My first Sherlock fanfic and it's a oneshot also. Hopefully it's good and you guys like it. Thanks for reading and please comment! =)
It was an usually hot day in London. John Watson wondered why he bothered going out today at all when the weather was miserable. Currently, the situation was making it through the door while juggling a grocery bag in one hand and a melting ice cream in the other. As soon as he was in he dropped the groceries to one side and rushed to the sink to wash off dripping chocolate from his wrist. It was then he noticed Sherlock was gone and it was eerily silent.
There wasn't a case currently, there hasn't been one in a while, but perhaps Sherlock received a text from Lestrade during the time he was out. If so, then Sherlock should be texting him any minute now to join him. He rushed putting away the groceries before the fateful text would come but disappointingly it never did. Instead, the front door swung open and the consulting detective strode in and collapsed on his chair.
"Have we got a case?" asked Watson from the kitchen. He shuffled aside a jar of toes in the fridge to make space for the milk.
"Unfortunately, neither Lestrade nor Anderson had a case." Sherlock formed his fingers into a steeple. "They were, however, annoyed when I disturbed their rudimentary tasks of taking testimonies from unnecessary and time-wasting sources, and said so out loud to them. I could tell Anderson was particularly aggravated when he yelled, 'piss off.'"
Watson smiled. "You know how they hate being told how to do their jobs, especially Anderson."
Sherlock threw his head back and sighed dramatically. "Yes, but I'm so bored! Really, I'm on the verge of advertising my services to those in search of missing pets."
"The world's first consulting pet detective?" offered Watson. He put the kettle on, suddenly finding himself wanting tea.
"Don't demean my skills, John."
"Alright, alright," surrendered Watson. He sat in his own chair across from Sherlock and swiftly licked a stream of chocolate threatening to escape the surface of his cone and fall onto his recently cleaned pants.
Sherlock motioned to the ice cream. "Did you get me one?"
"No. You said you didn't need anything from the store."
"Because I really don't. If you had said, 'Sherlock, do you want anything while I'm out?' I might have said an ice cream cone."
Watson refused to reply and instead opened the newspaper to an article while Sherlock leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. John hoped to God that Sherlock would relax, but that wasn't what he needed. He knew what his flat mate needed was a good case to occupy his ever-racing mind yet unfortunately there wasn't one available. Minutes later the kettle whistled in the background and Watson quickly devoured the rest of his ice cream. "Lucky for you though," he said while walking to the kitchen, "I bought a whole tub of ice cream."
"But it's not the same, John." Sherlock spun in his chair and followed John to the kitchen. "Ice cream in a cone is much different than ice cream from a tub."
"Really?" John made no effort to hide his sarcasm. He took the kettle off the stove and prepared a couple of mugs, assuming Sherlock would want some too. "Then enlighten me, what is the difference?"
His flat mate sighed. "Really, John, it's obvious."
"No, no. Go on," he egged, hoping by explaining it out loud Sherlock would see the ludicrousness of it even though it was bound not to happen. He handed Sherlock his tea and the pair returned to their seats across from another where the detective enthusiastically started one of his famous monologues at his usual lightening-paced speed.
"First of all, the cone itself is made of a wafer which is similar in texture to a waffle, and cradles the ice cream in such a way that enables the briefest taste of it to mix with the chosen flavor ice cream. Of course this focuses on taste alone never mind the aesthetic quality. Without the cone you have thoroughly destroyed the 'fun' element of eating this special treat in an equally special medium. You simply cannot replace this edible vehicle with the dullness of your own dish at home where a variety of unequally exciting foods has been placed.
Next, you miss the spontaneity and rareness of the whole affair. If you have ice cream at home you simply walk to the fridge and scoop yourself some whenever you feel the urge, as opposed to being out on a walk and suddenly deciding to stop for a treat where there will be a wealth of flavors compared to one flavor repetitively being eaten over a period of time.
And finally, you take away the thrill when the ice cream starts to drip and causes one to fret whether it will spill onto a new shirt or pair of expensive shoes. It's the whole experience, John."
"Mmm hmm," John mumbled to acknowledge his speech. It still sounded insane, more like the rationalized whining of a child genius in a grown man's body. It was nonsense. Complete nonsense.
There was a long pause of silence between the two while Sherlock allowed his flat mate to process what he just said. He looked on eagerly for his partner's opinion while Watson only thumped his fingers and sipped his tea. Finally, he said very simply, "Ice cream is ice cream."
Sherlock shot out of chair and gave an exasperated roar along with a dramatic turn, clutching at his curly hair as if to tear it out.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but you just can't convince me that the ice cream I just ate is any different from the ice cream in the freezer."
"And it's too late to test it now as you've now polluted your taste buds with tea," he said more to himself than Watson.
"Sorry? What does tea have to do with this?"
