The loud and obnoxious iPhone text tone rang through the flat. John glanced up from his paper, turning his head to look at Sherlock, who was still immersed in studying something through the microscope. There was a still silence, as Sherlock continued to work, seemingly unaware of any change. John rolled his eyes.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes John?" Sherlock didn't even glance up from his study, his eyes fixed to the microscope. John sighed.
"You do realise that was your phone?"
"Can you grab it for me?"
John sighed, lowering his paper with a rustle, and swept his eyes across the room. Desk, bookshelf, armchair. The phone was nowhere in sight.
"Where is it?"
"In my pocket."
"In your pocket?" John stressed every syllable in disbelief. Was there any length that this man would go to so that he did not have to take a break from his work?
"Yes in my pocket, can you grab it for me?"
John basically threw done his paper as he stood with a sigh and walked over to Sherlock. A million arguments as to why he shouldn't get his phone out of his own bloody pocket had whizzed through his mind, but he decided it was pointless to even bother to argue. He walked over to Sherlock who was standing in the kitchen, studying what appeared to be part of human skin under the microscope. He roughly shoved his hand in his coat pocket, his fingers brushing only thin air.
"Trouser pocket," Sherlock said, still not even glancing from his work.
John rolled his eyes and shoved his hand in Sherlock's trouser pocket. Sherlock stilled suddenly, his fingers no longer moving over the microscope's controls. John swallowed, his heart starting to beat a little faster. A strange silence had settled over the two, John's hand reeling from Sherlock's body heat, as he realised quickly that he was standing much too close to Sherlock, his coat was brushing his shoulder. Neither of them moved, both trapped in the feeling of chemistry between them. Sherlock cleared his throat, glancing up from the microscope, forcing John back into his senses. With a slightly shaking hand he pulled the phone from Sherlock's pocket, and stepped a good distance away from Sherlock. He read the message quickly.
"It's Greg," he said, glancing at Sherlock. "He wants us at the station, now."
"Greg?" Sherlock asked, sounding confused.
John sighed.
"Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade?" The one we've been working with for the past ten cases?" John said smartly, sarcasm dripping from every word.
"Oh, I thought his name was Gavin?"
John shock his head, as Sherlock stared quizzically at him, looking genuinely confused.
"Come on," he said, grabbing his coat and shrugging it on as he followed Sherlock out the front door.