DIY Sheep versus Doctor Who and everybody else

bad bad boys














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“You yelled at me,” he said, not taking his eyes of the TV.

 

“Yes I yelled at you,” Wilson sighed. “I always yell at you. It is just that half the time you don’t notice.”

 

“But it wasn’t even my fault. If Jesus wants to go walkies I can’t stop him.”

 

“I was mad.”

 

House turned and gave him a piercing glare. “That’s only because you were doing her. Bro’s before ho’s man.”

 

“Well maybe if you put out more… And she has a bed… and she doesn’t steal everything I make for lunch,” suggested Wilson.

 

“So if I slept with you… and didn’t make off with your lunch?” he paused thoughtfully. “I do have a double bed.” He looked over. “But Doctor Wilson, what will people say?” he asked sarcastically. “The love that dare not speak its name.”

 

“It’s not like they all don’t think it already.”

 

“They think that!” House snorted in astonishment. “Just because we hang around together all the time and I stole your macadamia nut pancakes and called them ‘little slices of heaven’…”

 

“You really called them ‘little slices of heaven’?”

 

“Well they were…” he broke off. “Oh God no wonder everyone thinks we are making goo goo eyes at each other over the balcony wall.”

 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t suggestively slide over my wall quite so often,” he continued in a sharper tone. “… And interrupt me when I am with patients,” he said pointedly.

 

“I didn’t want to ogle you. I just wanted to complain about God-botherers – and you were handy… like a spanner or multi-purpose tool or something.”

 

“Oh you so want me.”

 

“That totally explains why you got Lady to rearrange my closet.”

 

“Well… before you couldn’t even ‘get anything out of it’, let alone ‘come out of it’ – and I needed somewhere to hang my shirts.

 

“That’s it. I am going to find a new best friend. Him,” he said pointing.

 

“The man is in a coma,” Wilson pointed out.

 

“He is like John Wayne,” House said petulantly. “The strong silent type.”

 

But Wilson wasn’t paying attention anymore. He was looking past House. “Uh Oh,” he said gesturing to the door.

 

A very irritable and annoyed Cuddy was standing in the doorway. Her wrath (pronounced wroth) directed at House.

 

“Hi Doctor Cuddy. Wilson has come out of the closet,” said House brightly. Wilson gaped. “My closet to be specific.”

 

“That’s nice,” she said oblivious. “House, we talked about Mr Verninsky before didn’t we.”

 

“Who?” asked House.

 

Cuddy sighed in frustration. “The Coma Guy,” she clarified.

 

She came in and waved a finger under his nose. “And we talked about how you don’t use him for experimental techniques, you don’t give him migraines and you leave him alone generally.”

 

“But I wasn’t doing anything to him,” protested House.

 

She leaned down and looked him in the face. “If I find you using him as a tray table one more time I am gonna…” she broke off in frustration as she tried to think of something suitably mean.

 

“You’re gonna what?” asked House suggestively.

 

“You’re gonna confiscate every single toy in his office,” cut in Wilson.

 

House looked at him horrified, as if to say ‘how could you betray me like that?’ “No.”

 

Wilson nodded sadistically. “Even the ball.”

 

“Not the ball,” squeaked House.

 

“The ball,” confirmed Wilson.

 

He looked over to Cuddy, who only smiled. “Even the ball.”

 

House gathered up his rubbish and patted the sleeping man. “Seeya big guy. It seems I am stuck with ‘closet man’ for the time being,” he said as he shot Wilson a dirty look and tried to slink out of the room.

 

“House…”

 

He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “I know, I know – more punishment hours. I’ll be there tomorrow morning, ready to tend the hypochondriacs and the runny noses.”

 

She smiled evilly at him. “And if I hear one complaint from one patient, the ball gets it.”

 

He turned and looked at her, shocked. “You really are an evil fiend.”