Work Text:
"Bollocks." As the electronics beeped back to life, John pushed his glasses up on his head and wiped his eyes in frustration.
"Really, John? A new computer in the middle of a heat wave and you didn't immediately set automatic backups?"
John sighed and lifted himself stickily from the desk, shuffling out of the room and mumbling something about people who deliberately held onto information until it let them feel superior, rather than when it helped certain put-upon flatmates.
Splashing water on his face helped with the physical discomfort, though it wouldn't get him and Sherlock out of the house, the real root of the problem. It was a strange life: a doctor frustrated by how the oppressive August heat seemed to be keeping London's villains away from their ... villainy.
Right.
Realizing he wouldn't be productive writing if he was coming up with rubbish like that, John dried his face and grabbed up the newspaper. Maybe he'd overlooked something this morning.
As he crossed from kitchen to living room, his hesitation on the threshold prompted the unmoving shape on the sofa to say, "I suppose it would be useful for me to mention at this time that they are on your head?"
Pressing his lips together in an unshared grin, John settled the glasses onto his nose, sat, and began browsing.