Disclaimer: I do not own any of the BBC Sherlock characters or ideas, nor do I own any of the characters/ideas of the original Sherlock Holmes stories by SIr Arthur Conan Doyle.
"Hey, Sherlock, I'm doing a load of laundry, do you want me to throw any of your things in?" John called across the flat.
Sherlock didn't even hear him, as he was in the living room busy composing his own piece of music on his violin.
John shrugged and opened Sherlock's door, taking the first few steps into the room cautiously. (You could never be too sure with Sherlock. He could have the whole room booby trapped.)
When nothing jumped out at him, or fell on his head, or set off an alarm, he proceeded with more confidence.
As Sherlock's music drifted through the house, John checked around Sherlock's room for any stray dirty laundry. Finding none, he crossed the room to the closet, but upon opening it, he stopped dead.
There, on the floor of Sherlock's closet was a pile of neatly folded jumpers. A large pile. John's jumpers.
John stared in shock, and picked up the jumper from the top of the pile.
The violin music paused, and John called across the flat quickly. "Sherlock! Why is there a massive pile of my jumpers in your closet? I've been looking for them for ages!"
There was a silence, and then a loud crash.
"No, John, don't touch them it's evidence THEY'RE MINE DON'T TOUCH!" Sherlock shouted, ad John heard a loud thumping down the hallway, getting closer- Sherlock was running to his room.
Sherlock burst into his room, barreling towards John. He was airborne for a split second, then he was crashing into John, the both of them tumbling and flailing wildly as they fell to the floor.
"Ow!" John yelped as Sherlock landed on top of him, immediately trying to wrestle the jumper from John's grasp.
"Sherlock, what are you-"
"Give! Me! The! Jumper, John!" Sherlock straddled John, and John flushed pink, the jumper slipping from his grasp.
Sherlock beamed at his prize, then scowled at John. He rolled off of him, then pulled John to his feet.
He began pushing him from the room, jumper still in hand.
"Sherlock, what-"
"Get out, John!"
"Well can I at least have my-"
"No, John, get out!"
"Sherlock! You're being-"
"GoodbyeΒΈ John!"
And Sherlock slammed the door shut, leaving a very bewildered John standing in the hallway, rubbing the back of his head where he had hit it on the floor, staring at Sherlock's door in confusion.
He shook his head and muttered, "What the hell was that about?" and shuffled off to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.
A/N: Sorry this was so short. It's late, and this was just a quick little oneshot idea that my friend and I discussed, and I threw into fanfiction form. Either way, I hope you enjoyed it. :3
