Author's Note: just a little drabble inspired by all those Fanfictions where John is a little obsessed with jam. Dedicated to Helen and Bryony, my fellow partners in crime in Sherlock Fanfiction.
It was another dull Sunday morning and Sherlock was grouchily combing through the newspapers in order to find a new – and preferably fascinating – case while slurping on his coffee. John sat opposite him with his laptop open as he scanned the web while munching on his breakfast toast.
It had become a ritual after a very uncomfortable confrontation from Scotland Yard to spend at least one morning once a week to keep an eye on the latest Fanfiction written about them. If John didn't then he would end up being sniggered at when he blinked dumbly at the latest in-joke on his and Sherlock's Fanfiction life.
Trust him after having Anderson look at you like you're the moron you would want to keep up to date on the Fanfiction as well.
This morning after reading his fifth Fanfiction of the day; John felt compelled to ask something.
"Why does everyone think I'm addicted to jam?"
It had not been aimed at Sherlock, simply, just a question John felt the need to voice. After being ignored on several occasions to the point Sherlock doesn't even realise that John is no longer in the flat, John was used to his questions being unanswered.
So it surprised him a little when Sherlock did reply.
"Probably because you are," Sherlock said dryly.
"Right," John said sarcastically, "just like we're shagging."
"We are?" Sherlock asked. John spluttered a little and had to fight the urge to bang his head against the table (Mrs Hudson probably wouldn't forgive him if he damaged the already damaged antique table that had been her Great Aunt Rowena's), honestly for someone so intelligent and uses sarcasm on a daily basis, Sherlock wasn't half thick. "Hmm...I must have deleted it," Sherlock said thoughtfully as he took another sip of his coffee, "You're not very good in bed are you?"
When the paramedics had asked Sherlock what was the cause of death he would reply in his usual insufferable superior tone (making them all feel like children), "he spluttered to death...obviously."