Prompt fill for . ?thread=125355201#t125355201

Sherlock always enjoyed the aftermath of a case. There was a satisfaction in being proven right once again, a satisfaction in seeing Donovan and Anderson have to grit their teeth and bite their lips in order to contain their rather prosaic insults. And John, dear, dear John would always look at him with so much admiration in those eyes of his, always praise him- after the routine scolding that took place. ("Sherlock I swear to God if you ever, ever try to use either one of us as bait again, I'll... I'll do something very unpleasant, that you won't like!)

The one part of the aftermath that Sherlock both loathed and liked, however, was debriefing. Lestrade would normally insist on the debrief taking place in his office at the NSY, as it was more ''proper''. (Sherlock noted the slight leftward flick of his eyes as he said this, and knew the real reason was because the office had the Detective Inspector's favourite brand of doughnuts.) This meant that Sherlock and John, often having just partaken in a city-wide chase, a near death experience, or a stressful situation that would have made any normal men crack, were then obliged to sit in a waiting room for what felt like three hours- 3 bloody hours! - ("John." Sherlock said, looking rather pointedly at the ex-soldier. "Our average waiting time is 17.53 minutes.") unless they managed to beg off due to injury or lateness.

Currently, that was what both men were attempting to do.

"Detective Inspector, it would be far more efficient to simply text you our account of events, and would result in not only less time wasted on your part, but more time in which you can consume the doughnuts that I know you keep in your bottom-most drawer." Sherlock started, and Lestrade coughed at the mention of his not-so-secret secret stash.

"Nonetheless, it's the rules. Debrief has to happen, or I get in trouble," Lestrade said. "It'll take less than an hour, and then the two of you can go home." John looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds.

"Sherlock hasn't eaten in a couple of days, you know how he gets when he's on a case." Ignoring Donovan's mutter of 'that's not even possible for a human!', John fixed his gaze on the DI. "I'd quite like to get him home now, and feed him. If need be, I'll order it. Doctor's orders and all that." Lestrade looked like he was about to give in, but resolutely straightened his back.

"I'll get someone to bring you two a snack. It really won't take any time at all, alright? I don't enjoy this either, but it has to be done." And the man walked away before either one of the detective-and-blogger duo had time to protest.

"So here we are again." John groaned, leaning against the wall of the waiting room. His mind still flitted around in a post-adrenaline haze, a few thoughts making themselves known like recurring lightening strikes. One was that this wall probably wasn't very clean, so leaning against it wasn't a good idea. The second was that he had several cuts on his legs that whilst being pretty superficial, should be disinfected as soon as possible. The third was that he needed to check Sherlock over before they went to bed, because the genius detective had gotten himself thrown against a wall.

"Quite." Sherlock replied plainly, turning his attention towards his phone in a manner that reminded John of a petulant teenager; and oh God now he had to stop himself from laughing because if Sherlock inquired as to why the man was bent over double and John answered with the truth, Sherlock would undoubtedly sulk. Like a teenager.

John snorted.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

John burst out into a mixture of high pitched giggle and more natural laughter.

"Um... Mr Holmes and Mr Watson? Sorry for the wait, here are some snacks to tide you over until the DI can see you." The speaker was a young woman, probably fresh out of university. She looked nervous as she handed the packets of crisps over to the two men, probably because she'd heard the tales of how... antisocial Sherlock could be. John sent what he hoped was a reassuring smile at her, and chucked one of the packets over at Sherlock's head.

He caught it one handed, without looking up. (John couldn't help the rather fond thought of 'wanker' that entered his mind.)

"So," Sherlock half-drawled, "What kind of abominable fried potato slices have they tried to label as consumable toda-" The curly haired man paused mid sentence, staring at the packet of Wotsits that lay innocently in his hand.

"Sherlock?" John asked, wondering if some kind of revelation was about to happen. Normally, Sherlock only paused mid-sentence when he'd figured out something pertaining to a crime. John just hoped that when he did announce whatever it is he'd realised, he wouldn't shout too loudly or jump around too much. There was no need to draw Donovan and Anderson's 'loving' attention.

