Title: Yes, It's Big, But There's Only One Bedroom
Rating: K+
Genre: Friendship/Humour
Summary: Sherlock makes a confession, and John reflects that even when his whole world is turned upside-down, some things never change.

"So what do you think?" Sherlock demanded, the pride and glee so strong in his tone that John would have been vaguely surprised he wasn't dancing if there hadn't been so many other things vying for his attention.

Like the fact that they had just walked into a police call box that was far, far larger on the inside than it was on the outside.

[Really, John, it doesn't 'break physics' as you put it. Honestly, just because the explanation isn't obvious to you.]

Like the fact that Sherlock had just confessed that he was an alien.

[Well, okay, in retrospect that really wasn't surprising.]

Like the fact that he was, apparently, now bored with Earth and wanted John to come with him as they journeyed off across the universe.

[What do you mean, 'what about Lestrade'? I did say we can also travel through time, didn't I? We can be away for as long as we want and come back five minutes after we left.]

"I… wow." John knew that such reactions would, from now on, be inescapably standard around Sherlock. "Um. Yes. This is… amazing. This is absolutely amazing."

"She is, isn't she?" Sherlock replied smugly, and in a series of fluid movements, discarded both his coat and scarf, and began pulling levers and pressing buttons on the… well, the only word John could think of to describe it was 'console', and he presumed it controlled this… spaceship. Time machine. Whatever it was. Or she was. Why had Sherlock referred to a machine as 'she'? Okay, no, not going down that path, because that begged the question of why Sherlock did anything the way he did, and that road lead to madness.

"Do you have any suggestions, John? Nowhere Earth, please, I am thoroughly sick of Earth."

"I—" And then the obvious hit. "Hang on, if you're an alien, then what about your—?"

"Mycroft loves political power-plays. Settling on Earth is the best thing that's ever happened to him." Sherlock replied instantly, cutting him off before he'd even finished the question. John wondered if he should just start thinking his questions, and save his breath.

"Well, won't he – miss you?" He took one look at Sherlock's expression as he faced the doctor. "…Okay, I guess not."

"After nine hundred years, I think I am quite capable of looking after myself, John." It was muttered, but he still caught it, and rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock, you act like a petulant five-year-old when things don't—wait, did you say nine hundred years?"

"You heard me, I don't need to repeat it."

"Nine. Hundred. Years."

"Is there some problem with this?"

"Sherlock—" And then he stopped and sighed, because he just knew that he wasn't going to get anywhere with this. It was going to become one of those things. Like how Sherlock left body parts in various kitchen appliances and didn't know that the earth moved around the sun. "You know what?"

"Do enlighten me."

"You don't look a day over three hundred."

That got him a Look. John refused to be subdued.

"John, we are two single men travelling alone. If you keep this up, people will think we're in love." It was pure deadpan, but then Sherlock gave him that smile, and John realised that, no matter if he was dealing with Sherlock being bored at 221b Baker Street, or being bored as they travelled across space and time, he was still Sherlock Holmes.

And that was good enough for him.