Hello sweeties!
This is just a bit of fluffy Johnlock, but I was in the mood to write something light-hearted and sweet. I do hope you like it. :3
"WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES!"
Sherlock winced in his chair at the bellowing sound of his companion's voice echoing throughout the flat.
There were only a handful of times that Sherlock could count in which his full name had been shouted at him in such a manner. And, statistically, he knew that this time wouldn't be any cheerier.
Slowly, he stood up and began to slink away into the kitchen, hoping to escape through the door by the dining table. His long strides nearly got him through, but not before he was stopped in his tracks by the commanding sound of John clearing his throat behind him.
"Where do you think you're going?" John asked him, his voice reverting back to a much quieter state.
But for some reason, this tone of voice was so much more unsettling than the one that John had previously used. Sherlock supposed it was due the unnatural calmness that seemed to associate itself with it.
"I have a case," Sherlock lied, his vocal chords barely allowing him to make a sound.
"Not right now, you don't," John snapped.
Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning around to face the wrath of his partner.
"What ever is the matter, John?" he asked, seemingly unconcerned with the consequences of whatever he'd done this time. In reality, his heart was practically beating out of his chest. But that was due in part to John being only in his bath robe, soaking wet from showering.
"I was showering," John said, "And was rather enjoying myself after a long day at work, when suddenly, a bloody snake, in place of my loofah, decided to uncoil itself and start climbing up my arm!" He balled his fists. "I don't know what the hell kind of snake it was, but I threw it against the back wall of my shower and now it's happily slithering around. God knows where it's at right now."
Sherlock's eyes widened as memories began flooding over him.
"Oh. Right. I forgot to tell you; we have a pet snake now."
John gritted his teeth.
"When the hell did you get us a snake?"
"It belonged to a dead man who happened to be the subject of a recent investigation I gladly took part in. I decided to take it home because it was alone."
"What's the matter with a normal pet? You know, like a dog? Dogs need homes too, you know."
"I should have told you," Sherlock admitted.
"Sherlock, it was in my shower. It touched me. While I was naked. The only time I'm ever okay with anything touching me naked is if it's my clothing, a towel, or you." John shivered. "And you know I hate snakes!"
"I suffer from arachnophobia, yet that doesn't stop you from chasing me round the flat with one of those creatures safely preserved in a glass," Sherlock retorted.
"At least I never let them touch you! Jesus Christ..." John shuddered again, twitching as he remembered the sensation of having a scaly reptile crawling up the length of his arm.
"I am sorry," Sherlock said. "I have been meaning to purchase a cage for Sherrinford."
"What the hell kind of a name is 'Sherrinford' for a snake?" John asked. "Correction: what the hell kind of a name is 'Sherrinford'?"
"My mother's baby book," Sherlock muttered.
"You don't mean she actually considered naming you that?"
Sherlock blushed.
"That's great," John snorted. "That's actually really fantastic."
"Shut up," Sherlock told him. "It, thankfully, isn't my name. It's the snake's." He crossed his arms. "I call him Sherrin for short."
"Get him out of the flat," John commanded. "Right now."
"I shall do no such thing. I have taken quite a liking to him and have no wish to throw him out."
"Mrs. Hudson won't stand for it."
"I don't care."
"Where the hell are you going to put it?"
"I was thinking I would put him in our bedroom."
"You do that and I'm sleeping on the couch," John threatened.
"Whatever you feel might be necessary," Sherlock said.
With an angry glare, John turned on his heel and marched into the sitting room.
"John, I was only joking," Sherlock reassured him as he followed him. "Don't be angry."
The doctor huffed and sat himself down on the couch, crossing his arms and his legs grumpily.
"John..." Sherlock cooed.
John remained stoic, staring at the floor with a fixed expression. He felt the sofa cushion sink next to him as his companion sat down beside him.
"Come now, John, don't be so dramatic."
"I'm not being dramatic," John insisted. "I'm being reasonable."
"Over-emotional," Sherlock corrected.
"I think I'm rightfully pissed about the fact that my boyfriend would choose a cold-blooded reptile over me."
"You know that's not true," Sherlock said. "If you recall, I never once rang Moriarty, though I had ample opportunity."
"And I suppose I'm still second to him?" John grumbled.
"Never," Sherlock smiled.
He went in to kiss John on the cheek.
"No," John told him, trying to scoot away. "Don't do that. I'm trying to be mad at you right now."
Grinning, Sherlock wrapped his arms around his partner and kissed him on the temple, earning giggles from the man.
"Piss off!" John laughed. "Let me be angry!"
"You can't be cross with me. You love me far too much," Sherlock teased.
John managed to turn himself around in the detective's tight embrace and placed his hands on his chest to keep him at bay.
"Want to bet?" he challenged.
Sherlock gazed longingly at the man in his arms.
"I've never really been the gambling type."
"Too bad. You've already thrown your chips in," John said. "The dice are rolling..." He smirked up at the detective. "Beginner's luck."
And he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, allowing him to easily pull the taller man down to his lips and exchange a passionate kiss.