But, to John's surprise, Sherlock made no noise at all. In fact, he quietly opened the packet of Wotsits, drew one from the gaping mouth of the packaging, and held it between his thumb and index finger. He shifted, going from standing with perfect precision to leaning slightly on his left leg. And as he took a bite, his eyes trailed over the room without their usual sharpness, as if he had relaxed and was simply looking instead of observing.

As Sherlock swallowed the first half of the first Wotsit, his posture became more relaxed. As he finished the second half, he shifted again. John couldn't look away from this rare site- Sherlock, unguarded, in a state of happiness that wasn't related to murder or blood or someone being kidnapped.

Frankly, it was adorable.

From the corner of his eye, John saw Anderson and Donovan conversing quietly. Anderson's face was slightly horrified as he stared at Sherlock, and Donovan made no effort to conceal the look of disgust she wore.

"What the hell!? Does the Freak get some sort of orgy from eating crisps, now?!" Donovan hissed. Not wanting Sherlock's happy time to get interrupted- or perhaps not wanting the opportunity to sigh over Sherlock's cuteness a little more wasted, John glared harshly at the gossiping idiots, making the both of them shut up rather promptly.

'Ah, good old army glare.' John thought with a smirk. 'Always gets the job done.'

Sherlock hadn't just completely ignored Donovan- he hadn't even heard her, by the looks of it. His whole world revolved around idly shifting from foot to foot, swaying slightly, looking around with interested disinterest, and eating Wotsits. To think that getting him to eat was so easy! (And so Goddamn cute to look at Jesus Christ) John made a mental note to pick up a kilogram or so worth of Wotsits, even as he smiled fondly on at the man next to him.

Realizing that his gaze had been fixed on Sherlock, John coughed and opened his own packet of crisps. He was focused on things that were most definitely not the cute-guy-in-the-long-coat, until he caught a pout on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock stared rather desolately down at his crisps, one finger having found its way into his mouth. He looked a little like a baby tiger, with the childish expression painted over his stunning cheekbones and face. John couldn't resist, and so he gently shook his own half-filled packet in front of Sherlock's face, letting out a small chuckle as Sherlock blinked in confusion.

"...John..?" Sherlock asked, still slightly out of it. And then the spell was broken, as Sherlock's usual personality was snapped back into place. "Uh, that was- Wotsits were...are... something I indulge in, from time to time." Sherlock spoke haltingly, considering ever word, as if he was trying to regain some dignity. John simply smiled and shook the pack, the Wotsits inside rattling invitingly.

"You haven't eaten for a couple of days, remember? Eat up. Doctor's orders." A small smile broke out on Sherlock's face- the equivalent of a massive grin and lit up face, with rainbows and sparkles in the background for a normal man, as he took the packet. The relief that John didn't think any less of him for his momentary lapse in persona was evident, as was the fact that John had seemingly lost no respect for Sherlock. And John knew that Sherlock could, and had, deduced that from him- John was slightly exaggerating his body language, to make sure that Sherlock knew what he was thinking. Being able to predict and combat any fears that Sherlock might have was something that John held in high value; as was the fact that Sherlock had let him get close enough for John to become able to do such a thing. In fact, everything that he knew about Sherlock that others didn't, and even everything that everybody knew about Sherlock, even the misconceptions- all of them were precious to John, because they made up a man that John held very, very dear. And now the knowledge that Sherlock acted like a 7 year old when fed Wotsits would join that list, featured in a very prominent spot.

John resolved to feed Sherlock Wotsits every single day, if he could.

(And later, when John asked Sherlock exactly what made Wotsits so enjoyable for Sherlock, he started going on about the cheesiness and the chemical formula and the 'sentimental value' – this was said with a look of scorn on his face, of course-, and how Wotsits sounded awfully similar to Watson, and shouldn't that really explain everything, Jesus, why couldn't everyone realise simple things like this! And that was when John realised that not only was Sherlock sweet when he was embarrassed, but also that Sherlock possibly wanted to eat him. Oh.)

AN: I hope you enjoyed this! Um, as I'm always nervous about the accuracy of my characterisation, I'd really appreciate feedback and the like. Thanks for reading!

-Teal