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Johnlock: The Adventure of the Gray Mouse
John had just finished buying groceries and was coming up the stairs with a bit of hesitation, due to the fact that Sherlock had taken to firing off his handgun into the wall whenever he got bored now. One of these days, John swore he’d end up in just the right position for one of those bloody bullets to come through the wall and hit him in the head. No amount of arguing and irritation had assuaged the discourteous consulting detective from firing off his pistol indoors, and it was causing the soldier a bout of post-traumatic stress. After taking a cautionary pause of ten minutes and hearing nothing resembling gunshots, he scuttled up the staircase as quickly as he could and walked through the door with his paper bags.
“Sherlock, I’ve got food! Come out wherever you are!”
“Do you have to shout? I’m right here.”
John looked around the, quite disorganized, parlor and saw no sign of his flat-mate. “Where?”
“Shh! You’ll scare it away.” Sherlock said in a loud whisper.
After setting the bags down in the kitchen, he came to inspect the room, finally finding his best friend on all fours beneath his desk. “What are you doing?”
“An experiment. Quick, hand me an orange.”
John was befuddled, but found it best not to argue with the unorthodox man who would just continue to pester him like a child even if he withheld the groceries.
“What is it this time? Rewiring the flat with the acid from citrus?” John asked as Sherlock began peeling the fruit he’d just been handed. “I’m surprised Mrs. Hudson hasn’t thrown us out yet.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, John. Mrs. Hudson adores us as if we were her own children. Despite the minor annoyances, I doubt she’d allow her improvised sons out onto the street without a place to stay.”
“Minor annoyances?”
“And citrus cannot be used in place of wires, unless of course it is to deter this little one from eating them.”
John got a puzzled look before resorting to joining Sherlock on the ground and seeing that he had arranged a miniature buffet of food for a small gray mouse that currently was munching away on a biscuit it held in its tiny paws.
“Find a new friend, did we?”
“You’re always encouraging that I should be more welcoming of friends.” Sherlock said, eyeing the retired soldier.
“Glad to see your starting small.”
“That’s quite possibly the worst pun I’ve ever heard.”
“Perhaps I should get you a cassette player so that you can record yourself some time.” John said, getting up to put the groceries away.
“Did you get what I asked?” Sherlock said, eyeing him over his shoulder.
“Depends…”
The consulting detective gave his partner a look of hesitation before sitting back on his behind on the floor with crossed legs, looking away from him. “I’m still sore from the last time…”
“Come on, Sherlock. I know you’re just saying that to get out of it. We made a deal, if you want to back out of it, then I’m not giving you them.” John said, continuing to unload the bags.
Sherlock eye-balled him as he failed to pocket away the package of cigarettes he had bought as a reward and bribe. There was a brief tension in the air, before Sherlock pounced to his feet and launched himself over towards the kitchen. John was faster though, and used the table to block him, before dashing up the stairs to his room and slamming the door behind himself with Sherlock on the other side. A muffled complaint sounded out before the bottom of the door shuddered from a small kick.
“For someone who claimed to have a limp, you’re rather spry, John!” Sherlock called, jostling the doorknob.
John smirked to himself. “And your rather slow for someone with long legs!”
“Joooohn! Open the door! Please! Just one. Just one, and I swear to god I’ll consider it!”
“That’s not the deal! You know you’d save yourself a lot of trouble if you’d do your own shopping for once, instead of depending on me for your bad habits.”
Sherlock stomped back down the stairs, and all John could make out were the raised voices of him and Mrs. Hudson as they ran about the house.
“The key! I need the key, Mrs. Hudson! What have you done with it?”
“Sherlock, I think you’re overreacting a bit much, dear. You need to carry out on your promises.”
“Damn the conspiring against me in this house! Fine, I’ll make my own way in.”
“You’ve caused enough damage to the wall already! Just what are you planning on doing with that?”
“Out of the way, Mrs. Hudson! If I were you, I’d take a long stroll down to the park while this blows over. It’s nearly three, that chap with the cheap knock-off cologne you’re always eying should be passing by with his Pomeranian at any moment. Now away with you!” There was the sound of running feet on the stairs, then hammering on the door before Sherlock called into him. “John! You had best be standing away from this door, or else open it this instant!”
John quickly hid the cartridge in a place that not even Sherlock would be able to guess right away, and laid casually atop his bed, before the tobacco-deprived detective stormed into the room brandishing the harpoon he had used to pry open the door. Sherlock leveled it at his partner lying undisturbed atop his covers, nonchalantly reading from a book.
