Slip of a hand
Sherlock, who feels he is a superior being, doesn't understand that everyone once in a while, people drop their phones... on their face.
Sherlock, who was currently scrolling to find a new case, casually peeks through the side of his eye to see John – his best (and only) friend. Not concentrating on the phone it slips and before he can register what's happening it hits him. He blinks and looks down at his nose, or well the top of the phone anyway. He frowns, and curiously picks it back up. He is lying down on the sofa and is unimpressed in himself that such an idiotic act had happened to him. Again he gets distracted in what he's reading and it slips out of his hand, "Urgh."
"What's wrong Sherlock?" John asks, without looking up from the newspaper, he knows with Sherlock it won't be something he hasn't heard before.
"My phone, it keeps falling on my face." He sighs, beyond annoyed at his point. This causes John to look up, an eyebrow raised to the man. "Oh, you're hands are probably sweaty. It happens to everyone." He shrugs returning to the newspaper.
"I'm not everyone John!" He says throwing his arms into the air, his head turned on its side facing John. "No." John says still reading, not really listening by this point.
"I'm superior to everyone, John, I'm cleverer. My phone doesn't just fall out my hands. What if it's a sign?"
"A sign for what Sherlock?" He asks finally putting the paper down and turning to his roommate. His roommate is currently frowning to him, "Nothing is going to happen. Calm down."
OoO
A couple of days later, John hears Sherlock grunt. He turns his head and stifles his giggle. Sherlock is frowning at his phone which is perched on his nose and chin. "It's not funny, John." Sherlock whines, "This shouldn't be happening to me."
"Oh yes because God forbid a phone lands on Sherlock Holmes' face." John says through laughter.
"Jooohhnn!" Sherlock whines, and John laughs more. "This isn't funny anymore."
"Did you ever find it funny to beginning with?" Sherlock frowns and John smiles endearingly, picking up his phone and putting on the table. "You're a mystery Sherlock Holmes." John says with a sly smile while shaking his head.
OoO
"John!" Sherlock shouts and John runs out of the bathroom, towel round his waist, "It happened again."
John closes his eyes, trying not to be annoyed. "Sherlock, I was in the shower. You screamed as if someone had broke in." He was clearly annoyed with his friend, Sherlock looks a little sheepish.
Sherlock isn't the little bit phased to see his friend with little clothing. "I don't care, what you're wearing John. Just make it stop." John rolls his eyes, readjusting the towel.
"You're impossible." Sherlock glares at him out of the corner of his eye, he knows he wouldn't want him another way and so does John. He's just too stubborn to admit it. "What if I'm dying John." He suddenly sits up to turn to his best friend and partner in crime. He leans on his arms and looks at Sherlock, sincerely.
"You're not dying because something slipped out of your hand. Sweaty hands don't mean death."
"Well actually, it could mean death – sweaty hands could mean a numerous things such as –" Sherlock begins counting off his fingers. "I'm going back to the shower." John grumbles leaving Sherlock listing the things it could be, but clearly wasn't.
Thirty minutes later Sherlock cries out yet again for John. He groans, not listening. "Joohhn!"
"No Sherlock I swear if you say you're dying because of that one more time I'll-" He stops dead, not only because he sees Sherlock's face phone free but, because there's a confused looking Mycroft in the door way.
"Oh dear brother mine, what have you been putting our poor doctor through now?"
