"For heaven's sake, Sherlock! Leave my bloody wall alone!" Mrs. Hudson hit the man on the arm, but he seemed to not really feel it. Instead, he fingered the gun in his hands and continued to stare into space, his eyebrows all the way up.
"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, leave it alone. John will fix it up, no worries." he mumbled as he absentmindedly added another bullet hole to the wall that still wore the smiley face wound from his last meeting with boredom.
Mrs. Hudson wrestled the British Army Browning L9A1 from his hand; he gave surprisingly little resistance. "No, Sherlock, I simply won't have it! It's been months since your last case and my apartment is taking a beating for it. You need a real job. I want you to apply for a paying job and be working within a month, you understand? I won't have you vandalizing this place another day."
Sherlock curled up in his chair, pulling his sleeve up to slap his nicotine patch into working order. He looked into the eyes of the elderly woman staring over him and said, "You and I both know I would never survive in an office; I'd rather be stuck here redecorating. Besides, who would ever hire me?"
"I don't know, but you'd better find someone or I'm kicking you out." And with that, she turned to leave, Sherlock's gun still in her hand.
At the door she was met by the figure of a small man carrying a carton of milk. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson," John Watson said with a smile. She didn't return it; instead, she shoved the gun into his free hand. "Keep an eye on him," she said, nodding towards the tall man curled up and looking insufferably miserable in the armchair. "Make sure he behaves, and he'd better do what I said."
"I'm sorry, and what was that?" John asked, his brow creased.
"I've told Sherlock he's got a month to find a real paying job or he's out of this flat. I'm not going to keep hiring men to fix the holes in the wall every time he gets bored."
John's eyebrows shot up in amusement. "Oh, really?" He asked, making his way over to Sherlock. "Where're you planning on getting a job, then?"
Sherlock gave a noncommittal grunt.
"Just make sure he finds one within the month, John, dear."
"I'd be glad to." He grinned mischievously. "Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson."
Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Goodbye, John. Goodbye, Sherlock." and she turned her back on them descended the stairs.
John put the milk in the fridge and placed the gun on the counter, and as soon as Mrs. Hudson was out of earshot flopped into the chair opposite Sherlock's and laughed.
"So; a job, eh? Oh, you can't be happy about this." He stared at his friend, grinning, as Sherlock sat upright and ruffled his hair in frustration.
"There's a reason I've never worked in an office, John. You're cooped up eight hours a day, five days a week, surrounded by the finest brand of idiots found anywhere in the world. If Mrs. Hudson thinks it's at all a good idea to put me into that situation she has another thing coming. I'll have pulled all my hair out by the end of the first day; either that, or strangled the lot of them."
"Oh, stop grumbling," John said. "It'll be good for you. Maybe you'll even learn a thing or two."
Sherlock stared at John, who rolled his eyes. "Okay, we both know you won't learn anything. But if you want to continue living here with me, which I hope you do, you're going to have to get a job, like it or not."
Sherlock slapped his nicotine patch again, trying to beat all the juice out of it at once.
"Well, John, since you're the expert on this kind of thing, where do you suggest I start?"
John ignored the sarcasm and stood up to retrieve the newspaper from the counter. He dropped it on the coffee table in front of Sherlock.
"Well, normal people usually start there."
Sherlock regarded the paper before him as some disgusting disease, holding it almost at arm's length as he looked through it. John shook his head, again smiling, as he sat back down and watched Sherlock grow more and more frustrated with every page he turned.
"You could apply at New Scotland Yard," John offered after a while. "That wouldn't be too hard on you, and at least you wouldn't be working in an office."
Sherlock didn't even look up from the paper. "They'd never take me in. With the exception of Lestrade, they all want my heart on a platter."
Any other person would've been taken aback by Sherlock's dramatic (if mostly true) statement, but John was accustomed to these kinds of things. He puckered his lips in discontent and said nothing else on the subject.
"Well... Dinner, then?" John was starving and figured his partner could use a distraction.
"Sounds marvelous."
