Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock or anything related to the show.
Author's note: Wow, my first completed piece of fanfiction in...well, a very long time, let's say that. I've had this little idea in my head for a couple days now, and it just tumbled all out in the past few hours. So, without further ado, I present this schmoopy bit of fluff. Thank you for reading, reviews are always appreciated!
John sighed as he packed up his things at the surgery and prepared to go home. Work today had been particularly exhausting; apparently there was a direct correlation between rainy weather and horrible moods of patients, especially the younger ones. After a day of being kicked, bitten and screamed at, John just wanted to retire to the comfort of his own flat with Sherlock and some take-out. He tapped out a quick text to Sherlock requesting the usual Indian order before tossing on his coat and proceeding to head out the doors of Bart's, wondering if such simplicity was too much to hope for.
As John opened the door to 221B and the smell of warm Indian food swept over him, a small smile graced his tired features as he realized that a quiet night in was indeed possible. A large brown bag sat on the coffee table and his consulting detective was standing near the top of the stairs, curling his lips inward with barely contained excitement. John chuckled at the odd site and hung his coat up on the rack, bounding up the stairs. He took both of Sherlock's slender hands in his own, rubbing the knuckles with his own calloused thumbs before bringing both hands to his lips and kissing the back of them gently.
"Evening," he chirped, not letting go of Sherlock's hands. "How was your day, love?"
"Same as any other day," Sherlock responded distractedly. He pulled at John, trying to drag him backwards. "I got you a present," he blurted. John raised an eyebrow, but willingly followed his partner.
"A present? What for?" The doctor was truly perplexed. Neither of their birthdays were anytime soon, and their two year anniversary of becoming a couple was a while off yet. Sherlock scoffed at the question and rolled his eyes, as if the answer was as clear as day.
"Our anniversary, of course!"
"...of what? Sherlock, our anniversary isn't until-" John was promptly shushed with a hand covering his mouth. Obviously, Sherlock was having no more of John's apparent obliviousness. John's eyebrows furrowed and he sloppily licked the other's palm in protest, Unfortunately, Sherlock was unfazed by the childish gesture and continued to talk.
"Not that anniversary! It's the seven week anniversary of the day you and I had that spectacular domestic about body parts in the fridge, don't you remember?" John rolled his eyes, vaguely recalling the vicious argument. Leave it to Sherlock to remember the most trivial dates. The man couldn't be bothered to remember his own birthday, but a row over his questionable storage of dead things? Obviously important.
"Sherlock, I hardly see why that's a reason to celebrate," John retorted, prying the hand off. Sherlock scoffed once again, and dragged him into the kitchen. At first glance, John couldn't see what was so important. He was just about to snap at Sherlock when a glint of a polished silver appliance caught his eye. Wait, it couldn't be - was that a second refrigerator squeezed into the corner? He shook his head in disbelief, and looked again. Yes, that was definitely a brand new fridge. It was distinctly darker than their normal one, with nothing attached to it except a magnet for some sort of laundry business and a notecard stuck under it. Upon closer inspection, John could see that the notecard read 'Food Fridge' in Mrs. Hudson's delicate cursive that only a woman of her age could write in, and another notecard on the old one that read 'Shelock's Special Fridge' in the same handwriting. He let out a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and looked at Sherlock, who by now was grinning softly.
"It's a remedy for situations regarding experiments," Sherlock began to explain, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet casually. "Mrs. Hudson had asked me a few days ago whether I had considered any ways to keep the food and bits of body separate like perhaps a second refrigerator, and I wondered why I hadn't thought of that earlier so I placed an order for some men to come set up a new one this morning while you were at work and since they got the job done fast, the fridge is cold enough now that I was able to transfer the food to the new one since our regular one's already contaminated with...well, you know," he finished, slightly out of breath. He jerked his head to the side and gazed at John expectantly. "This is to your liking, is it not?" John just smiled and nodded, pulling the other into a heartfelt embrace.
"Yes, very much so," he assured Sherlock. "Thank you." Sherlock returned the hug, tightening his arms around the smaller man and resting his cheek on the side of John's head.
"I dislike arguing over such idiotic things," he murmured, and John laughed lightly in agreement.
"As do I," John replied as he pulled back. Sherlock chose this moment to look John in the eye with such intensity it nearly took his breath away, and jutted his head forward ever so slightly. John had learned long ago that this was Sherlockian for "Kiss me because I'm bloody brilliant and I deserve an award for it!" and silently obliged, leaning up on his tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lover's lips. He felt Sherlock smirk and barely had time to think before the tall man surged forward and deepened the kiss. John gladly lost himself for a few minutes in the intoxicating sensation before an obnoxious growling noise escaped from his stomach, causing both men to pause suddenly. John pulled back and chuckled nervously. "We should probably eat before the food gets cold," he suggested, and Sherlock nodded wordlessly in agreement. They spent the rest of the night ruthlessly mocking some crap vampire movie from last century and picking at room temperature Indian take-out, and neither Sherlock Holmes nor John Watson could have been more content.