Work Text:
It was a fairly warm day; probably the last one they'd get for awhile, and so John and Sherlock were out in their garden. John was raking leaves while Sherlock pulled weeds. It was a arrangement they'd come to soon after moving out into the country; John's bad arm made pulling weeds hard for him, while Sherlock's bad leg made walking around the yard raking difficult for him. So while John walked around raking, Sherlock could sit on the ground and pull weeds.
"Make sure to get the thistles," John said casually as he raked under the beech tree.
"Oh, God, not this again..."
"Sherlock, look; they're taking over the whole bloody place!" John swept his hand around, indicating the numerous spiky weeds littering the yard.
"Bees like them," said Sherlock. "And so do gold finches; you know, those little yellow birds you like to watch?"
John sighed. "You like bees, I like birds; we also like clover and heather and roses, and none of those are going to grow if you let the thistles have their way!"
Sherlock groaned and fell back on the ground, covering his face. John let out another sigh. He walked over and knelt next to his husband.
"Look... could you at least get rid of some of them...? Enough that the other flowers have a chance? How about the ones further from a house; since the whole point is for us to watch the birds and the bees."
Sherlock moved his hands away, giving a smirk.
John laughed. "Play your cards right, and we'll see..."
"Meaning, get rid of the thistles."
"Just some. Please...?"
Sherlock held up his hands. "Get me some better gloves."
"All right."
They continued working till close to dark, when it started getting too cold to work. Putting away the gardening tools, they went inside and had dinner; then John watched a little television while Sherlock worked on his laptop. Both of them were drowsy after the long day's work.
"C'mon, Sherlock, let's get a bath before we go to bed."
"Hmmm... shower... too dirty for a bath."
"Okay."
Sherlock usually preferred to take baths--it was easier on his leg--but tonight he bathed standing up, with John helping him stay stable and even washing his back and lathering up his hair. Then Sherlock turned to face him, leaning against him as the water washed off the shampoo out.
"So nithe," said Sherlock, not even noticing his slip-up. "Thanks, John..."
"My pleasure," John replied. "Thank you for getting rid of the thistles."
"Ugh... enough with the thupid thithtles already."
John laughed. Sherlock shot him a glare and lightly smacked his good shoulder.
"I'm tired..."
"I know. I'm sorry." John grinned. "Or should I say-"
"No, you thou--shouldn't."
John smiled and kissed Sherlock. "I love you."
"And I've grown rather fond of you over the years," Sherlock joked. They both laughed.