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“Sherlock. Sherlock no.”
The detective refused to meet his eye and kept pouting. They had been in IKEA for 40 minutes. It felt more like 6 days, but John’s watch insisted it was under an hour.
Technically, this was all Sherlock’s fault.
It wasn’t John’s idea to have sex on the sofa. Again. The fact he went along with it was surplus to the argument.
It had been Tuesday and John was lying on the sofa because, for once, Sherlock was not occupying it for his mind palace and, although he’d never admit it, John was curious about what the fuss was all about. He may have fallen asleep as he awoke to Sherlock sliding up next to him, nuzzling into his neck, an arm wrapping around his waist, and really what else was a man to do when his gorgeous boyfriend sighed sweetly in his ear and whispered to him what he wanted doing to him.
Unfortunately, although they were both willing, their sofa was not. This led to amount of swearing, giggling, and calling through their locked front door that they were fine to an anxious landlady before continuing their activities to a satisfactory conclusion for all part way on the floor.
So, as you can see. All Sherlock’s fault.
John was essentially an innocent bystander in all this. And now they were in John’s personal hellscape that was IKEA.
He had nothing against Swedish furniture.
But he was a practical man and when he wanted something, the logical conclusion was to go somewhere, find the thing, get the thing, go home. Instead he, and approximately the entire population of the City of London were winding their way through a labyrinth of fabric, wooden finishes, and bloody Tupperware. All this with a man who could disappear in a Tesco no bigger than 20ft square. That being said they had done it. They had navigated bedrooms, and kitchens, seem thousands of options for soft furnishings, and there it was: Living Rooms.
He had been naïve.
Because even though they had managed to make it to the Promised Land he had underestimated how much input Sherlock would want into a new sofa. He hadn’t even realised Sherlock would want to come and therefore hadn’t even planned for Sherlock having an opinion.
So now here they were. Stood across the walking aisle, arguing over furniture, neither willing to yield to the other.
John was backing a soft fabric number in black to hide food/ chemical/ fluids stains and would be very comfortable for both consulting detective’s and bloggers to lounge about on at the same time without one crushing the other.
Sherlock however was stood next to a strange looking piece. A metal bar outline encasing a leather-look boxy sofa, far too small for one of them to fit on, never mind both. And the bright pink wasn’t particularly inspiring John either.
“We’re never going to fit on that.”
Sherlock just huffed. John sighed.
“Tell me why that one.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “It’s sturdy.”
“This one’s sturdy.”
“It’s distinctive.” Sherlock crossed his arms and lifted his head haughtily in the air.
John tried not to smile. It was not funny or cute. He did not want a bright pink sofa. The quirk of Sherlock’s lips told him he failed.
“Not swaying me. Come on, let’s see if there’s one we can agree on this way,” he nodded down the aisle, and Sherlock followed reluctantly. John still has his heart on the fabric one, but he was willing to compromise for the sake of his relationship and his sanity.
He paused by a corner sofa, considering the space of the room and Sherlock slid up next to him. Considering how this mess started and the fact he did not want to be kicked out of (another) shop, John eyed him cautiously. The pout was back.
“We would have fit,” Sherlock muttered.
“Hmmm?” John tilted his head.
“On the smaller sofa. We would have fit.”
John had been called unobservant more times than he cared for but, despite this image, John was not actually an idiot. He reached out to capture Sherlock’s left hand in his right, and pull him in closer, creating a safe cocoon away from the rest of the shop.
“I know. But you have to admit it was a shocking shade of pink, and although that has a lot of meaning for us, I feel we don’t need it as a centrepiece in our home.”
There was no way Sherlock was going to admit he wanted to snuggle. John wasn’t going to make him. He could make a compromise though, for the sake of cuddling.
Sherlock smiled. “It came in lime green as well.”
“Jesus,” John rolled his eyes which made Sherlock laugh and the tension fell from his shoulders. “Right, we have to stop this now. You want to look online like normal people?” Sherlock nodded, and John dragged him out the shop and away from the monstrosity. The fact it took them at least another 40 minutes to find their way out was made more bearable by the fact that Sherlock didn’t let go of him until they were back in the safety of the flat.
Their new sofa was fabric, dark navy on John’s insistence.
It was the exact dimensions of their old sofa. They did not fit on it comfortably, all elbows and knees and limbs and laughing and manoeuvring. It ended in kissing and whispering and sighing and more giggling.
It was perfect.