"Your taste buds, John! They're polluted with the artificial flavors of this tea we're drinking." He slammed his mug onto the mantle above the fire as if it had suddenly turned poisonous, then took his place by the window and stared out wistfully at the street and people below. "If you only knew…" he mumbled.
"Right…" John was sensing Sherlock was more than a little manic at the moment. He wondered whether he should leave the flat altogether, but had the strange premonition that if he did he would come back to find either it or Sherlock in even more of a wreck, and no one wanted that, especially Mrs. Hudson. Best to stick close whenever Sherlock's desperate and more than a little antsy such as now.
Sherlock sprang out of his chair back to the kitchen. There was the slam of a door and the shuffling of metal, and the consulting detective returned with a spoon stuck firmly into the tub of ice cream John had just bought.
"For God's sake, Sherlock, find a bowl."
"That wastes too much time," he said and scooped some and started to eat it.
After only a few seconds he rushed back to the kitchen where there was a loud crash, forcing John to turn to see that Sherlock threw the spoon into the sink.
"It really can't be that different," John said.
"That was terrible!" sputtered Sherlock. He glanced at his sleeve where John noticed a dark stain spreading and dripping onto the floor. "Look what you've made me do." He glanced around the kitchen for a napkin or towel. "I've gotten chocolate on my coat."
"You said that was part of the fun of eating ice cream," laughed John as he hurried to his friend's aid.
Sherlock glared while John pressed a rag to the sleeve, wiping it until it would no longer drip. Then the doctor took hold of the collar and tugged at it.
"Let's get this off you now," he said.
"No one manages the coat but me," replied Sherlock though the raise of John's eyebrow and expression compelled him to add, "and you." He slipped it off and John stalked back to the living room to hang it on a hanger until he had the chance to go to the laundry.
"Honestly, Sherlock, why do you even wear this when it's insanely hot outside?"
"It's part of the uniform, John. I never go anywhere without it."
"Of course."
The next day John was sitting contentedly in his chair reading the newspaper when his flat mate rolled in with a double scoop of chocolate in an ice cream cone, and was devouring it happily.
"We have ice cream in the freezer," said John, returning to his paper.
"Mediocre ice cream."
Silence.
"You're jealous aren't you? Hurt?" asked Sherlock. "I told you, ice cream in a cone is not only more visually appealing but also generally tastes better."
"I'm not anything apparently," he replied, still refusing to look.
"John," Sherlock said stern enough to cause the doctor to glance up.
The detective held out the ice cream to him.
"What? You're just handing your favorite treat to me?"
"Of course not," scoffed Sherlock. "I'm only signaling for you to have some. Really, John, you know how naturally selfish I am."
"Right you are," mumbled John as he reached out for the cone.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Thanks." Watson searched for a spot untouched by Sherlock's tongue and took a couple licks. He smacked his lips. "Right. Good. Tastes exactly the same as yesterday."
"Exactly." Sherlock hurried to the kitchen and returned with the tub of chocolate and a spoon. "I stayed up all night thinking how to convince you that ice cream in a cone is superior. Now taste this one."
John had to admit it didn't look as fun to eat but evidently Sherlock was performing some experiment and Watson was determined to make results turn out in his favor. He tried a small bite of the tub ice cream, allowing it to hardly melt before he replied, "It tastes the same."
"Are you sure, John? Think very hard and make sure."
John did not think intelligence had anything to do with this experiment yet he did what he was told, taking an even amount of each type and allowing the samples to dissolve entirely on his tongue before forming his final decision. Meanwhile, Sherlock eagerly awaited the verdict.
"I'll confess," started John, "they taste different, but neither is necessarily better than the other."
Sherlock hung his head but did not back away. "I knew it would come to this," he said, removing the tub from John and placing it on the floor. Then in one fluid motion he wrapped one hand around John's to bring the cone to his mouth and bite off a fair piece of ice cream while the other brought the doctor closer and forced his jaw open. Immediately, John's first instinct was to pull away but chocolate ice cream poured into his mouth and Sherlock's tongue was very possessive, exploring every crevice and settling to wrestle with John's own tongue. He could taste the ice cream yet he smelled Sherlock, and he instantly relaxed and even deepened the kiss, realizing how delicious and warm it was until finally all of the ice cream shared was gone and both were desperate for air. They parted, both panting.
Sherlock grinned and brought their foreheads together. "Well?"
"That was amazing."
"You're not mad?"
"No. I mean, you basically forced me to kiss you, but nevertheless I liked it."
Sherlock lowered his shoulders. John hadn't noticed he was tense. He darted out and kissed Sherlock's cheek. "How about we do it again?"
"Hold on. Which do you really prefer, John? The ice cream in a cone or ice cream from a tub?"
"I'll amend my answer, Sherlock. The ice cream in a cone was definitely much better."
Sherlock smiled. "I'm glad."