John didn't know why, but he always loved his red pants.
He couldn't see why he loved them as much as he did. Sure, they were comfortable and gave him just that little bit of extra confidence he might need when having a bit of a bad day, but they were bright red and a mate had bought them as a joke for his twenty first birthday.
He initially hadn't planned on wearing them, let alone still having them late into his thirties. He and his friends had a laugh about it and he'd stuffed them into his drawer, forgetting about them until one day he'd found that he had run out of clean underwear, and they were the only ones left. He'd reluctantly put them on, only to find that the material felt really good against his skin and that they fit him just nicely.
By the time he had moved into Baker Street with the self-proclaimed consulting detective, the red pants were just a part of his normal clothing. More often than not he wore them at the beginning of the week, just after the laundry had been done so they would be fresh and soft and even more comfortable than usual.
This week was no different.
It was a rather dull Monday morning and John had the day off work. He'd woken up in a fairly bright mood, despite the rain. He'd showered and put on the comfiest clothes he owned (a pair of old jogging bottoms and a tatty white shirt) and decided to give Mrs Hudson a week off by setting out to do some housework.
By the time Sherlock had finally woken up around mid-morning, sauntering into the main rooms of the flat, John had already dusted the living room and cleaned out the rotting limbs from the fridge and was in the kitchen, humming quietly to himself while sorting the laundry.
"Morning Sherlock, your tea is on the table. Extra sugar to help you wake up, just how you like it" John says, not turning or hesitating in his folding.
Sherlock grunts and throws himself into a chair, his blue robe billowing out underneath him. He watches John as he lifts the mug to his lips and begins to drink his tea.
They're quiet for ten minutes, John continues humming and Sherlock sips at his drink, occasionally yawning, when John starts to feel uncomfortable. He stops what he's doing and turns to see a pair of grey eyes peering at him over the rim of the mug.
He blinks, "are you staring at me?"
"Yes."
"Okay," John purses his lips and furrows his eyebrows, "why?"
Sherlock squints his eyes and puts his tea back onto the table, before pushing his chair back and taking the few steps across the kitchen across to John. He touches John's shoulder to turn him slightly, and reaches for the waistband of John's old jogging bottoms.
John's eyes widen and he quickly tries to pull away, "hey, what are you doing?"
"Hold still," Sherlock mutters, "the tag of your pants is hanging out and it's annoying me," he tucks it back in, but doesn't let go of the material.
"Well, you could have just told me," John tries to pull away again but Sherlock still has a firm grip on the elastic.
Sherlock pulls on it lightly, so he's able to see a small flash of bright red. He smirks, "my my," he tugs at them a little more and raises an eyebrow, "red? I'm surprised, John."
John's ears flush pink and he swats good naturedly at Sherlock's hand, "piss off."
This earns another smirk from Sherlock, who steps back and holds both his hands up, before going to sit down at the table and opening the paper.
"Look, I know we're best friends and everything, but, personal space please," John says, you can't just go touching any bloke's underwear, especially when he's wearing them, he continues in his head.
They fall into quiet again, John doesn't start humming, and he can still feel warmth in his face.
Just as he's getting back into the swing of folding, John gives out a sudden bark of a laugh, making Sherlock jump.
Sherlock furrows his eyebrows, completely bemused by the image in front of him: John clutching at his stomach, laughing loudly with tears forming in the corners of his eyes, "what's wrong?"
"It's nothing- It's just-" John can't get out a straight sentence, so instead he holds up the object of his amusement; a pair of white boxers with a grinning bee on the front.
Sherlock's face goes through a number of emotions, first shock, then ashen, and finally bright red embarrassment, almost the same colour as John's underwear.
"Sherlock?" John manages to say, finally catching his breath, "what, or whose, are these?"
Sherlock ignores him and brings his mug to his mouth, taking a long gulp of his tea and finding a sudden interest in the newspaper.
"Seriously, I've done our laundry enough times since I moved in however long ago and never seen them. Why have I never seen these before?"
Sherlock coughs and decides to lie, "they were a gift. I ran out of clean ones and had to wear them."
"Why are you embarrassed? They're actually kind of cute, for you anyway," John says with another giggle as he folds them and throws them on top of the laundry pile.
Sherlock goes a darker shade of red, but doesn't say anymore.
"Well, you're definitely not allowed to comment on my choice of underwear ever again," John grins, hooking a thumb into the white waistband of his own pants and pulling it out, showing the flash of red again.
Sherlock just glares into his now empty mug, mumbling something about bees being his favourite animals.
John smiles fondly and picks up the two piles of clothes, stepping towards the door, glancing around the kitchen to make sure he hadn't left anything, "I'll leave your stuff on your bed, shall I? I'd hate to mess up your sock index again."
Sherlock jumps to his feet, suddenly over his initial embarrassment, "yes, thank you, but first," he moves close to John and starts poking at the pile of his own clothes, pulling out a shirt, a pair of trousers and the white bee pants, he waves them in the air and grins, "we can match," before marching into the bathroom.
John hears the shower turn on and laughs as he goes to finish his chores.
So the red pants and bee pants are like one of my favourite things right now and I really enjoyed writing this
[ Written for the FYJFF Red Pants Contest ]