John didn’t look up at him and spoke with a calm manor, turning the page. “I hope that you didn’t just break my lock, or else I’ll have to penalize you another month.”
“Damn the lock, John! Where are they!”
“You gave me your word, that you wouldn’t do this again; that you would try it for me, and now you’re going back on your promise. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Sherlock growled before getting down on the floor and checking every individual floor board for a loose plank.
“Cold.” John said, continuing to read.
The detective traced every inch of the room with his eyes before checking all of John’s drawers, his closet, and even crawling over him and reaching beneath the pillow his head rested on, coming up completely empty. John sighed looking up at him.
“Do you mind?”
Sherlock’s icy blue eyes glared down into John’s, but he spoke with an even tone. “Please.”
John set aside the book and undid the collar of Sherlock’s shirt. He snatched his hands, giving him a warning look.
“I’m just checking… Jesus, you’d think I hadn’t seen what you’ve got under there before. Walking around with your bedsheets or less.”
Sherlock smirked. “Don’t pretend that’s the only time you’ve seen me naked.”
He released John’s hands and turned his head so that his partner had better visibility of the small, already yellowing hickey that blemished his collarbone just where his shoulder met his neck.
“There’s not much to show off. Honestly, John, I don’t understand your fetishes.”
John brushed his fingers lightly over the love-mark and closed his eyes half way into a lustful expression. His voice was low when he spoke. “This way I can show everybody that even you, Sherlock Holmes, have someone who can make you weak.”
Their faces had drifted close enough that their foreheads now touched. Sherlock purred, hot breath spilling out across his partner’s lips. “You don’t make me weak, John. At least, not outside of our time alone.”
“I know…”
His lips came down on the mark and worked at it until it became swollen and red, the skin already bruising over again. John worked his mouth up Sherlock’s neck to his earlobe, where he bit down hard.
“Aww! John, really…”
His voice was muffled, abruptly, by John’s lips and tongue as they played against his, creating a sweet burst of chemical reactions that had Sherlock leaning in for more. As soon as the consulting detective put his hands against his partner’s cheeks, he was swiftly flipped over onto his back so that John now hovered over him with hunger in his features.
“Keep your trick of turning up your collar if you want to, but the scarf and the cigarettes aren’t coming back until you hold to your promise of one week of showing it off; no less.”
Sherlock tried to make his expression as blank as possible to aggravate John further. “It’s not as if anyone cares, or even suspects it of being caused by you. Sally and Anderson both assume it’s self-inflicted from my experimenting, Lestrade thought it was a stubborn nicotine-patch that wouldn’t come off, and everyone else already makes their assumptions about us that you callously snap at every time they’re brought up, which only baffles me further as to why you want me to show off your ‘badge’ as you call it. Why become so irate if they do catch on?”
John pulled back a little to look at Sherlock, who lay sprawled out on the bed. He studied his dark curls and ever calculating eyes as they shifted from side to side reading him back. The tension between them would have been enough to launch an arrow. Pressing his thumb lightly against his partner’s lips, John bent back down to kiss him again. Sherlock traced his hand up the doctor’s inner thigh coming to rest right over the bulge in his trousers. With a swift flick of his hand, he snatched the pack of cigarettes out of John’s pants and held them aloof with a smirk.
“How obvious.” He said.
“You think I didn’t plan ahead?” John said, smirking back.
Sherlock got a puzzled look before quickly opening the package to find that it was empty. They both burst into a fit of laughter before Sherlock tossed the empty container aside and brought his hands up to hold the back of John’s head as they kissed.
“You really are an insufferable arsehole.” Sherlock said, smiling against John’s lips.
John chuckled against his partner’s mouth. “And you’re a hypocrite to the fullest extent of the word.”
“So, what’s it to be this time? Perhaps I ought to just wear one of your jumpers to the crime scene? Get everyone’s blood boiling?”
“No…” John exhaled a defeated breath. “No, I think I’ve had enough of this game. You always find a way to undermine me regardless. I’m no match for the massive intellect you have packed away in that thick skull.”
Sherlock chuckled, pressing his forehead up against John’s and shutting his eyes. “And I’m no match for the immense amount of patience you have tucked into that big heart of yours, Dr. Watson. Perhaps we should just tell people what exactly our relationship entails.”
“No,” John said, shaking his head and sliding off of the bed. He fished into his pocket and pulled out the wad of bent cigarettes he had placed there, picking up the package before stuffing them back into it and tossing the whole thing at his lover with an endearing smile. “Where’s the fun in that? There’d be no game.”
Sherlock returned the smile. “Indeed.”
THE END