FF - Sherlock
Flirt
Warnings : Awkward sociopaths.
Characters : Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson
Summary : John Watson enjoys affection. It was a simple fact that Sherlock had deduced from watching him.
A/N : John hits on every person he meets. He does. He really does.
John liked affection.
It was a simple fact that Sherlock had deduced from watching him. Not so complicated and so obvious that it should have been dull to him, but he was oddly intrigued.
John never mentioned his parents. Harry was an occasional mention, most likely a slip of the tongue, or maybe John just didn't care enough to pretend to hide her existence. A little unlike his relationship with Mycroft. His parents were a different story. Sherlock had asked him outright the other day, inquiring casually from behind his papers.
John had smiled wryly and answered that they were dead.
Death was a surprisingly subjective concept. Sherlock considered his own father dead despite knowing the wretched man still walked the Earth. Russia, to be exact. Mycroft liked to keep track and made it a point to let Sherlock know, for some reason. He really didn't care.
Back to John. Sherlock didn't understand John's need for affection. But he had seen him doing that thing known as flirting. It wasn't the first time.
John hit on almost every person he met. Man or woman. Sherlock supposed that he himself might have been hit on as well, at some point in time.
Sherlock's mind traveled to the basics of psychology. Clearly, John was attempting to make up for the lack of love in his life, despite it being a rather unconscious response. Personally, Sherlock found it rather unnecessary. He didn't get all that love people usually received either, but he didn't desperately clamber for it.
He thought that he might have been a bit too harsh in his thoughts.
When John left the house for work that day, Sherlock pulled out his laptop and brought up the Google homepage.
"How to show affection."
Probably an appropriate time for him to feel shame at having to search that, but such trivialities never occurred to him. He told himself he was only doing this because the tea that John made that morning tasted particularly well brewed. Nothing more. And maybe he was a little bored.
Stupid. Sherlock scolded himself. Only fools attempted to make justifications for their own actions.
John returned that evening to find Sherlock sprawled across the sofa lifelessly. He must not have moved at all since he left earlier, John mused.
Sherlock suddenly sat upright, eyes fixed on John. "Evening."
It was a tone too polite by Sherlock's standards, but John dismissed it as another one of Sherlock's oddness.
"Evening to you too." John waved a lazy hand and slumped on a nearby seater. It had been a long day at the clinic, and he was exhausted. Nothing new. He closed his eyes for a moment of rest.
Something, or someone, placed their entire weight on him awkwardly.
His eyes snapped open in shock.
"Sherlock?"
Black eyes stared at him grumpily in response.
John raised an eyebrow. "Is this another one of your strange experiments?"
"It's called a hug. Appreciate it." Sherlock's voice was oddly muffled.
John paused, before bursting into light laughter. "Sometimes, Sherlock, I really don't know what to make of you."
Sherlock decided that the hearty laughter under the chest that his head rested on didn't feel uncomfortable at all.