Summary: Post-Reich. John goes out to get some milk and comes back to find Sherlock and Lestrade having tea. But what is Sherlock wearing, and why? Fluff. Johnlock.
Rated: erm...K+ I suppose? Oh, that's weird for me.
John climbed the stairs two at a time at 221b Baker Street, praying silently that Sherlock had remembered to clean the fridge. If John had to buy food for the house, Sherlock was obligated to get his ruddy, foul body parts out of the fridge before anything mildly edible went into it. He wasn't surprised to see the door flung wide open, the mess of papers scattered around the room from Sherlock's research, or the aging but attractive DI Lestrade sipping tea on the sofa across from Sherlock.
What did surprise him was what Sherlock was wearing.
"Erm...Hello there," John said cautiously. His eyes flickered back and forth between Lestrade and Sherlock. The former smiled brightly at him. The latter flashed a quick smile, his mouth half turned up, and held a cup of tea out for John.
"Lestrade was just filling me in on that murder case," he said as he waved the cup around. John grabbed it from him before it spilled all over the carpet.
"And, uh, how's that going?"
"We caught the murderer without Sherlock's help, which hasn't happened in a while," Lestrade blushed and stared awkwardly at the ground, pointedly ignoring Sherlock's smug smile. His eyes then landed on John and he looked mischievous. "Won't you join us for tea, John?"
"Yes, of course, let me just put away the groceries. You did clean the fridge, didn't you?"
Sherlock suddenly became very interested in his tea. "Yes, it's clean."
John sighed and made his way to the kitchen, absolutely sure he was going to be disappointed by the state of the fridge. The wonderful thing about disappointment was that once you expected it, you no longer felt disappointed. Just mildly irritated. Or not so mildly, in John's case. He pushed aside the jars of fingers and shoved the food in, set the milk on the door, and closed it quickly. He lingered in the kitchen as long as possible before taking his tea and sitting next to Lestrade.
Stupid move. Sherlock was in his direct view and John couldn't stop his eyes from roaming down the man's chest.
Sherlock was wearing a pair of jeans, something he did on those rare days when he stayed in the apartment. They were tighter than any of his other trousers. And his shirt...well, it wasn't really his at all.
He was wearing John's jumper. One of many. It was the gray and black striped jumper that John was particularly fond of, and just the sight of Sherlock in it made him love it even more. it was tighter around his muscled chest than it was around John, since he was a smaller man, and whenever Sherlock raised his arms the hem pulled up enough to reveal a strip of his toned abdomen. It was sexy, but more than that it was positively adorable.
He couldn't even concentrate on what Lestrade was saying, and the DI knew it. It was probably the reason he kept shooting John amused glances. John felt something warm and fuzzy stir in him, some deeper emotion that he'd rather not think about with Lestrade in the same room; mainly because he felt close to tears.
"Well, I'll leave you to your work, then."
Lestrade set his cup down, stood and waved to the two men, and wondered out of the room.
"What work?"
"Honestly, John, weren't you paying attention?" Sherlock chastised playfully.
"Of course I was!"
"To whom?"
John smiled and moved across the room, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist. The taller man let one hand comb through John's graying blond hair while the other stroked his back slowly.
"You're wearing my favorite jumper," John muttered into his chest.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It smelled like you. I missed you."
John grabbed the back of Sherlock's head gently and pulled him down into a sweet, soft kiss. And in that moment, he knew without a doubt that he was in love with Sherlock Holmes.
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