Reposted from the Livejournal BBC Sherlock kink meme. I haven't been this obsessed with a TV show since...well, ever. Contains fail British spelling and influences from the other fill. Also, jam and scones.
It had been a generally horrible day filled with crying babies and hysterical relatives and John was so glad to be home, so tired that he didn't even register the next morning that someone was in the kitchen until he realized that Sherlock was still asleep and Mrs. Hudson, who was not their housekeeper, was away.
"Hi~" The mysterious man said, giving a...peculiar wave.
John blinked. There was a man sitting by the kitchen table. A man who was decidedly not Sherlock and too-what was with that accent?- tall to be Inspector Lestrade.
In fact, it was a man in printed pyjamas, a teacup (was that his teacup?) and slicked back hair, who gave John another slight wave as he continued sipping tea. John blinked again. He was pretty sure it wasn't-no, it couldn't be-but it looked suspiciously like the man who kidnapped John and put a bomb on him and-
"SHERLOCK!"
As if on cue, Sherlock Holmes, the great detective himself, emerged from the upstairs rooms, wearing a long, discoloured robe and running a hand through his unruly hair. "Dear God, John, it is far too early in the morning to be yelling. What is the matter with you?"
"For your information, Sherlock," John snapped. "It is nine in the morning on a Saturday morning and Moriarty is sitting at our kitchen table. Is there something not wrong with this picture?" With sharp eyes, Sherlock looked from Moriarty, still in his pink-printed pyjamas, who was spreading jam on a slice of toast, to John, in a striped jumper and pyjama pants, apparently seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
"On the contrary, dear John. There seems to be nothing unusual. For example, take a look at his left cheek- he has some dust from that particular section of the-" Sherlock caught John's look and finished abruptly with his analysis. "Moriarty here seems to have been evicted from his posh penthouse, and finding nowhere else to stay, or more likely bored, decided to sleep on the couch of his arch-nemesis, whose address he undoubtedly knows."
"That doesn't explain any-well yes, it does, but why aren't you worried about him being here? He's a sociopath!" John exclaimed, throwing his arms up, looking back and forth between the two.
"I prefer extremely intelligent genius and consulting agent, Johnny." Moriarty remarked. "Pass the scones." John was about to hand Moriarty a plate of scones (where did those come from? All Sherlock had in the fridge were severed heads) before realizing what he was doing and whisking them away, protecting them with his hands.
"Well, that's settled," Sherlock added, sniffing the scones. "After breakfast we'll call Scotland Yard to help us contain this criminal mastermind. John, pass the scones."
"What? SHERLOCK!" John shouted before realizing that no matter what he said, a.) Sherlock would not listen to him, and b.) that this was the closest to "normal" breakfast he had all month without being poisoned or burned. Besides, at least Sherlock was eating something(though likely from a dubious background), and the scones did smell quite good...