Title: A Huffy Treat
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating: PG
Summary: Sherlock is quite huffy after a case-gone-wrong and John is sick of him acting like a child. So, he does the only thing he can think of to cheer him up.

It's really been a long day, I have to admit. We've been all around London, chasing and coming down to nothing. The case wasn't murder, it wasn't even torture or kidnapping, merely a fake missing person put out to frighten the girl's mother as some sort of prank. Of course, they were arrested, but we have just spent the past two nights running around London trying to find "a damn motive!" as Sherlock called it. And, actually, he seems surprisingly okay for all we put up with these past two days. I'd expected him to be in more of a huff.
…

Scratch that, I just heard something crash downstairs and a yell. I suppose this is the end of my blog entry for the day.

John pushed away from the computer, looking warily out the door of his room. He knew he had to get up and check on Sherlock. He was delaying the inevitable.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and stared. Sherlock was lying face-down on the floor, arms resting on the floor above his head, and his whole body looking relaxed - and the living room was a disaster. John pressed his lips together before clearing his throat.
"Sherlock," he began, but Sherlock suddenly thrashed around on the floor, kicking and pounding his fists on the hard surface with screams through his closed mouth. John stood in shock for a second before he became annoyed. "I know you're upset, but that's no reason to throw a fit and act like a three year old!"
Sherlock stopped suddenly. He paused, then shoved himself up so he was sitting cross-legged and looking - no, not looking - glowering up at John.
"I'm not acting like a three year old," he huffed, trying to sneer, but pouting angrily instead.
John pressed his lips together, seemingly making a decision.
"Right. Get up, Sherlock. You're coming with me somewhere."
"What? No! I'm staying here. You go, I'll stay here."
His arms were crossed now, he was glaring at the floor, and you could see the huffiness in the air around him. John restrained himself from rolling his eyes and leaned forward, grabbing Sherlock's arms and yanking him up. Sherlock was so shocked that he obeyed, but immediately regretted it.
"I'm not going, John," he snapped. John gave a grim smile.
"Yes, Sherlock, you are," his military practice gave him a good voice of authority at just the right times. It almost always worked with Sherlock. "You're coming with me, and I promise you won't regret it."
Sherlock glared down at John, who was still holding his wrists tightly in his hands, but not enough to hurt.
"Please, Sherlock?"
He seemed to melt a little, his expression softening and his lip going out more, making his pout seem more mopey than huffy.
"John, I don't want to leave the flat… Life's too annoying out there," Sherlock was finally acting more like an adult. John gave a small, but slightly annoyed, smile.
"What if it's only for a few minutes? Just a cab ride away, Sherlock. No running around London, no case, no annoying people we have to deal with…" Sherlock gave a dramatic sigh.
"Fine! If we must."
"Oh, we must."

Sherlock wouldn't stop badgering John the whole way there.
"Sherlock, would you just be patient?"
"I would appreciate to know where we are going, John. I have not seen this route before."
"Of course you haven't," John sighed. Sherlock gave him a sharp look.
"What does that mean, John? Where are you taking me?"
"I'm not telling you,Sherlock." Sherlock gave a huff and crossed his arms, glaring out the window. The cabbie looked in the mirror wearily, obviously wondering why such a mature-seeming man was acting so childish.

And when they reached the place, Sherlock didn't even consider it was where they were actually going.
"Is it the electronics store, then, John? The new market? Are you making me go shopping for you, is that it?"
John gave a sigh and pulled Sherlock into the ice cream parlor, much to his surprise.
He stood and watched in silent shock while John ordered them cones. He didn't bother asking Sherlock what he would like - he knew what flavors Sherlock preferred, from the small amount of food he consumed. He must pay a lot of attention to it.
It wasn't until they were back in the cab, the cone placed into Sherlock's hands carefully, when Sherlock spoke up.
"Ice cream?"
John looked over at him.
"Yeah."
"Why?" John frowned thoughtfully.
"I dunno, it cheers people up most of the time. I figured it couldn't hurt. I've never seen you have any, anyway, and I figured it would be a nice treat."
A smile tugged at Sherlock's lips and he began licking his ice cream so it wouldn't drip all over the place.
A smile fixed itself on John's face as he happily joined him in eating.

(AN: I think I might continue, but I'm not sure. Should it end all sweet and simple like that? Thoughts?)