AN/ Hey folks, guess who's back already? I know- I think two days has to be the record shortest time I've gone without posting. I'm quite proud of myself. XD
Anyway, here's a little oneshot that's bee floating around my mind for a little bit. Johnlock if you squint, I guess, but mostly just their regular ultra-close friendship. Let me know what you think!
I do not own BBC Sherlock or its characters- I just enjoy borrowing them from time to time for my own entertainment.
Nest
Ah, Sunday. A day of rest and relaxation after a busy week of long hospital shifts and patients and investigations and wild chases across London. Of course, at 221B 'rest and relaxation' translates to tidying up the chaos that had accumulated in the flat over the past week, a rule set in place by Mrs. Hudson (and enthusiastically seconded by myself) after a misplaced and subsequently paper-buried limb went undiscovered for nearly a month and rotted so badly we had to air out the parlor for a week and a half. While Sherlock was sorting through his experiments in the kitchen, bagging finished ones and setting aside those that were still incomplete, I gather stray bits of laundry to throw into Mrs. Hudson's washer downstairs, stealing my flat mate's dressing gown (which had taken on a strange hue, clearly in dire need of cleaning) on my way past him.
With one load washing and another tumbling in the dryer, I return to the kitchen to peer over Sherlock's shoulder into the fridge; while now mostly empty of stray body parts and other unidentifiable creatures, it was also noticeably lacking in the edible food department, which brings a slight grimace to my face. Asda on a Sunday afternoon. Brilliant. I'll be gone for hours.
"Sherlock, I'm going to need to make a grocery run if we're to make it through this next snow storm. Can you take care of the laundry while I'm gone? At least bring the clothes up from the dryer and try to fold some of it?" His only response is an irritated sigh, as much of an agreement I was going to get, and I grin, resting a hand on his arm in silent thanks- and then frowning deeply at the chill of his bare skin. "Christ, 'lock, you're freezing!" I chafe my palms along his biceps in an attempt to spark some warmth, ignoring the mild glare he was throwing over his shoulder at me in response to my jostling.
"I'm aware, John. You're the one who decided to snatch my robe while the temperature is below freezing." I groan slightly, wrapping my arms around him briefly in a futile attempt to lend him some of my warmth, before heading to grab my jacket.
"Go put one of my jumpers on, you git- I'd rather not return to an ice cube as a flat mate. I'll be back as soon as I can- please don't forget the laundry." He gives me a noncommittal noise, already padding across the flat to his room where I knew he had one of my warmest jumpers stashed away, and I sigh, pulling the door to the flat closed behind me.
Several hours and a long, cold walk home (laden down with bags of food) later, I finally shut the door to 221 behind me with a sigh of relief. Shaking as much of the snow that had collected in my hair and on my shoulders off as possible and calling a brief hello to our landlady, I take the stairs quickly, looking forward to changing into something dry and huddling under a blanket for a while. Perhaps attempt to get the fireplace working... I muse to myself as I nudge our door open, heading straight into the kitchen to deposit my heavy load before turning to observe to rest of the flat in search of my eccentric friend- only to spot a small mountain of laundry piled on one end of our couch, capped with a familiar mop of dark, curly hair. It takes me a moment to figure out exactly what I was looking at, and when it clicks, I chuckle in spite of myself. "Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing?" The mound shifts precariously for a moment before a pair of ice blue eyes appear above what looks like the sleeve of one of my shirts.
"I was cold. Your jumper wasn't enough. I retrieved the clothes from the dryer like you asked. They were warm. So I built myself a nest." The unspoken 'obvious' is clear in his voice, and he burrows back into the pile with an air of finality. I find myself just shaking my head in a mix of amusement and incomprehension of the wonder that is Sherlock Holmes, shedding my soaked jacket and putting the groceries away before grabbing a pair of pajama bottoms from his cocoon and heading up to my room to change. He hasn't moved by the time I return to the lounge, so I make both of us tea before settling on the couch beside him, throwing a blanket across my legs and pressing close to the still-warm pile of clean clothes. "When you're done incubating, 'lock, I'll call for dinner." He hums in response, and I suddenly find myself pulled half way into his nest as an arm slides out and wraps itself around my waist.
"Not incubating. Defrosting. And you clearly need to also, judging by slight blue tinge to your nose and fingers. Dinner can wait." I allow myself to be pulled fully into the mountain, the sorry state of the laundry a passing thought before I make myself comfortable between the warmth of the clothes surrounding me and the body heat radiating off of the man beside me.
AN/ Again, reviews are appreciated and welcome and loved!
As always, with love,
~Spain