Don't be dense, John. I've rerouted all the security cameras so they're being fed the footage from the other nearest Tesco's. As long as you keep an eye out for any employees, we're fine."

"Jim, I'm not being your look out."

"That's fine. Although I thought you would interested in seeing this crime against computing disassembled."

John sighed as he heard the first few snaps of parts being rearranged within the machine. He supposed that he had come this far with Jim, he might as well see the little shopping trip out to the end. He leaned back against the nearest chip and PIN machine, casting furtive looks around to make sure that no employees were approaching. He wondered for a moment if Jim had been lying about rerouting the security cameras, but then he decided that it was probably the truth. Odds were that Jim at least had some inkling of Mycroft's existence and would therefore want to keep his shopping habits as anonymous as possible.

Finally, Jim wriggled back from beneath the machine, carefully replacing the panel back over its inner workings. He then stepped back and began the check out process all over again. This time, the machine didn't make a sound. It merely flashed the usual messages on the screen which directed Jim to continue scanning his items. Jim gave a happy little hum and had completed his transaction in half the time it had taken John, despite having three times as many items to purchase as had John.

"Well, that's it, then."

"Yes," Jim smiled. "It was lovely shopping with you. I hope the acid eats through your pipes and destroys your plumbing."

"It was nice. And I hope that Sebastian develops pneumonia and shares it with you."

They walked out the doors together before parting to walk in opposite directions, each casting cautious glances over their shoulders until the other could no longer be seen in the dim glow of the street lights. John gave a relaxed sigh and picked up his pace, anxious to get home before Jim could decide to send an assassin after him or something similar. He arrived back in the flat to find Sherlock sprawled across the sofa, his arm tossed over his face to block out the early morning light as he slept. John gave a huffy sigh before nudging him awake using his knee.

"Hey! I thought you said you would need to monitor that acid!"

"Oh," Sherlock blinked up at him, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Well, it turns out that the chemical I made was only slightly more acidic than lemon juice. Completely harmless, really, so I washed it down the drain."

"So...You don't need the milk anymore?"

"No."

"Wonderful." John dropped the bags on the coffee table, ordering Sherlock to put the groceries away while he stomped up the stairs back up to his room. He laid in the bed for about an hour, staring up at the ceiling as sleep evaded him. He had now been awake for so long that his body had decided it might as well just stay awake. He gave an angry groan and rolled over, catching sight of the smaller bad that he had dropped on his nightstand. He frowned, resisting for only a moment before pulling the gaming device out. Within minutes, he was so thoroughly immersed in the game that he didn't even hear when Sherlock started yelling some nonsense about having melted gummi bears stuck in his hair.

-oOo-

A week later, John was back at the store, once again purchasing milk. He was loading the jugs into his cart when a rather tall and muscular man cleared his throat. John looked up, raising a questioning eyebrow at the man.

"John Watson?"

"Yes..." John was slowly edging away from the man, having gotten the sinking suspicion that he wasn't going to much like whatever this man had to say next.

"I'm Sebastian Moran."

"Oh." Understanding finally struck John, and he gave the man a tentative smile. "Did Jim catch your cold then?"

"Yes. He said that he wanted you to help with the shopping." The man looked thoroughly miffed about this, but he was also very clearly wrapped around Jim's pinkie. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been at the store at 3 in the morning.

"Um...Okay, I guess."