Summer

"This is so miserable."

John glanced up from the paper, raising his eyebrows. "Really?"

Sherlock was laying sprawled on the couch - well, as much as he could be called to be sprawled right now. His back was where his butt was supposed to be, his legs were propped up against the back of the couch, and his head was hanging off the cushions, curls dangling the hardwood floor, as he looked, upside-down, back at John. "You underestimate me saying I'm really not good with hot weather."

He'd pulled a fan out from who knew where, had it kicked up to high, the coffee table pushed aside to have the fan on the floor directly in front of his face. His curls were blowing wildly with the spinning air.

"You're going to get your hair stuck in that fan," John pointed out.

Sherlock sighed heavily, dropping his head again. "I am not. I'm not close enough and my hair isn't long enough. Can you make iced tea?"

"Why don't you?" John asked patiently, turning back to his paper. He licked his thumb and turned the page, folding it back.

"I like it when you make it."

"Liar. We hardly ever have iced tea."

Sherlock groaned, rolling over like a demented sort of spider before sliding off onto the ground, legitimately sprawling out across the floor. "Fine. I'm rubbish at making iced tea; I always put too much sugar in the pitcher. Anyway, I do like it when you make it."

"Closer," John mumbled. "Why don't we try telling the truth?" he mused, inspecting the rugby scores.

"... Ngh." Sherlock threw his arm over his eyes. "I'm too hot to move and you told me not to walk around the flat without clothes on."

John rolled his eyes, looking over the paper. "It hasn't stopped you yet."

Because as well as being a contortionist and a fan enthusiast, he'd also taken to being part nudist, walking about the flat in only a pair of boxers that looked less like boxers and more like swimming trunks. It was probably the most casual thing besides that ratty old t-shirt that Sherlock owned. Unfortunately, it also meant that John was subjected to a mostly naked, long-legged, pale, fussy consulting detective moaning about the flat about the heat and no cases.

Mrs Hudson was giving them even more weird looks than usual.

With the heat wave, though, John had gotten used to it the first day Sherlock had taken to this behaviour, so much that it barely bothered him anymore.

"There we go. That's called John, I'm a lazy git," John said, folding the paper up and adding it to the growing pile of papers next to the chair.

Sherlock stared up at him blankly. To be fair, he did look miserable. He looked tired and sweaty and generally unhappy, lips turned down at the corners and the usual spark absent from his eyes. "If you'll get me some iced tea, then I'll gladly concede that I'm undeniably lazy."

John laughed slightly, shaking his head. "You'll do anything if you want something, won't you?" he asked, standing.

"Mm."

"Fine. Just because you need to stay hydrated in this heat and you probably won't drink anything if I don't get it for you."

"I would," Sherlock muttered, "eventually."

"Eventually," John echoed, grinning.

"Ugh." Sherlock rolled over. "If it wasn't totally impossible, I'd say I was melting into the floor," he muttered, voice muffled as he buried his face into his arms. "... I have a sudden childish urge to go swimming."

John glanced over his shoulder. "I didn't know you swim."

"Mmmmhhhmmm. Swimming's pretty good," Sherlock mumbled. "Not much availability in Central London, though." He huffed. "How are you not bothered by this?"

"Bothered by what?"

"The heat," Sherlock mumbled, rolling over onto his side.

"Because I was stationed in Afghanistan?" John replied, grabbing a handful of ice from the freezer.

"... Oh," Sherlock muttered. "That."

"Yeah," John said, "that. I got used to hot days really quick over there."

"Not me," Sherlock said. "I can't handle it. My brain is short-circuiting... I can't even think straight. I'd be rubbish at a case now."

"Oh? You mean you have a downfall?"

Sherlock snorted. "Not funny, John."

"Oh, I don't know." John poured a glass of tea and went back to the freezer for some more ice. "I still think it's funny how you've turned into a child as soon as the temp rises past thirty-two five." He crouched down next to Sherlock, setting the glass next to his head. "Here. I put the pitcher in the fridge to get colder, but I added extra ice to yours so you can drink it now."

Sherlock sat up slowly, picking up the glass to press it against his cheek. "... Thanks."

John chuckled and stood, using Sherlock's bare shoulder as a support to get back to his feet. His hand came away sweaty. "Maybe go take a bath," he suggested.

Sherlock sighed pleasantly after taking a drink of his tea. "Have I ever mentioned that you're a genius and I'm lucky to have you as a flatmate?"

John paused. "... No. I'd say you could tell me that more often, but it's kind of scary, actually." He turned away, sinking back into his chair. "Maybe the heat is getting to you."

Sherlock laughed shortly, curls bouncing in the fan breeze, leaning back against the sofa again. "Told you I was bad with it."

John smiled and reached for the remote. "Welcome to summer, Sherlock."

"It's too bad we don't have air conditioning," Sherlock mumbled in response.

Yeah, summer started awhile ago, but it's been really cool in my part of the world, except it suddenly got really hot and it's... yeah, really hot.

Plus, I was inspired to write some pointless Sherlock fluff because BENEDICT WON AN EMMY. And Martin won an Emmy and Moffat won an Emmy and Sherlock was pretty much freaking AWESOME at this year's Emmys, but BENEDICT WON AN EMMY. So I was pretty Sherlock-pumped. Aka: pointless fluff. :P

I do not own Sherlock. Thanks for reading!