A/N: Inspired by ASiB, when Sherlock told Irene that John had used every word he possibly could to praise him on his deductive prowess. Fluffy, little slashy at the end but not too much. R7R. Enjoy!
4 Times John Praised Sherlock, +1 Time Sherlock Praised Him Back
1.
The duo had been stumped on several details of a case not matching up. They stayed up for hours going over the facts, countless times. Sherlock made a web in the living room over the couch while John sipped his tea and listened to Sherlock read out the story and the clues, again and again. He went over every detail meticulously until he stopped midstream and screamed in joy, slapping his hands together; it finally struck him.
He said something about a twin, and it all made sense. Sherlock was giddy with excitement and John put down his tea and stared at him, so happy that he'd done it.
"Remarkable." Sherlock looked down at John after he gave the praise and pouted a bit.
"You used that one, already."
"I know. But I didn't know what else to say." John shrugged, looking off into the open space of the flat and scratching the back of his head.
"Be creative, John. I've read your blog. You have an imagination, use it."
2.
Sherlock and John were working on their next case, a Chinese woman who had gone missing and they were investigating her noodle shop. John babbled on about how she always had the best broth when Sherlock muffled him with his gloved hand and pointed to a pantry.
There was in fact a person in the pantry. Slowly, the boys approached it and found that it was her grandson, saying that he heard the kidnapper and hid in the cupboard. Sherlock asked for any description he could remember of the man.
He gave him barely anything and Sherlock immediately darted out of the noodle shop, and John quickly followed. Sherlock shouted over his shoulder about a well known criminal in the heart of the Chinese district of London.
They found in the dangerous underbelly of the Chinese district their kidnapper, and the kind old lady in his possession. Within minutes, they had taken down the culprit and his gunmen. They saved the woman from a bullet in the head and returned her safely to her shop, after the kidnapper was apprehended.
When Lestrade was done getting the facts, John took Sherlock in his arms and gave him a tight hug, burying his face into Sherlock's scarf. Lestrade held back a chuckle and said he's see us later. He walked over to his car and chatted with some of the Sergeants on the scene.
Sherlock cleared his throat and queried, "John, what are you doing?"
"I'm showing you."
"Showing me, what, exactly?"
"Well," he pulled away and bit to look at Sherlock's face, "Verbal admiration wasn't doing for you, so I'm trying something else." Sherlock nodded, raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. John took the hint and pulled away, a bit flushed and walked alongside Sherlock on their way back to 221B.
3.
Few days went by, and John was rising from slumber, getting ready for work at St. Bart's. When he walked into the kitchen after his shower, he found a cuppa ready for him. He blinked at it, not sure if it was real, or if it was a booby trap. He reached out and took a sip. It tasted good, it wasn't like his but it wasn't bad.
He finished his tea and found Sherlock walking out of his room with a few textbooks and some equipment in hand, looking frankly content and focused.
As John passed him, he gave him a quick peck on the cheek and said, "Tea was delicious, thank you." Sherlock turned to watch John mount the stairs and finish getting ready for work. He smiled and proceeded to experiment in the kitchen, not moving the empty cup from the counter all the while.
4.
It was late, well past midnight, when John returned home. He trudged up the stairs to the living room, flopping down on the couch, face first. He let out a groan as he made contact with the furniture.
Sherlock was at the mantel, taking down the web from the last case and putting up some papers and photos for their latest one.
"Are you hungry?" Sherlock asked, back still to John.
A vaguely positive grunt sounded from the cushions of the sofa. John sat up to fix his clothes, while he tried to comb his hair with his fingers, Sherlock went to the kitchen and pulled out some pasta with a creamy, yellow sauce, mixed vegetables and shrimp. He guessed it was some sort of scampi.
It smelled so good. Sherlock set it in front of John on the coffee table and handed him a beer along with his utensils with a polite smile.
"I didn't know you could cook?"
"Recipes are easy, John, it was adding the finishing touches that was the hard part. Making it…special was the challenge."
Sherlock was standing, bent over with his hands behind his back, watching John take his first bite. He melted when it touched his taste buds, it was amazing.
"Sherlock. This is really good."He looked up to see Sherlock's smiling face next to his. He put down his utensils and gave Sherlock a buttery kiss. It was sloppy and sweet on Sherlock's lips. He opened them and let John's pressing tongue meet his own. The taste was intoxicating. He had sampled the dish before giving it to John, but the combination of the butter sauce, and John's unique flavor was sending all sorts of signals through Sherlock.
John pulled back, apologizing and saying he was really hungry and needed to finish the meal. Sherlock licked his soiled lips and said that it was not a problem. Sherlock sat in his armchair and watched John eat his meal. The noises and words that escaped him in his hungry, tired state were decadent, filling Sherlock to the brim.
+1.
When John finished his meal, he sat back and rubbed his belly, content.
"That, hands down, has to be one of the best meals I have ever eaten in my life." His eyes were closed and his face was lit with an infectious grin.
"I thought I couldn't love you any more than I did, but this was…amazing. Thank you, so very much." This was news to Sherlock. John had said words like that before, but they hit him differently this time. They moved him.
Sherlock immediately stood and pull John up from under his arms and onto his feet. He kissed John hard on the mouth, trying hard not to squeeze the shrimp scampi out of him.
John was taken aback by Sherlock's sudden jolt of affection, but the sensation of Sherlock gripping him and kissing him and rocking against him was nothing to question. He quickly grabbed at Sherlock tight grey shirt, popping off some of the buttons in the process from the strain.
Sherlock pulled them to his room carefully, not wanting to end their kiss. When they arrived, Sherlock laid John on the bed and kneeled on the floor between his legs. He pulled at John's slacks hungrily, unbuttoning them and ripping them from John's legs. He mouthed at the erection beneath John's shorts.
"God, Sherlock." John's arched his back off the mattress and spread his legs a bit wider.
"Thank you, John."
John leaned up and rested on his elbows.
"What?" He was fuzzy, hair tousled and drunk with lust. He looked so beautiful, Sherlock couldn't hold back.
"Thank you, for everything. You put up with me. You keep me in line. You are so amazing. How do you do it?" He kissed at John's inner thigh with every sentiment, pulling off John's shorts and taking him in his hand and mouth.
"Sherlock."
John would have many more compliments in store for Sherlock if this was a regular outcome.