Sherlock hopped up and grabbed his coat from John. He reached for his scarf as well, but John had beat him to it. He wrapped the blue fabric around Sherlock's neck and used it as leverage to pull Sherlock down to his level, kissing him on the mouth. John broke away but didn't release his hold on Sherlock's scarf, keeping their faces close. "Don't worry about this whole job thing, okay? It's only temporary. We'll be back to risking our lives for the sake of justice in no time." Sherlock pecked John on the mouth again before leading the way downstairs and hailing a taxi.
xXx
Angelo was persistent. Ever since their first visit to his restaurant, he had kept on trying to get Sherlock and John to confess their love of each other; he knew they were hiding something, he just knew it. As of late, as he had been proven correct, the two men had simply tried to hide their smiles as he offered them the romance of candlelight.
Tonight was no different.
"Ooh, we're having us a little date night, is we?" Angelo wondered aloud with an intruding smile on his face. Sherlock and John busied themselves with their menus, pretending not to have heard him.
Angelo came back a few minutes later to take their orders; he was accompanied by the ever-present candle, which he placed between the two men. "We make sexy time, oh yes," he said. John burst out laughing and Sherlock smirked, an amused glint in his eye. Angelo smiled at them once more before leaving them to themselves.
"He's not going to stop, is he?" John asked as he continued to read his menu.
"He's definitely very stubborn," Sherlock said. "As much as I like the man, he needs to stay out of his customers' business."
"It doesn't mean he's wrong, though."
Sherlock bit his lip. He glanced up at John, and looked hurriedly away when he met his eyes.
The two men ordered and ate their dinner in relative peace; Angelo simply would not give up. He knew something was up and was determined to prove it to the world. Finally, they got away; they walked down the street a little closer than usual.
Right outside Angelo's restaurant was a small side alley, and before John knew what was happening Sherlock had pushed him into it and up against the wall. John stared, eyebrows up, into the other man's face; Sherlock was simply staring at him.
"Um, what're you -"
"Shh. I'm thinking." Sherlock continued to stare intently at John, and as much as John loved the man, it was starting to get just a little bit weird.
"Thinking about what, exactly?" John asked slowly and carefully.
Sherlock seemed almost annoyed at the interruption. "Once I get this bloody job, I'll be gone for a while, right? Eight hours a day, at least. We can't have lunch together every day anymore. We won't be working together any more. Sometimes you work late. You won't stay at work late just to be with Sarah, will you? Because I've seen the way she looks at you and I don't like it at all."
It was John's turn to stare. "Is that what you're worried about? Losing me? You won't, Sherlock, I thought you knew that by now. And in case you've forgotten, we share a flat. Sarah and I are just friends; I've told her that. If she still wants to be more than that then that's for her to deal with on her own. And also, in case you've forgotten, we share a bed."
Sherlock thought for a moment. "You're right." he said dejectedly. "Don't... don't know what got into me." He looked into John's face for one moment more and then went at him, gluing his lips to his flatmate's. John grunted, which only encouraged Sherlock; he pushed him up against the wall, putting his palms there, also, to the side of John's shoulders, caging him in, forbidding him to escape. John pushed harder into Sherlock, trying almost to melt into him. He ran his tongue along Sherlock's lips, outlining them and memorizing the taste. His fingers meandered across the taller man's torso, traveling downward before looping themselves in his belt loops and tugging.
Something wrenched behind Sherlock's groin. He forced himself to unglue his body from John's, pushing off the wall and closing his eyes, taking in a deep sigh. John mirrored him, blinking his eyes quickly, as if to blink away the sensation.
Sherlock stayed still and took in deep breaths, trying to will away what he knew was a bulge in his trousers. "God, John," Sherlock whispered.
John started, suddenly alert; what, was Sherlock blaming him? For what? He was about to respond but Sherlock beat him to it.
"I really hope Angelo didn't see that."
John snorted. "Oh, he would've loved that, wouldn't he? Lord, we'd never hear the end of it."
Sherlock smirked. The ache in his groin was mostly gone now, if only because he was pointedly thinking of things other than the man beside him.
"Come on, we should probably get back," John said. "You've got a job to look for."
Sherlock turned and glared; John grinned in good humor and laced his fingers in Sherlock's as they headed off in return to Baker Street.