You Like Sweet Things?
John blinked wearily, hard, trying to blink away the exhaustion of the day. It was flu. He hated flu season. The office got too busy and he always felt physically and emotionally drained after taking care of fussy, worried patients. He was a doctor; it was his job and he had to deal with the ramifications of the season. He just did not like this time of the season.
He pushed the living room door open. "Sherlock, you home?" he called, shrugging out of his coat. "Please tell me that you haven't blown anything up," he muttered, more to himself as he threw his coat over the back of the chair. "Sherlock?" The detective wasn't in the living room, so John poked his head around the corner of the kitchen, expecting to find Sherlock busy in an experiment.
What he did not expect, however, was to find Sherlock sitting at the table, feet propped up, a jar of honey on the table, a spoon in one hand, a book in the other.
"Sherlock? What're you doing?"
"Uhhm. Reading," Sherlock replied in a tone of stating the obvious. His eyes didn't flicker away from the book.
"Reading?" John repeated. "Reading, at the kitchen table, with a jar of honey?"
"Yes," Sherlock replied lazily, just as lazily reaching forward to dip his spoon into the jar of honey. John watched with some amazement as Sherlock tapped the spoon on the rim of the jar to dispose of excess honey before he drew the spoon to his mouth. Excess honey aside, a thin rivulet of honey still dripped onto the consulting detective's trousers.
"Sherlock, you're... you're making a mess." For all of his odd eccentricities, Sherlock Holmes was someone who kept his person clean and neat. He wasn't particularly concerned about the flat, but he kept up his own appearance.
"Yes," Sherlock replied again, not necessarily the tone of agreement, but the tone of unspoken annoyance. Annoyance at the honey? Probably not. Annoyance at John's statements? Probably so.
John watched in amazement, a mild sick feeling starting to assail him, as Sherlock dipped the spoon again and placed it back in his mouth, licking the sugar-coated metal thoughtlessly.
"Sherlock, you're eating pure honey," John stated, wrinkling his nose. "That's worse than licking sugar pops. Worse than-than, well, I don't know, but that's just... disgusting."
"Are you a dentist?"
"What?" John asked, frowning at Sherlock's sudden change of thought. Annoyed eyes had finally looked up from the book and were now locked on John.
"Are you a dentist?" Sherlock repeated, not looking away. His eyes were annoyed, but also critical, silently insulting John, John was sure.
"I'm a doctor, Sherlock, you know that-"
"Then don't worry about the amount of sweets that I consume," was the quick response.
"I didn't even know you liked sweets," John muttered, walking into the kitchen and going for the fridge.
"I don't, incidentally."
"You're eating pure honey!" John retorted, glaring at the back of Sherlock's head. Just once, he'd love to wallop the man. Just once. Just-just, crack an egg over his head. It wouldn't be bad. It was just an egg. Sherlock could wash it out. Sherlock could probably pull an experiment out of it...
Instead, he just grabbed a can of beer and closed the fridge door quietly. Ever the restraining man, John only gave the man another disdainful look as Sherlock deliberately went back to licking his spoon.
"Don't come to me when your teeth start aching, Sherlock Holmes," John advised, cracking open his beer. "Don't come to me at all."
"Wouldn't dream of i-" Sherlock's retort cut off abruptly when a dollop of honey dripped onto the page he was reading. He went very still, eyes following the movement of the honey past the words.
"Sherlock!" John chastised, moving forward to catch the honey that was ready to drip again. "Oh, shit," he swore, licking his fingers off. "It's so sticky. And sweet." He made a disgusted noise, wiping his hands on his shirt. "Put the honey away," he ordered, reaching for the lid.
"No, John!" Sherlock said hotly, dropping the book heavily onto the floor and grabbing John's wrist. "Leave it!"
"You don't need it and you're making a damn mess! I won't clean it up, Sherlock! Oh- ugh, it's on the floor!"
"That's because you're making me flail about!"
"I'm not making you- Sherlock!"
Their small tussle over the jar of honey ended with the glass jar tipping, the contents spilling out on both of their hands and the table. John withdrew his hand quickly as Sherlock sat the jar back up.
"Now look what you've done, John," the detective grumbled, licking his fingers.
"Me?" John replied in disbelief, looking from Sherlock to his honey-covered hand. "Me?" And then he stopped. He was suddenly hit with a very inane, very childish urge. He looked at his hand, dripping honey onto the floor, and then back at Sherlock, who was watching him very carefully.
Forget cracking an egg over Sherlock's head. John had honey.
"J-John?" Sherlock muttered, eyebrows knitting together as John sat down his beer. "John, I don't know what you're thinking but I don't think that's a- John!"
John took off after Sherlock as the detective scrambled away, scattering chairs and papers in his wake.
Oh, John, John, John... That would be a disaster, wouldn't it? -Grins- Our dear Sherlock's hair, matted with honey...
Someone mentioned honey on an unrelated story I was reading and, I just... yeah. Yep. Honey. Honey. Of all the- well, don't mind me. Your reviews are great! Thanks for reading!