Established S/J slash. There's a light glaze of angst but it quickly turns to cotton-candy fluff :P
Written to make Jenn1984 feel better :) *squish*
John Watson was a strong man. He had faced war bravely, risking his life for his country and his fellow soldiers.
John Watson was also a sensitive man. Not in the sense that he cried often, but he was sympathetic, empathetic and unafraid to show it when he cared about someone.
But John Watson was not a perfect man. And like any human being, John had weaknesses. But one in particular seemed to bother him most comonly.
You see, John Watson was not a very tall man. And as a result of years of teasing from his peers, cousins and even his own sister, John had become somewhat sensitive about his stature.
When he and Sherlock had investigated an abandoned flat and Sherlock had jumped up, grabbed the fire escape ladder and pulled it down, John couldn't help the pang of jealousy he felt. Sherlock had just barely been able to reach it, John knew there was no way he himself would be able to. This was the biggest reason John had gotten angry at Sherlock for leaving him outside. In that moment he felt like he was back in elementary where the bigger boys wouldn't let him play with them because he was so much smaller than them. He felt left out.
One day, John was quietly bustling around the kitchen making dinner for he and Sherlock when he opened the cabinet to retrieve a box of pasta. He searched the bottom and second shelves, growing exasperated when he couldn't find it.
Seemingly out of nowhere Sherlock came up behind him, reached up to the third shelf and pulled down the evasive box of pasta, holding it in front of John's face.
"Looking for this?" he asked.
He hadn't said it in a patronizing or teasing tone, just his usual bored monotone. But for some reason, it aggravated John to no end. He snatched the box from Sherlock roughly, mumbling a quick "thanks" as he pushed passed him to go back to the stove.
"Why are you angry with me?" Sherlock asked, sounding honestly curious.
"I-" John started to shout but stopped himself the moment he turned to find Sherlock staring at him with a look of confusion on his face. 'Damn him for being so damn adorable when he's confused...' John thought but didn't say. He let out a deep breath to calm himself. "I..." he started, unsure if he should admit to his feelings of inadequacy. "I'm short," he finally blurted out.
He watched Sherlock's gaze become even more confused. "Yes? So?"
And John's rage was back. "So? SO? Do you have any idea how it feels to be left behind because you're short? No! Of course not! Because you're a giant!" John shouted at him, eyes ablaze with passion and years of pain.
"I think you're perfect," Sherlock said with a causal shrug of his shoulders.
John froze in his anger to stare at Sherlock, big brown eyes wide. "What?"
"I think you're perfect," he repeated, taking a step closer and leaning into John's personal space, their lips mere inches apart. "You're adorable and I want to keep you in my pocket," he whispered, eyes gleaming with amusement.
John's small smile quickly turned to a glare and he punched Sherlock on the arm, but love was there in his eyes as he had trouble hiding his grin. "I'm not that small," he argued. "Besides, you already drag me around with you everywhere."
"You love it," Sherlock said with a grin, his voice husky and sending a shiver down John's spine as he drew ever closer.
John's eyes flickered to Sherlock's lips as a grin took over his own. "God yes," he breathed.
Sherlock just gave him that excited grin that during a case usually said "we're about to get into trouble won't this be fun?" and dipped his head to capture John's lips in a slow, sweet, savoring kiss. The admittedly shorter man let the box of pasta slip from his hand. He clutched fistfuls of Sherlock's shirt and dragged him closer, pressing their chests together and deepening the kiss. Finally, they pulled away slightly, a mischievous grin lighting up Sherlock's eyes as he saw John's satisfied smile.
"Now make me dinner or I will put your laptop on top of the fridge." Leave it to Sherlock to ruin the mood.
John swiftly punched him in the arm again.
"You're going to leave a bruise," Sherlock whined, rubbing the tender spot on his bicep.
John just rolled his eyes at his boyfriend's dramatic sad-face and picked up the box of pasta off the floor, returning to the pot of water on the stove that had been boiling for some time now. Sherlock's eyes were still alight as turned away, headed back to the sitting room.
"Thank you," John said, just loud enough for Sherlock to hear, neither of them turning to face the other.
Sherlock simply smiled, pleased that John was happy again. He picked up his violin and began to play a happy tune with a hint of romance. John couldn't help but to sway lightly to the beautiful music as he prepared their meal, a content smile on his face.
John Watson was a happy man. A happy man with a wonderful, if at times infuriating, boyfriend.
This story wrote its entire self in my mind the exact moment that I imagined Sherlock asking John if he could keep him in his pocket xD