A/N: Un-beta'd! I apologize.
Prompt from kimberlelly who said: "Jim/Sherlock - crack. I don't even care what it's about!"
It's more like fluff than crack, though. I failed!
"Jim," Sherlock says dryly, his arms crossed.
Jim wraps himself tighter around Sherlock, eyes wide and innocent. "Yes, Sherly honey?"
"I wish you wouldn't condescend on top of coddling me," he replies through gritted teeth, trying to shove Jim away.
"And I wish you'd just make this easier on both of us, and admit you like the attention. Even just a teensy, tiny bit. I won't think less of you for it." Jim bares his teeth in a mischievous grin, batting his eyes playfully.
"I do not-"
"But you do! If you hated this so much, you would have already pushed me off the couch, like that time I tried to put purple varnish on your fingernails."
Sherlock shudders at the thought. "That was an exception; I tend to avoid reacting that strongly. It's a waste of energy." He rolls his eyes when Jim slides his arm around Sherlock's waist. "Besides, saying that I enjoy being coddled is the same as telling John he enjoys killing people."
"I love when you make violent comparisons for my benefit." Jim chuckles softly, nuzzling at Sherlock's neck. "And don't think that I can't tell you're enjoying this. You're even sighing less than you were a moment ago."
"What evidence is that-"
"Sherly, come on. I know you. I've always known you." Jim beams up at him, fingers playfully climbing along Sherlock's side. "And I know how defensive you get when you don't want to seem vulnerable. But it's just me here, darling. Why does it matter if I shower you with love?"
Sherlock sighs, slowly uncurling his arms, looking the complete opposite way of where Jim is seated on the couch. He doesn't want to see the smug expression on Jim's face if he doesn't need to; they both know Jim's absolutely right.
"If you tell anyone-"
Jim sputters, waving a hand dismissively. "Who would I tell? And, more importantly, who would believe me?"
Sherlock frowns, narrowing his eyes at Jim. "Oh, let's see, shall we? John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft…"
"All of those people know that we're involved? Gee, Sherlock, I thought your tongue was too busy being down my throat to spread rumours." Sherlock's mouth twitches in something Jim recognises as a warning. "I'm kidding! All of my minions know, too. Don't get your knickers in a bunch."
"You are loathsome at times, did you know?" Sherlock looks off to the side, shifting away from Jim.
"In a good way, though, right?" Jim teases, kissing Sherlock's ear instead of his cheek when he moves further away. "It's okay, you'll be rid of me now. I have business to attend to." Jim takes out his phone, playful demeanor gone in a second as he clicks on an app.
Sherlock sits up straighter, wiping out the creases in his shirt. "Business? You never say business unless you're planning to blow something up."
Jim hops off the couch, stretching to one side then the other. He looks back, catches Sherlock eyeing him, and buttons up his jacket. "Maybe I am."
Then he's running down the stairs and out the door before Sherlock even has time to throw his scarf on.
XXX
The chase Moriarty provides is what keeps Sherlock entertained, but the childish, quirky lad named Jim is who makes Sherlock stay.