Chapter 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, I wish, but I don't.
"What the hell are you wearing?" John Watson blurted out. Actually, the phrase "not wearing" would've been more accurate,
"My dressing gown?" Sherlock said, her slender hands clasped underneath her chin.
"Put some proper clothes on, please." John pleaded, trying to avoid his eyes but failing quite spectacularly,
"Why?" Sherlock said, and stood up so she's facing John, "Does it bother you?"
She smiled, there is surely some logical explanation for her smile, for all he knows, it could be an psychological experiment of some sort, probably titled: How long it takes to drive John Watson mad. John studied Sherlock, her dressing gown is untied, exposing pajama pants and a lacy bra, her dark curls a mess, sprawling all over the place, the end just brushing her shoulders. After standing there staring at John for a minute, she abruptly tied her robe together and turned around to look at her phone.
"We're going out today," She announced after some rapid typing, "Lestrade's got some interesting cases."
A few minutes later, they are seated in the back of a black cab that seems attracted to Sherlock like flies to honey, seriously, when is it that easy to hail a cab in London? They arrived at a place which John has never heard about and Sherlock had memorized the map, population, and general information of. The delightful Sally Donovon greeted them at the gate with a sneer,
"Hello, Freak and companion."
"Good morning Sally," Sherlock said, "Had a nice night at Anderson's? His wife's nail polish looks excellent on you."
And the even more delightful Anderson appeared,
"Now freak, this is a crime scene, I don't want it contaminated,"
"Already is," Sherlock whistled, "Your forensic skills have not improved, I see. You had just accidentally smudged up two complete fingerprints which made the only print available a partial one, shame on you, Anderson."
John suppressed a laugh while Sherlock smiled smugly, the two delightful members of the police force stood there blinking, trying to come up with a good comeback but to no avail.
"Freak's here!" Sally shouted at Lestrade, who had appeared by their side,
"Two minutes, Sherlock." He said, slipping on his latex gloves, "I need all you've got."
"No problem."
Sitting sprawled on the sofa, was the victim with his mouth wide open for some reason. The cause of the death was poison, judging by the smell coming from the mouth. Sherlock shuffled around the room, producing her small magnifying glass and examined the whole room, then took out a miniature tape measure, and measured distances only she can see.
"We're done, let's go home." She abruptly said, and turned with a swish of her coat out of the room,
"Wait up, Sherlock!" Lestrade shouted, "Who's the killer?"
"Come by 221B later this evening, I will know by then." Sherlock replied, sticking her head back in through the door, then motioned for John to quit messing about and follow her.
Mrs. Hudson opened the door for Lestrade, and she told him that he can just come up if he wants.
"They are both home, they are quite exhausted, I have no idea what tired them out. I think that they are grabbing a quick nap."
They ascended the stairs together, and Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door softly,
"John? Sherlock?" she called, but no response came, "Why don't you go in, make yourself at home. I have to go somewhere."
"Um.. Sure." Lestrade said uncertainly, and watched the landlady disappear down the stairs. He raised his fist to knock harder but no response came, he decided to not invade their privacy and took out his phone to call Sherlock.
Lestrade can hear the phone ringing through the door, and heard some mumblings,
"Move, John."
"Sherlock... I'm comfortable!"
"My phone, where is my phone?"
"How would I know?"
"It's Lestrade, can't be anyone else, maybe he's got another case. Move, John!"
"No way."
After deciding that he can safely open the door now, Lestrade did just so and the sight that greeted him was not one that he expected. John Watson is lying on the couch, that was surprising, since it's usually Sherlock who is sprawled on it. And the aforementioned women has her knees on both side of Dr. Watson's hips, straddling him while reaching over his head to look under his cushion, presumably for her phone.
Lestrade coughed and they both looked up, Sherlock continued to look for her phone, while John realized how provocative their position was. He tried to sit up but was stopped by Sherlock's torso bending over his head, her bosom uncomfortably close to his face, the buttons on her purple blouse straining.
"Um... Sherlock?" Lestrade said uncomfortably,
"Oh, the murderer is his neighbor, the dentist. He convinced him that he is going to check on him and gave him the poison with the injection."
"Oh, thanks."
"Sherlock, excuse me." John said, his face slowly growing redder as Sherlock shifted her hips to look for her phone better.
"Finally you move." she said, and climbed off him. John thanked god that she was not wearing her short pencil skirt today, and joined Lestrade to stand and observe the detective's search for her missing mobile phone, which had stopped ringing.
"I swear, there is nothing between us, we are just flatmates." John said, acknowledging the detective inspector's questioning gaze, and Lestrade's already arched eyebrows disappeared into his hair.
What do you think, review!
If you have any suggestions for any kind of Sherlock fanfics, let me know.