This is my first story! Comments and reviews would be wonderful.
Of course, I don't own any of these characters. Please enjoy!
John did not care for the rain. Not one bit.
He would chase suspects through the streets of London, getting soaked to the bone, barely keeping up with Sherlock, and question why he even solved crimes after all. The rain would make him loose his footing as he leaped from rooftop to rooftop, and he began to question why he bothered to get out of the house. He would become temporarily blinded by the downpour, making it easy for the suspects they were chasing to take a swing at him. He questioned why he even met Sherlock in the first place. They would come back to the flat, John's body aching from exhaustion and bruising. The rain would try to lull him to sleep, but the case was more important. It was always more important.
However, there were days that they had no case. Sherlock would complain about his boredom, which John would always ignore. They would sit in comfortable silence as John would type on his blog. Rain would pour against the windows as he would drink his tea and listen to the violin being played by his flatmate. John and Sherlock would relax to the sound of the rain and crap telly, only to fall asleep after days of casework. They would wake up only discover themselves tangled up with each other. John would remember why he enjoyed solving cases, and why he was glad to have met Sherlock.
John liked the rain on those days. He liked it quite a lot.