A/N: Just a really short ficlet I wrote while sat waiting for a train. Johnlock sort of. Muchas gracias a FezzesRCool25 para beta-ing!
The Solar System According to Sherlock Holmes
"I am the sun." Sherlock announced between his far too hurried mouthfuls of reheated Chinese. John glanced up with an amused frown.
"That's a bit arrogant, even for you."
"I'm not being arrogant, John." The taller man snapped but John barely flinched, he was far too used to these rapid mood changes in the aftermath of a long case. He was just counting his lucky stars that Sherlock was actually eating and had allowed himself to be wrestled away from whatever was decomposing in the sink and into a chair for half an hour. And that he wasn't sulking, Lestrade had had him thrown off the crime scene twice today. John waited for him to launch into the lengthy explanation that was no doubt on it's way with a patient tilt of his head.
"You said that everything in the universe orbits the sun-"
"-Everything in the universe does not revolve around you Sherlock-"
"-I'm not saying it does. But you do."
John looked at Sherlock, then down at his slightly congealed noodles, and back up at Sherlock. He wasn't expecting that.
"I don't think I do." He laughed almost nervously at the way Sherlock was staring at him.
"Everything in your life since Afghanistan has been chosen in relation to me." John opened his mouth to protest then shut it quickly. Sherlock was bloody right. His job was a way to split the rent with him, his relationships, though enjoyable, meant that he got a well deserved break from the constant whirlwind Sherlock dragged along with him, as soon as the man made for his ridiculously long coat John went for his. And, whenever he had considered just leaving, finding a normal life, a normal flat, a sharp tug in his stomach (Sherlock) dragged him back into the chaos, brought him back to life.
"You're not the sun, Sherlock." John decidedly dropped his fork into the now empty container.
"Oh?"
"Yeah," John rose and carefully followed the clear trail into the kitchen. One of his few demands when it became apparent Sherlock wasn't going to clear up the flat just because John was moving in was that a walkable path was left between each room. He dumped the carton on the waste pile, flicked the kettle on with a practiced ease and wrinkled his nose at the rotting salmon (apparently) in the sink. "I can look at you without going blind."
Sherlock had nothing to say that.
The next day when John emerged from the bathroom only to have a 10 watt Police torch shone in his eyes; he supposed he should have seen it coming.