The Getaway
The sky outside is clear and blue. The sun is unrelenting as it tries to melt everything and everyone who dares to stray outdoors. John is tired of this heat. He's tired of running after people in a haze of adrenalin and sweat. He needs a break. He's pretty sure Sherlock could do with one too.
John is against the clock. The case has just been solved. They've both just arrived home. If anything it's cooler inside than out, but not enough for it to be comfortable. The flat feels stuffy. John wipes the sweat off his forehead. He's now got five minutes to persuade Sherlock that this is a good idea before the boredom becomes destructive.
Sherlock flops down onto the sofa. He has only removed his coat, scarf and jacket. John can't get his head around why he still wears the coat even when it's thirty degrees outside. John feels like jumping into a bath of ice, he's got no layers left to remove with just his shirt and jeans on.
John claps his hands together to get Sherlock's attention and announces, "Let's go to the beach!" His tone is one of childlike enthusiasm. It doesn't appear to rub off.
"No," is the flat reply. Sherlock doesn't even turn to look at him.
"Oh come on – I haven't been to the beach in years. It'll be... fun." He hesitates on the last word, knowing that it is pointless to tack it on. But maybe Sherlock will understand how he feels. To relive childhood memories of paddling pools and sandcastles is something surely even the great Sherlock Holmes would like to do.
"It'll be crowded and there'll be annoying children there. And families," says Sherlock. He frowns in disgust at the last word. "I'm fine here. You go on without me if you must."
"I'm not leaving you on your own here." To wreck the place, John added in his head. "This flat is like a giant sauna."
Sherlock rubs his sticky forehead with the back of his hand. "I'm not too warm," he says stubbornly, though it's bloody obvious he's lying.
John nods. "Right." A beat. "OK, I'll go on my own then." He waits for a reluctant nod of agreement, but none is forthcoming. He says again, "Right," and leaves Sherlock to roast on the sofa.
Fifteen minutes later he is clad in a pale grey vest and shorts in a shockingly bright shade of red. He has his sunglasses on already, ones with a cord that hangs around his neck. He has his plastic bag packed with a towel, a small bottle of sun cream and a few novels. He doesn't plan on finishing any of them, just plans on falling asleep and perhaps getting a tan.
Sherlock is standing in the middle of the living room expectantly. He's got his coat, scarf and jacket on again. A stylish pair of sunglasses are perched on his nose. His hair is wet with sweat. The heat of the room is unbearable. The thought of wearing that thick coat now makes John uncomfortable.
"What are you doing?" asks John.
"I'm coming with you," Sherlock replies, "isn't it obvious?"
"You're not coming with me dressed like that. Where's your summer gear?"
Sherlock pouts, shakes the scarf around his neck, "This is my summer scarf!"
"You're going to tell me you don't own a single item of summer clothing?" Now that he thinks about it, he's never seen Sherlock in anything apart from his suits and pyjamas. All long sleeves and trousers that reach to his shoes.
"Summer scarf," repeats Sherlock, indignant.
John takes that as a yes. "Wait here a minute," he says. He sets his packed bag down for the moment and goes back into his bedroom. He searches for a few minutes before he finds what he's looking for. He hands the t-shirt and shorts to Sherlock. The shorts are a frighteningly bright shade of yellow. The t-shirt is white, 'I'M WITH STUPID' printed on the front in a bold black font. Sherlock raises an eyebrow.
"Got it for a stag do," John shrugs. "I thought you'd like it."
Sherlock gives a short chuckle before disappearing off to his bedroom. He emerges a few minutes later. The t-shirt is still a bit too big on him even though it's the smallest in John's wardrobe. The yellow shorts only fall to the floor after the fifth step he takes. "I'll wear a belt," he says, hastily pulling them up, his cheeks going slightly red.
Sun cream applied, both men are ready to go. They're almost out the door before John suddenly scurries off into the bathroom. "I'll be down in a minute," he calls out. Sherlock frowns after him, but picks up John's bag and makes his way outside into the blazing sunshine.
John is grinning when he joins Sherlock outside. 'I'M WITH SMART ARSE', is written on John's vest with a permanent marker.
"I like it," Sherlock says with a small smile, and hails a cab.
Author's Note: Written because ugh heat. With thanks to my beta tonilouse95.