Work Text:
With a little hmph, Ms. Hudson was out of their flat, her shoes clicking on the stairs. John shook his head with an incredulous sigh, “What has gotten into you, Sherlock?” he demanded. Sherlock squinted at him for a moment before stomping towards the kitchen, curly hair bouncing. “Ignoring me? Now, that’s just childish!” John turned in his seat to look at Sherlock, who was studying one of his experiments, picking up a container of God-knows-what ever so carefully. “Ms. Hudson has been nothing but a dear to you, learn some manners for Christ’s sake.” John muttered, turning back around and looking at his newspaper.
Sherlock, again, ignored John’s comments and strode back into the living room, landing on the armchair across from John, “How many times do I have to tell you, I’m bored. There’s no case. Of course I’m going to be, well, grumpy.”
"You could fetch some groceries, you know. Wouldn’t hurt to have food in the kitchen instead of dismembered body parts." John pointed out, folding the newspaper onto his lap and fiddling with his sleeves. After a moment of quiet, both men started chuckling and shaking their heads because they both knew that what John had suggested would never happen. After the short bought of laughter died down, there was silence again. John looked around the room, trying not to make things awkward, but to no avail. He could feel eyes on him and glanced briefly at Sherlock. Sure enough, his eyes were roaming all over John, deducing him from every angle possible.
"Oh, would you quit?" John shifted in his seat, trying not to show anything that might set Sherlock off on another round of deducing.
Sherlock had a smug smile as he met John’s eyes, “Uncomfortable?”
"Dammit, you!" John stood up, his cheeks turning a shade pinker. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them in fear that it might encourage Sherlock, who also stood up and smirked.
"Sweaty palms, John. Nervous?" John ducked behind the chair, but Sherlock chased him, stepping over furniture to get to the distressed man faster. "Irritable. You aren’t enjoying this." Even if John wasn’t enjoying it, a laugh bubbled out of his mouth, making Sherlock raise his eyebrows, "Or maybe you are?" No, he wasn’t. It was like being tickled: you laugh, but not because it’s funny or because you want to. A glowering stare was enough to bring Sherlock back to the earlier conclusion, "Okay, so no fun."
John had been chased into the kitchen and backed up into the only bare spot on the counter, where they usually prepare tea or food- if there ever is any. Sherlock was very close now, studying every inch of John like one of his science projects that was scattered throughout the house. John could feel Sherlock’s breath on his skin and he couldn’t help but breath heavily in anticipation, even though nothing was going to happen- nothing ever did.
Sherlock’s eyes shot back up to John’s, widening in interest, “Dilated pupils…” He murmured, and John could almost feel his deep voice vibrating through the room. John raised his chin a little, trying to get to the same eye level as Sherlock. “You’re confusing me, John.” Sherlock whispered, placing an experimental hand softly on John’s back and pulling him a little bit closer
This is about all the teasing John could handle. In one swift movement, John grabbed a handful of Sherlock’s curly hair and pulled him down, their lips meeting. Sherlock seemed prepared for this, which pissed John off, as he had been trying to take the man by surprise. Sherlock’s tongue began exploring and John felt his knees become weak. He would have collapsed if it wasn’t for Sherlock lifting him up onto the counter to be at the same height as him. John put his arms around Sherlock’s neck, as they stopped for air, foreheads still together.
"I think it’s safe to say you’re enjoying it now?”