A/N: For the Anon who wrote "I can swing higher than you."
"BORED!"
John jumped at the shouted exclamation, and half-turned in his seat. "Jesus, Sherlock, what are you on about now? I thought Molly just brought you some new specimens or something?"
Sherlock groaned and flopped onto the couch, wrapping his robe around his body. "She did, but I want to do an experiment on blood coagulation in motion, and I CAN'T because there is simply no way to achieve the type of continuous motion required for optimum results." He closed his mouth, and seemed ready to just lie there for awhile.
John sighed and rubbed his eyes. Of course, what he wanted wouldn't be achievable without Herculean effort, and the last time John had offered his services, he'd been left standing in the sitting room for an hour so he could tell Sherlock how motionlessness affected the blood-flow of a healthy middle-aged man. Or perhaps that was just payback for throwing out the bread mould experiment.
Nevertheless, sharing a room with a pouting Sherlock was never fun. "I'm going to Tesco. We need milk," he muttered, and slipped out the door.
Standing in line with his shopping, the toddler in front of him with his harried-looking mother decided to throw a tantrum, complete with screaming and banging his fists on the floor. "Mikey, Mikey, please," his mother cried over his screams. "Don't do this now, not today..." Her words were lost in his wails, and tears began to stream down his face. "Mikey, if you stop screaming, I'll take you to the park after," she tried, braving his flailing limbs to grab his wrists.
Incredibly, the child stopped wailing. "Promise?" he sniveled.
"Yes, Mikey, I promise. And we can go on the swings, yeah?"
John's eyes widened. Of course! He finished paying for his things- the line had shifted a bit while the toddler screamed- and hurried out. Now he only had to convince Sherlock.
"Come on, Sherlock, just a little bit further-" John rounded the corner, tugging behind him a scowling consulting detective, who clutched in his hands a Styrofoam box which held, among various monitoring equipment, several vials of blood.
John stopped proudly before the empty swing-set and set his hands on his hips. "Continuous motion, right here," he said proudly. He looked over at Sherlock, who now looked almost- nervous. "What, don't tell me you've never swung before?" John's jaw dropped when the detective simply looked at him. He looked from the swings, to Sherlock, then back at the swings. Of course he hadn't. He was Sherlock-bloody-Holmes.
"Right." John marched over, took the box from him, set it on the ground beside the swing-set legs, and led him over to one of the two swings. "Sit."
The detective sat uncertainly, and after a moment, looked up at John. "What is this supposed to do?" John just grinned, stepped around behind him, and gave a shove.
Sherlock flailed and tipped off. "Ow! John..."
"You've got to hold on, you git," John laughed. He got Sherlock re-situated then stood behind him again. "Ready?" And this time, the detective held on tight and went soaring into the air, a look of undisguised glee on his face.
After a few minutes pushing him, John's arms were starting to get tired, so he moved to the other swing. "Now for the next part of the lesson." He showed Sherlock how to kick off, how to flex his legs at the right moment to send himself soaring up and back again.
And then, as John followed the motion of the opposite swing, he heard Sherlock call out a challenge, blood-coagulation-experiment forgotten.
"I can swing higher than you!"
A/N: Okay so this is a tad longer than a drabble, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. :D
