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John arrives home with the usual—milk, hobnobs and an ‘I’ve-spent-the-whole-day-in-my-uncomfortable-surgery-chair’ limp.
Nothing about this picture disturbs Sherlock. Rather, the fact that he cares what sort of a day that John has had, well that is a bit disturbing.
“Got the milk you bloody well texted me for.” John huffs as he drops the Tesco’s bag on Sherlock’s lap, ignoring the open textbook there.
That much is obvious, Sherlock refrains from snapping as he places the bag on the side table.
“Wouldn’t hurt you to use a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ once in a while, would it?” John sits in his usual armchair, attempting to arrange his leg into a more suitable position.
“Thank you, John.”
John doesn’t bother to hide his shock.
*
Sherlock is used to manipulating people. How else would have he ended up being the only consulting detective in Britain? He tells people the things they want to hear, so in turn he can get what he wants.
“Molly is that a new dress? Also, are there any spare cadavers around?”
“Lestrade if you don’t let me on this crime scene, who knows what other measures I’ll go to keep myself entertained.”
“Yes I am the new prospective tenant. Now will you let me see the floor plan to your flat?”
And so it goes. A moment of discomfort and acting, but Sherlock is prepared to do that for the things he wants. What is surprising is that the same principles have started to be true in the case of John Watson.
John likes to see that he feels things, that he experiences normal human emotions. So Sherlock has no qualms smiling in the direction of small children and animals, just to see if John smiles back. He has started to show John that he appreciates the things he does by (occasionally) putting the kettle to boil and waiting on crime scenes for John to catch up.
Sherlock is perfectly fine with the fact that he is manipulating John. Except he really isn’t sure why he is, in the first place.
*
“Sherlock, stop staring at me. That’s what the telly is for.” John points towards the flickering screen from his seat beside Sherlock on the couch.
It is one of those ridiculous crime shows, made even more ridiculous by the music score.
Sherlock doesn’t look away, “You do realize it was the mother-in-law. She was driven by maternal rage”.
John huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
Sherlock is confused, “Are you annoyed that I told you? You seemed so intent on finding out who did it I thought I’d save you the time of sitting here and watching it.”
“Yes, but Sherlock that’s half the fun of watching. Being able to sit here, relax, letting the show unfold. It can be enjoyable, you know.”
“Are you saying that you enjoy sitting here, watching the tv and relaxing with me in particular? Or just generally?” Sherlock does his best smug expression.
John is quicker. This time.
“I could ask you the same question, except you don’t seem to enjoy the telly that much at all. Why is it you sit here with me Sherlock?”
Sherlock doesn’t have an answer. Instead he pretends to watch the tv screen until he retreats to his bedroom for the night.
*
Not long after the television incident, Sherlock realizes he isn’t manipulating John. No it’s far worse than that.
Sherlock is trying to make John happy.
*
The next time they watch telly, John is sitting at his side of the couch with a packet of crisps and Sherlock is sprawled at his end with John’s laptop. Sherlock pretends to be not interested in the movie, but he can’t help sneaking a few looks at John McClane's many close calls and weapon wielding. If only to help him in any future high-paced cases he may encounter.
He glances over to see John’s reaction, only to be confronted with a knowing smile.
“I knew you’d like Die Hard.” John proclaims as he happily munches away on his crisps.
Sherlock shuts John’s laptop, places it on the side table and grabs John’s crisps and flings them aside, ignoring the annoyed 'hey!' from John.
“Yes, but you do realize that I like just sitting here, relaxing, with you, most of all.”
It is Sherlock’s turn to be smug as he curls up next to him and rests his head on John’s lap.
Again, John doesn’t bother to hide his shock. Sherlock grabs his hand and intertwines it with his anyway.
Fin.