I took a slight detour yesterday from my Winter's Tale writing to write the tickle war fic that Mia had been talking about on tumblr. Basically, I'm putting it up now because I'm a ding bat that forgot to do it yesterday.

John stumbled down the stairs, making as much noise as he possible could. Sherlock had kept him up all night doing god knows what in his room that required making a horrendous amount of noise. It was a miracle the neighbors didn't come over to complain. Yet, anyway. The git didn't deserve a full night's sleep for robbing him of his.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and made his way into the kitchen to set the kettle on. John crossed his arms as he relaxed against the kitchen counter, pointedly keeping his gaze away from the water set to boil next to him. The sound of steps came resounding from the stairway and John scowled. Dealing with Sherlock at six in the morning was the least thing he'd wanted to do. Hell, he didn't want to deal with his flat mate at all today.

Thankfully, Sherlock didn't come in the kitchen and took a seat on the couch or on his chair, John assumed. The fog of sleep was barely lifting and he didn't have the energy to process where exactly his flat mate was. John let his eyes flutter shut while he stood and waited for the eminent sound of the kettle's yelling to bring him back.

Unfortunately, the baritone voice of Sherlock entering the room was the first sound that brought John back to reality and his frown deepened. Sherlock stood at the doorway of the kitchen, clad in his pajamas and dressing gown. He made no movement towards John but continued to flick his gaze around the room like he always does when he wants to ask something that he's unsure of the answer too. Most likely an experiment. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but the kettle sounded off first, thankfully buying John a few more seconds of time of this blissfully snarkless morning.

With two cuppas poured and properly embellished, John turned back to the scruffy haired man currently watching his movements. He held out one of the cups to Sherlock and awaited the unavoidable question.

Sherlock stood silent, though, casually drinking his tea like it was normal for him to look so pensive and unsure of himself. John held out until his cuppa was gone and set it back down in the sink before addressing his flat mate.

"Just ask it already." He spat.

The other man blinked at him blankly before firing off his questions.

"All right then. Well, question number one would obviously be if you're mad about the noise last night." Sherlock said, mock concern lining his words.

John's half smiled in reward for the half attempt at his flat mate's attempt. That was probably the best he was going to get out of him.

"Yes, it did. Next question?"

Sherlock turned his gaze somewhere behind John, a ghost of pink beginning to paint his cheeks.

"I was going to ask if you'd help me with an experiment."

John narrowed his eyes. Of course. An experiment. Because finishing one last night wasn't enough and automatically prompted another.

"What does this one entail?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Nothing you wouldn't consent to."

John raised his eyebrows at him. "My version of consent or yours, because your version of consent involves asking me when I'm not home and saying that it's not my fault I wasn't here to agree to be drugged."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Are we still on this again? It was one time, John."

"Shall I even bring up Baskerville?"

His flat mate let out a pained sigh and shook his head. "It's fine if you don't want to do it. I can find someone else."

John made sure his face was blank before responding. Yes, he was very pissed that Sherlock's version of consent was iffy at best, but the man knew how to peak his curiosity. "Sherlock, I'll help you, but only if you tell me what I'm supposed to do for the experiment."

Sherlock looked at him, eyes scanning for any tell of John's current state. "It entails an analysis of the sensitivity of the epidermis. You can keep your clothes on, but it'd be more helpful if you had less so I don't have to calculate in the variables of different fabrics. I will subject you to different materials and observe for a reaction."

"Right…so, you're going to…tickle me? Is that what you're asking?"

John had to try hard to keep a straight face. Tickling? For an experiment? Sherlock tickling? At least this one doesn't involve anything along the lines of the precise balance of drugs to effectively knock him out for half an hour. Sherlock gave him a pained but serious expression before responding.

"I'd appreciate it if you could keep yourself under control, John. Yes, in modern slang it would be considered 'tickling'. It's for a case."

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips. A case? How stupid did he think he was? Sherlock huffed and turned, but John caught him by the sleeve of the dressing gown.

"I'll do it."

Sherlock smiled deviously at him. "Good. Be ready in five minutes." With that, he left, gown flying behind him in place of his usual coat. John stood at the doorway processing what just went down between them. Sherlock asked him to help with an experiment. That's fine. He'd ask to tickle him. That was…less fine, but still all right. Then he'd smiled so…maliciously. That was a bit unsettling, but no harm, he supposed.

John trudged his back into the living room in time to see Sherlock setting up a notebook with illegible marks. He cleared his throat and his flat mate looked up at him. "Are you ready?"

No.

"Let's get this over with." John conceded.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Try to stay positive, John."

"Said the most cynical man I know."

"Well, we can't both be cynical."

John chuckled at Sherlock's banter. It was almost calming. Almost.

"Stay still, John. I'm going to, for lack of a better phrase, tickle you in highly sensitive areas first and record the results."

Sherlock moved closer to John and began tickling him under his arms. John giggled a little at the sensitive flutter, but did his best not to move. He was positive his flat mate wasn't going to find his weak spot. Sherlock moved his fingers from the armpit to dance over John's sides. John squealed, revealing one of his weak spots. He'd expected the other man to quickly run to record the results, but instead, Sherlock double the intensity of his tickling, sending John into multitudes of chortling.

"You did this on purpose, Sherlock. This means war."

John removed his grip on Sherlock's forearm and brought it under his arms to tickle through the cotton shirt. Sherlock let out a surprised squeak and stopped his attack, allowing him to overtake the taller man and tackle him to the ground. John straddled his flat mate and let loose his best attack, moving his fingers from under the arms, down the sides, and quickly to the bottoms of Sherlock's feet. Sherlock squirmed, flailing his arms and cackling.

He'd never thought it possible someone could actually cackle in the full sense of the word and let his guard slip. Bad move, as Sherlock instantly over took the smaller man and pinned him to the carpet with his enormous legs. Sherlock blew raspberries into John's neck while nuzzling his nose into the crook and tickling near his ribs. John chortled, legs spasming in all directions as he struggled to fight back.

Their laughter mixed together in a light hearted dance and filled the living room. He was glad he'd said yes to this experiment, even though it wasn't a true experiment.

John stilled as he felt Sherlock on top of him. Well, as he felt Sherlock's boner poking into his abdomen. His flat mate stilled on top of him as well, realizing the effects their tickling had caused and how his body had betrayed him. Pink spread from the tip of his nose to his ears, as Sherlock moved off of John and allowed him to get up. John smiled loosely at him.

"It's all fine, Sherlock. It's a normal human reaction. Everyone gets them. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Sherlock stared at John as a deer stares at oncoming traffic. For some reason, he found it unbelievably endearing. John sighed and sat down next to his flat mate.

"It's fine, Sherlock. It's all fine."

"You're not-"

"No, don't go down that line, Sherlock Holmes. I didn't mind. I mean, I don't mind. It's all fine. You should probably do something about that though." He motioned towards the tent in Sherlock's pajama bottoms.

Sherlock continued to stare at him. "Should I?"

"Want me to help?"

A smile spread across his flat mate's face. John watched as Sherlock contemplated the offer, taking longer than necessary as to extend the playfulness.

"If you insist."