Tell Him I'm Busy
6-14-13
Sherlock is huddling in his chair, pouting-he really was taking the lack of recent murders in London entirely too personally, John reflects-when his phone goes off. John glances at the phone, then at Sherlock, waiting for the inevitable request. He's actually doing something, as opposed to Sherlock, who is just sitting in his chair staring morosely at the wall, but that's irrelevant he supposes.
"John, will you..."
"Already going," John says, standing up. He strides across the room to the kitchen counter where Sherlock has set his phone. "You could actually just put it in your pocket so you have it with you if someone texts," he adds.
Sherlock ignores him. "Who is it?" Sherlock asks with about as much interest as most people show when conversing about weather with a stranger.
"Mycroft," John says, attempting to hand the phone to Sherlock. Sherlock scoots out of his way, waving him off. "Tell him I'm busy."
"But you're not." John states the obvious, not because he thinks it will have any effect on Sherlock but because. Well. There's not really anything else to say.
"Yes I am," Sherlock says. He unfolds his long legs from underneath him and grabs John's arm.
"What are you-" John begins, not even attempting to struggle against Sherlock's grip. He assumes that his boyfriend's intentions will become clear shortly. The phone buzzes again and he looks down. Mycroft. "No, I'm not telling him any such thing. I may not like your brother but I'm certainly not going to LIE to him on your behalf."
"You're not lying," Sherlock says. His voice has lowered a bit, so that it comes out almost like a growl.
"Am I not?" John asks, not even pretending at this point to have any idea what's going on. The phone buzzes again and he tries again to hand it off to Sherlock. Sherlock ignores him.
"No," Sherlock says, maneuvering John into position on the couch. "Set the phone down," Sherlock says.
"But he's just going to..." John begins but he's cut off by Sherlock taking the phone from him and setting it on the end table decisively.
"He'll get over it," Sherlock says, laying down beside John and settling his head into John's lap. He pauses for an instant, listening. John's not terribly sure what Sherlock is listening for but he finds he's also holding his breath, listening intently. The phone does not buzz again. "There you see?" Sherlock asks.
John really doesn't but he finds his frustration evaporating rapidly as he looks down at Sherlock lying in his lap. His curls are falling just so across his forehead and without even thinking about it, John reaches down and entwines his fingers in them then allows them to slide through before brushing his hair back over his forehead and finding another curl to play with. Sherlock's face has gone positively content at John's ministrations and John swears he can almost hear him purring.
"You're like a cat, you know that?" he asks, but his tone is fond.
Sherlock smiles. "There now" he says, stretching and adjusting himself on the couch, "don't you agree that at the present moment, I am entirely too busy for whatever it is that Mycroft wanted?"
John glances at the phone, now lying almost forgotten on the end table. "Indeed," he says, leaning down and brushing his lips softly over Sherlock's. "Indeed."