Work Text:
“Sherlock, God damnit, get inside.”
“I don't want to.”
Sherlock had had his brother place a bench in Baker Street so he could sit outside and get some fresh air. John was always telling him he needed to when he wasn't on a case as he spent days cooped up in the flat and it wasn't healthy. Boring. It had taken some persuasion and eventually Mycroft had bargained with his little brother. If he was to help on the most tedious case he could have his bench. Of course, Mycroft should have realised when Sherlock had John, nothing was tedious. They just spent most of the time flirting whilst Sherlock solved things in his subconscious. After three days it had been solved on the fourth day a bench was outside.
“Sherlock, this really isn't funny.”
“It is I think it's perfectly normal.”
It was lunch time. A busy period in central London, a lot of people walking passed mainly in twos as they went for lunch in the middle of the working day. Sherlock wasn't going for lunch, he was lounging on his new bench. John wasn't going for lunch either. He was stood behind the closed door yelling at him through the letter box.
“I don't understand the problem, John.”
“You don't understand the- for gods sake, Sherlock get your arse back in here.”
They were getting curious and rather rude looks but Sherlock didn't need to be the world's only consulting genius detective to know that the looks were more than likely at him personally than the two of them arguing through a closed door.
“It's a simple fact of life, John. I was born this way, why's it wrong now? You're a doctor, you know this so don't be stupid.”
“I know you were born that way but you haven't just been born,” he hissed. “You're too much of an arse to have just been born and you're far too long and gangly as well.”
As Baker Street got busier, Sherlock got more and more looks. People had veered off his side of the road and crossed just to cross back again when they were passed the bench.
“Stop being an idiot, John.”
“I'm not joking, Lock. Get in here or I will ring Greg and have him come and arrest you like that. For all the Yard to see.”
It was a good job it was the middle of August and hot, it could just as easily have been winter and he could have been freezing.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a large bucket of freezing water and ice cubes fell from the sky, well more easily described as falling from their flat window. Sherlock looked like a drowned rat.
“Get inside right now, young man or I'll be phoning your mother!”
Sherlock looked up to see Mrs. Hudson, still stood there, holding her bucket. He growled, but a visit from his mother was the last thing he needed. He stood up and let John open the door for him.
He was immediately thrown back against the wall and, despite being soaking wet, John kissed him thoroughly.
“You're a bloody great moron.”
“John, being naked in front of people was not my fault in the first place, why does it make a difference 30 years later?”