John pawed at the air just below the hand hold of the train. Sherlock had decided they needed to take the train for once, in the middle of rush hour.
He could hear soft sniggers behind him as he stretched on tiptoes, desperate to try and remain upright. Who had come up with the brilliant idea of making small hooks, five feet above the ground?
He fell into Sherlock, who was easily holding on.
He glared up at Sherlock, for some help, every though he couldn't really do anything.
Sherlock looked down t him with his infuriating smirk, his blue eyes glittering and... Took the hand hold John was trying to reach.
John's eyes widened with betrayal. Sherlock smiled, satisfied with himself.
John half-pouted, frowning slightly.
Sherlock looked down at his little ball of rage and smiled wider.
As he returned his gaze to look out of the opposite window, he felt movement next to him. Before he could look at John, h felt a hand over the thin material o his shirt.
Usually, he would be clad in a trenchcoat, but with the sweltering summer temperatures, he had abandoned his coat and rolled his sleeves to his elbows.
He snapped his head down to John, who smirked up at him, his hand firmly on Sherlock forearm, using it as a low hand hold.
Sherlock allowed himself to grin, as he looked back out of the window, ignoring the faces of commuters around them.
And if he swayed a little too much into John on the way home, who could blame him?
Sup kids, I will update everything else within a week. Sorry for the shittiness of this, I've been preoccupied, and had writers block.
Hope you are okay and if you are in the UK or Ireland or Wales or Scotland DRINK LOADS OF WATER! I am literally dying over here (random story: we had PE yesterday in the sun, playing cricket and the bloody teacher wouldn't let us get a damn drink for 45 minutes. Or sit down)
Fez
