It had been half an hour, and John still hadn't said anything. He just sat in his favorite chair, sipping his tea and reading the newspaper while Sherlock sat at the desk, taking notes on some online article, all while wearing one of John's jumpers.
When John had first noticed that it was indeed one of his jumpers, he had thought about saying something. The only reason he didn't was because he wanted to see if Sherlock would bring it up first. But after forty-five minutes, it became clear to John that Sherlock planning on doing nothing of the sort.
He set down his newspaper in his lap. "You want to explain why you're wearing one of my jumpers? And how you even got it?" Sherlock didn't look up, nor did he pause in his notes. "I forgot to do my laundry, and didn't have any clean clothes. I went into your room this morning and got one out of your closet."
"My closet—how did you get into my room without me hearing?" John asked with equal parts wonderment and annoyance.
"You're not exactly a light sleeper. Surprising, really. I would've thought you'd be stirred more easily, what with you having to always be on alert in the military." Then Sherlock put his pencil down, turning to look at John. "You don't mind, do you? I suppose I could see is Mrs. Hudson has an old sweater or something I could borrow."
John blushed slightly, just a light pink, as he picked his newspaper back up and cleared his throat. "No, no, that's quite alright. Just…ask next time." Sherlock let out a small smile and returned to his notes.
He told himself that he was only being nice, but the truth is, John only let Sherlock borrow his shirt because he hoped that when he got it back, it would smell like Sherlock.