John was pleasantly surprised to find the bundle of freshly cleaned and folded sheets on the back of his armchair when he got home from the clinic. He'd asked Sherlock to take care of washing the linens but he hadn't actually expected the man to do it so promptly. He'd anticipated having to nag, plead, cajole, and eventually just do it himself.
He grabbed the bundle and ducked his head into the kitchen, where Sherlock was absorbed in something or other involving his microscope.
"Thanks for this, Sherlock. I really do appreciate it." The world's only consulting detective grunted what could have been acknowledgement, not once looking up from the eyepiece. John smiled to himself and headed up the stairs.
A properly made bed with freshly laundered sheets was something that appealed to both the military man and the doctor in him, and he was looking forward to the routine. He grabbed the bottom sheet and promptly got to work. The sheets were incredibly smooth and smelt lovely - fresh and clean, not a hint of that awful overly chemical floral a lot of products had. He'd have to ask Sherlock what on earth he'd used. His hospital corners were the stuff of legend, and as he finished the bottom sheet he drew back to admire his handiwork. As he reached out for the top sheet, a small piece of paper fluttered out and landed on the floor. Intrigued, John bent to pick it up. "A receipt?" he mused. "What is thi-" his eyes caught the name across the top - UniversalShirt&LaundryService.
"SHERLOCK!" he bellowed, as he started thundering down the stairs. He stomped into the kitchen where his flatmate was still absorbed in whatever revolting thing was trapped between the glass slides of his microscope.
"I need to talk to you!" John's tone was obviously angry, but Sherlock merely waved one hand dismissively while the other continued to fuss with with the scope. "Sherlock! Look at me!" With a resigned sigh, a dark head of hair pulled away and turned towards him. "Can I help you with something, John?"
"What is this?" John held the receipt from the laundry service up.
"You do love asking questions to which you clearly already know the answer, John. It's not a particularly endearing habit."
John took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
"I asked you to do ONE THING, Sherlock. One simple, straightforward task to try to balance out the work involved in keeping this flat somewhat sanitary. You know finances are tight, why couldn't you just have taken them to the launderette?"
Sherlock let out a huge and dramatic sigh, looking at John as if he were some sort of simpleton.
"They're so BORING. Dull people, waiting around for the loads to finish..." he trailed off, one elegant sweep of his hand conveying his distaste for the whole procedure.
"Couldn't you have, I don't know, amused yourself deducing something about the other people? It would have cost us less than a third of what this receipt states. But heaven forbid the almighty Sherlock Holmes bore himself doing soemthing remotely mundane or domestic!"
Sherlock looked up, catching John's gaze and focusing intently. "John, I didn't realize you'd get this upset." The doctor smiled slightly, mollified. "Next time, I'll just let you deal with the hassle, it'll be easier."
"You insufferable git!" John snorted, but noticed Sherlock was smiling in an unnervingly predatory manner.
"Oooorr..." Sherlock drew the word out until it was nearly just a purr in the back of his throat. "I could show you the benefits of having professionally laundered linens at our disposal." He held his hand out and John, despite his better judgement, took it and followed his infuriating lover upstairs.
Afterwards, as they lay sprawled out on the smooth sheets, limbs tangled, John let out a low chuckle.
"You know," he said, stroking one hand across the surface of the bed, fingers just bumping lightly along Sherlock's ribcage. "I think I can see the appeal now. Especially if we're going to be making this much of a mess on them with any regularity."
Sherlock rolled over to face him, looking impossibly smug.
"I'm glad you see it that way. I still find the idea of washing these myself both boring and unpleasant." John laughed again and ruffled Sherlock's curls, mussing them even further. "Besides. I used one of Mycroft's credit cards."