Work Text:
John knew it was a case. Sherlock had left 221B wearing a financier’s suit and explaining that posing as a woman’s boyfriend might require an arm around her waist, perhaps a kiss. John had said he understood. Understanding did nothing for the possessive ache beneath his calm.
After work, he found takeaway in the fridge and a note on the lid.
Heat for three minutes. She wears too much perfume. I already dislike her.
John snorted, wondering how Sherlock could have possibly known that in advance. Then again, this was Sherlock.
Restlessness drove him to the laundry basket where he found another square of paper.
You only wash clothes on Thursdays or when jealous. Mind the Dolce & Gabbana.
John smiled, sighed and carried on.
When the washing was done, John reached for Top Gun. Inside the case:
Predictable, sentimental creature. I like you this way.
His jealousy had softened into longing. Under his pillow, his fingers found the final note.
Every touch I give her belongs to the deception. Everything true in me is yours. I will come home to you.
John read it twice, then pressed it to his mouth.
His phone pinged.
21:43. Precisely on schedule. Four notes found. Jealousy neutralised. Did you kiss the last one? SH
John laughed into the empty bedroom.
“Smartarse,” he said, smiling.