I should know by now: If the internet cuts out and I've read all the fic opened in tabs, I have to write my own fluff if I really want some. Again, I dono why I'm posting it on here. I think I just love sharing my whole life with you guys.
The sky was rumbling, pushing a peaceful feeling through the flat of 221b. Everything was quiet, but for the weather.
Quiet, but far from calm.
Sherlock was sulking. Curled up on the couch and wrapped together tightly, switching from glaring at John, glaring at the floor, and squeezing his eyes shut tight.
John gave a sigh, nearly smiling.
"This is your own fault, you know."
The glare that came next was only for John and looked at if it could have set his hair on fire. John shook his head with a nearly happy expression.
"Your fault," he stated again. Sherlock gave a huff through clenched teeth, clutching himself tighter together, knees hugged up to his chest and bending his head to touch his knees.
John's smile turned sympathetic and he got up to make some tea.
When he came back, Sherlock was muttering darkly to himself. John set the tea down in front of him and he looked up, then nearly hissed at it. John looked startled.
"Really, now, Sherlock! It's just tea. It'll help!" John watched Sherlock stare at the mug intently for a second before sighing and sitting himself down on the floor to be level with Sherlock. Sherlock looked at him instead. Through his glare, he was nearly pouting like a child. John smiled again.
"Stop that! It's not funny," Sherlock huffed, eyes narrowing and arms hugging himself closer. John shook his head.
"I don't think it's funny. I think you need to let me help."
"It's your fault to begin with!"
"No, Sherlock, it's yours," John said, shaking his head.
"I didn't ask to be fed, John," Sherlock hissed quietly.
"And I didn't force you to eat as much as you did, Sherlock. I just asked you to eat."
"You didn't ask, you guilt tripped me into it."
"In any case, Sherlock, it's your own fault you ate too much and this tea really should help. It's peppermint," John said in a very slightly sing-song voice before pushing the mug closer. Sherlock glared at it. "Please?"
Sherlock was still for a few long moments before unfolding himself and sitting up, wincing. He picked up the mug and sipped at it, nearly whimpering at the pain in his stomach.
"Does this always happen when you finally sit down to eat?" John asked in a worried tone, a frown traced through his features as he pushed himself up and sat next to Sherlock. Sherlock watched him sit down with a glaring eye.
"No," he replied, taking a bigger sip of the tea and shifting away from John slightly. "Only when it's made that well."
John's smile might have been blinding, but Sherlock wouldn't know. He wasn't looking; he was angry. He was meaning it to be an insult, not a compliment, but he knew John would take it as both.
"That should start working soon, but it may not work right away," was John's only reply. Sherlock couldn't resist a content sigh. It was helping.
"Thank you, John." Sherlock risked a look over. John's smile wasn't blinding. His smile was loving.
Written from personal experience, because my belly hurts right now :c
It might be from the bus, but I think it's because I was overjoyed at having real food to bring with me and I may have eaten too much of it all at once... :'c