Work Text:
“Oh my god it’s so coldddd.” John complained, falling into a mass of snow behind him. He and Sherlock were making snowmen together on their day off. Sherlock had nice full snow gear, nice gloves, a thick black long jacket, matching scarf, and hat. Mycroft had gifted them to him, of course. But John, he had your average coat, and average gloves, which he wasn’t even wearing because one of them he lost, and no scarf or hat. It was also his idea to go outside during a storm, but he was not going to bring that up when complaining.
“Let’s go inside then.” Sherlock looked down at his friend embedded into the pure white below him. “And don’t fall back into a big clump of snow when you’re trying to be warm.”
“If snow is so comfy, why is it so cold? That’s my question.” He closed his eyes and let the snow fall over his face.
“I’m bringing you inside, maybe we can even convince Mrs. Hudson to make us hot chocolate.” At the mention of hot chocolate, John’s face lit up.
“You have hot chocolate?” He sprung up out of his little snow bed. “Sod this, I'm going inside, come on.”
~
Immediately as they entered the house, the two were greeted by the soft scent of hot chocolate wafting around the kitchen. Sherlock’s house was not small by a longshot, but John found the kitchen to be decently small. It was comfy, like any other home but it felt actually lived in unlike most other rooms in the house. He figured it was because of the two brothers only ever liked hanging out in their own rooms, and the small fact that whenever either of boys left their room it was cleaned by Mrs. Hudson soon after, but the kitchen was the only room other than Sherlock’s excuse of a bedroom that was never truly clean.
John loved Sherlock’s kitchen. It always smelt like a bakery or a coffee shop, and as always, there was some sort of fresh drink and pastry sitting on the counter a few steps away.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Mycroft leaving and making his way up the stairs. He must have been the one to tell Mrs. Hudson they wanted hot chocolate. He just recently found out Mycroft could deduce and was the one who taught Sherlock, John had scolded him for creating the tiny monster Sherlock was now, even though he secretly loved the dark-haired boy’s little deductions, especially if it were on one of his least favourite teachers.
Sherlock must have noticed Mycroft too, because he muttered something incoherent under his breath in the direction of their stairs before looking at John and picking up his warm mug.
“Do you have any whipped cream?” He asked, peering over at Sherlock’s pantry with intrigue. Sherlock looked over as well, pondering for a moment.
“I don’t know actually.”
“Woah! Did the great Sherlock Holmes just admit to not knowing something?” John teased; he got a glare from Sherlock.
“Shut up, I don’t catalogue my pantry or fridge, do you know how often Mrs. Hudson likes to rearrange them?” He argued, but John was not listening, he was busy stalking off to said refrigerator in search of a bottle of whipped cream. The dark-haired boy followed him, stupidly.
Immediately as he made it around the counter corner, John whipped around and sprayed his face with a cold white puffy substance. He tried to shield himself, even if it was pointless.
“I thought you wanted that for yourself!” Sherlock squealed, in a feminine way but at this point that wasn’t the most embarrassing thing that had happened in the past 30 seconds, so neither of them commented on it.
“I do!” John said through a string of giggles. “I got some for myself too don’t worry.”
“Oh well I'm glad you’re happy john, that makes one of us.” Though he secretly was not mad. Maybe he was in the moment of attack, sure, but he could never stay mad when John looked like that whenever he smiled. And right now, John was beaming from ear to ear.
“I’m going to have to shower now! Who will keep you company while I am gone?” He couldn’t help but grin a little himself. “You’ll be all alone.”
“Womp womp.”
“You won't be womp womping when you are alllll alone now will you?”
“Nah, I’ll manage.”
“Woww I see how it is, do I mean nothing to you, oh great dr. John Watson?”
“No, actually. You mean everything to me great detective Sherlock Holmes.” John shot back; this time it was serious though. His smile turned from mocking to a genuine happy smile. Sherlock was sure John was actually literally beaming with light this time, or that’s how it felt.
“Everything?” He questioned, waiting for another genuine answer, confirmation.
“Everything.” John replied. Sherlock was speechless, he didn’t know why. He was thankful he had an excuse to go and collect himself.
“I am gonna go take that shower now, go be lonely on the couch ‘till I come back, Dr. Watson.” He smiled back at John before wiping some whipped cream off of his cheek and making his way upstairs.
~
You mean everything to me. Did he really mean that? Seriously? He meant nothing to most people, and annoyance to others. He meant everything to John.
As soon as he had walked I and closed the door, his mind had started to race. As soon as John said what he said his mind started to race actually. Now it would not stop racing, as normal but now it was solely racing on John. That was not normal. Maybe it was normal, Sherlock himself wasn’t normal, how would he know.
He stripped off his clothes and turned to the shower, now was not the time to be having a crisis about the person literally one floor and a couple rooms away. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it.
~
You mean everything to me. What was he thinking? Why did he say that? Sherlock was clearly upset now, he practically ran upstairs to the shower. They were simply joking, if he had just continued to joke, he could have kept it from being incredibly awkward.
Immediately as John flopped onto Sherlock’s couch, he started to think about what he had said just so casually without thinking. His mind raced, this was not the time to have an internal crisis about the person quite literally one floor and a couple rooms away. He shut his eyes and tried not to think about it.