The title of this fic pertains not only to Sherlock, but to myself. I began writing this in sociology class- when the ways of the world just weren't interesting me.

I do not own Sherlock.

Frenching

Boredom is a bitch. One day, it just bites you, tearing away at your happiness until you cannot stand life's monotony anymore.

Sherlock Holmes was bored. Granted, he was bored ninety percent of the time, but this was worse than usual. He was even considering shoving his tongue down John's throat, just to see how he'd react.

God, it would be bloody hilarious. Of course, knowing John- he'd probably bite. Hard. And then it would cause a certain degree of awkwardness in their relationship. But still. He was bored, and Frenching John might be rather entertaining-

And speak of the devil, there was John now. From the rustling of plastic, Sherlock could tell John had done his domestic duty and bought them some food. About time. Sherlock had recently discovered that- unlike a plant- he cannot sustain himself by just lying around.

The door opened. John struggled inside, trying to support the weight of a dozen bags on one arm. He nearly dropped three of them; a carton of eggs slipped out of one and fell to the floor, making a juicy "splat".

"Oh, bloody hell," he muttered.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile.

"Sherlock- could you give me a hand?" John asked.

"Can't. I'm busy."

"What- lying on the sofa?"

"Mmm. Thinking."

"Oh. That's great," John mumbled as he attempted to hop over the puddle of yolk on the floor.

Sherlock shut his eyes and listened to his roommate shove food into the fridge.

"I'm bored."

John stopped. "Again?"

Sherlock sighed. "Yes. Again."

John's mouth gaped. "We were bloody nearly blown up!"

"Yes. I do know that."

"And you're bored again."

"Yes," Sherlock answered slowly, as if speaking to a child.

John, having finished his chore, took a seat near his resting friend. Suddenly, Sherlock opened his eyes; he turned to face John.

The rapidity of the action startled him- he didn't like the look on Sherlock's face.

"What?" he asked nervously.

"I'm bored," Sherlock repeated.

"W-what has that got to do with me?"

Oh God, he was going to die of boredom unless something happened. Anything. And John was completely unsuspecting of Sherlock's pending experiment…

John may not like it, but it would be something new for Sherlock… he probably wouldn't like it either, but again, it would be different.

He stood up suddenly and walked to John's chair, grabbed his face in both hands, and looked at his eyes.

"Sherlock- what the hell are you doing?" John squealed.

"Taking data."

"What? Get your damn hands off me! I'm not data!"

"Oh, really."

John didn't pull away, nor did he strike Sherlock. He sat there, stupefied, hoping that his friend would soon regain his sanity. It was unlikely. Sherlock, after seeing that John still didn't see his intentions, began to lean in just a little bit. Then a little bit more. John's eyes continued to grow larger. And just when Sherlock could cover the distance in one more, swift movement-

His phone went off. He stood up immediately, searching his pocket for his phone. It was Lestrade. It had to be Lestrade.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said into the receiver. He was right. Again. Lestrade didn't give him very many details, but it something nonetheless.

"C'mon John," he said, grabbing his coat. To his credit, John followed, though he still looked a bit like a deer in headlights. "Someone's finally been murdered. What a lovely way to start the day."

Well, what did you think? I know it was kinda short, but hopefully you liked it anyway. Please review and let me know if I should continue this!