Between the Raindrops- Comfort in Odd Ways
Pairing: Sherlock/John
John yawned as he entered the sitting room within his flat. "Morning," he addressed his fully awake flat-mate who was sprawled out on the couch.
Sherlock cracked an eyelid open. "Morning," he mumbled, closing his eyelid again.
John went to the kitchen and started to prepare tea and toast. John went to the fridge and tried to ignore the smell of rotting flesh drifting into his nostrils. He searched the shelves, groaning with disappointment. "Out of jam, how could we be out of jam? I just bought some, unless…" he looked over at Sherlock's experiment of the week and sighed upon seeing his favorite jam smeared all over various glass slides. "Really, Sherlock? Why couldn't you have asked me first?"
Sherlock ignored him, "We're out of milk, also. Better run off to Tesco's and pick some up for the day."
"See? Right there. A normal person would've said 'for the week', not 'for the day'. Good Lord, Sherlock, how can you go through a whole carton of milk in a day."
"If you leave now, you'll make it back in time to see me solve a case. You know how I absolutely love your voiced admirations of 'brilliant!' or 'amazing!'," Sherlock opened his eyes, "Off you go."
John stared at his flat-mate incredulously, "I'm not going to pick up some bloody milk so you can just waste it on your experiments!"
Sherlock held up his credit card, "I'll pay."
John sighed in defeat. He really couldn't pass that offer up. He walked over and received the card, "Fine, but next time, you're going."
Sherlock smirked, "Whatever you say, John." He closed his eyes and waited anxiously for John to remove himself from the flat.
John dressed in his coat, having already dressed himself in one of his jumpers and a pair of blue-jeans before coming out from his room. He hadn't bothered to do this on one occasion and paid dearly for it in a moment of embarrassment. He had thought the night he came home piss drunk and had to have Sherlock pry himself from John's tight embrace awkward, but that was nothing compared to the time that all he was dressed in was a towel –not for long anyway. He had thought he was alone in the flat and emerged from the bathroom, holding a towel around his waist. He walked into the sitting room and dropped the towel in fright when Sherlock materialized behind him. He had thought forcing himself on Sherlock was awkward, but appearing flat-out nude in front of him was down-right embarrassing.
"I'll be off, then. I'll be back within the hour."
"I'll be waiting with bated breath," Sherlock muttered, waiting for John to exit.
John closed the door and exited the flat, headed for Tesco's.
As soon as Sherlock heard the door downstairs slam shut, he sprang up from his spot on the couch and invaded John's room. He raided the laundry basket and found what he was looking for.
John's oatmeal jumper that John had worn the day before.
Sherlock stuffed the material in his face and breathed in, inhaling John's comforting scent. Sherlock smiled as the aroma filled his nostrils and his mind cleared.
John's scent had never occurred to Sherlock as being comforting in any way, but as of late, he found himself stealing whiffs from John (without him noticing, of course).
Sherlock clutched the jumper in one hand and left the room, headed to the sitting room. He sat on the couch, the jumper pressed to his face. He laid the material over his face, letting the scent of John's favorite cologne hang over him.
"What are you doing?"
Sherlock just about flew off the couch in a startled jolt.
The jumper fell from his face and he felt his face become beat red.
John stared at his friend and then at the jumper on the ground, confused at what he had just seen.
"I…I…" Sherlock tried to produce an explanation, but his mind wasn't working properly.
John arched an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation as to why Sherlock had John's jumper over his face, "Well?"
Sherlock huffed, "Why are you home already?"
John pointed to the desk where his mobile sat, perched on the edge. "Forgot my phone. Now, answer the question: what were you doing with my jumper?"
Sherlock sighed. He might as well tell the truth. "Your scent…it relaxes me; helps me think."
John's mouth curled into an 'O' and then a smile, "So…whenever I leave…?"
Sherlock groaned, "Yes. I steal your jumper and lay it over my face as I retreat to my mind palace to think. Hardy-har-har. Let the persecution begin."
John chuckled softly, "No, no. I'm not going to poke fun at you, Sherlock. I think…well, I think its kind-of sweet."
Sherlock stared at him, "What?"
"I said, I think its kind-of sweet. You feel less anxious when I'm around…it's flattering. Anyways, I understand…completely." John reached into his coat and pulled out Sherlock's scarf. "I keep it with me whenever I go out without you…"
Sherlock's lips cracked into a smile at his possession. "My scarf," he beamed, his eyes meeting John's. "Does this really make you more comfortable?"
"Yes, really," he rolled his eyes, "and does my jumper really bring you comfort?"
"Yes, but I think," Sherlock paused, swallowing to ease his dry throat, "I think, um, I think-"
John laughed, "Go on, don't be afraid."
Sherlock huffed, "I am not afraid, I do not get afraid," John rolled his eyes as Sherlock cleared his throat, "I think I'd rather prefer the real thing over just a dingy jumper…" His gaze dropped to the ground, clearly uncomfortable.
John smiled, "Me, too."
Sherlock's head snapped up to meet his gaze, "Really?"
"Yes, really, you sodding git." John pulled Sherlock close and wrapped his arms securely around his torso.
Sherlock tensed, the sudden embrace stunning him. As he felt John's heart beating against his, he slowly melted into John's arms, snaking his arms around John.
John rested his head comfortably on Sherlock's chest and breathed in. "Nothing beats the real thing."
Sherlock craned his neck down to kiss John on the top of the head, "Agreed."
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