Work Text:
“Bugger.”
John scowled down at his mug, the tea that had sloshed over the rim running down his wrist and into the cuff of his jumper. He had, once again, stubbed his toe on the leg of his chair as he came round to enjoy his cuppa and morning paper. Ordinarily John was quite nimble, his years in the army had trained him to be aware of his surroundings at all times. So it had been disconcerting to him when the stubbed toe routine had started some two weeks ago. However, it wasn’t long before he had figured out what was going on. Another damnable experiment.
John lowered himself into the chair, dabbing at his stained cuff. It seemed that over the past weeks his chair had gotten a mind of its own and had taken to shuffling about the sitting room ever so slightly each night. The first two times he had knocked into his chair, John had thought nothing of it and simply nudged it back into place. But the third time it happened he knew it had to be more than just coincidence. The universe was rarely so lazy. Sherlock usually launched himself into some sort of experiment within hours of finishing a case, and yet the flat was conspicuously absent of any foul concoctions cluttering the worktop or bits of human flesh being tanned. Well, John had thought, if he thinks he can just make me into some sort of experiment then he will be sorely disappointed in his results.
“Goodness John now I see why you were invalided out. You were liable to stumble over a land mine at any moment.” Sherlock mumbled in his most exasperating bored voice. He was slouched in his chair as usual; arms crossed petulantly and long legs stretched out and looking all the world like errant schoolboy waiting to be summoned into the Headmasters office.
John opened his paper with a snap. This was the second part of Sherlock’s little experiment. He had steadily grown into quite a sulk that seemed to intensify each morning, like each dawn had brought with it some new disappointment.
“You should be rather thankful then,” John said evenly, determined not to take the bait and further provide any data for Sherlock. “If I had been blow sky high then there would be no one to go get your milk.” He skimmed the daily and pointedly ignored his sulking flat mate.
With a frustrated huff, Sherlock leveraged himself out of his plush armchair to scoop up his violin and begin a rather irritating run through of scales.
If I can just ignore him a while longer, John thought, maybe Sherlock will be the first to crack in this little game he seemed to be playing. John had never wished so ardently for a case to come to them.
_
Two days time saw Sherlock perched in his chair all steepled fingers and barely concealed excitement as he waited for John to finish stirring his morning tea and seat himself in his chair. His clear, bright eyes followed him as he made his way round the chair, noted as his elbow caught its corner. So many days of patience had come down to this moment. Sherlock curled his toes in excitement. As John settled himself, Sherlock unfurled himself letting his arms stretch languidly over his head in calculated ease.
John glanced at him. “What’s got your frown turned upside down this morning?” he asked with suspicion.
Sherlock stretched his legs next, pointing his toes and rolling his ankles. “I don’t know, why don’t you try the horoscopes and see if Mercury is in retro grade or whatever those funny little psychics drivel out to amuse the masses.” He waited expectantly for John to take the paper out from under his arm and begin his usual perusal of the daily.
With a final uncertain squint at the detective, he did just that. He had just begun to wonder how long it would take Sherlock and the use of his mind palace to complete the crossword when he felt it. Little icy daggers were systematically wriggling themselves under his bum. He lowered his paper and looked at his brilliant fool incredulously.
Eyes closed, satisfied smile plastered across his face, Sherlock had his long legs stretched across the space between them and had tucked his feet under John.
“Sherlock.”
“Hm.”
“This” John swatted at his feet with his now rolled paper “has been whey you’ve deemed to drive me mental for the past week and a half?!”
In spite of himself, Sherlock looked quite sheepish as he opened his eyes and looked at John from under his long lashes.
“At least I didn’t try to drug you.”