"John."
"Sherlock."
"I'm bored."
"I know." John looked up from the paper. "You've told me a million bloody times this morning."
"Are you sureLestrade doesn't have any cases?" Sherlock asked desperately and again for the millionth time.
"Why don't you text him and ask again?" John suggested.
Sherlock gave a frustrated, almost irritated sigh. He looked up to the other side of the room and John looked back down at the paper in his hands.
"Because my phone is on my desk." He said. "And I'm on the couch."
"Just get up and get it." John responded.
Sherlock got into his 'prayer' position again and stared up at the ceiling. "Busy." He proclaimed.
"Doing what?" John asked, still looking at the paper.
"Thinking."
"Think whileyou get your phone." He proposed.
"But that's boring." Sherlock paused and looked over at John, a hint of a glare on his face. "And you're boring." He looked back to the ceiling. "Go get my phone, John."
"Get your own bloody phone, Sherlock." John answered again, this time looking up and sounding slightly irritated.
Sherlock blinked. "Anderson's getting you a tie for your birthday this year."
John sighed. "My birthday isn't until November." He paused again and looked up at Sherlock. "What does that have to do with anything, anyway?"
Sherlock smirked, still with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I thought we were telling each other things that weren't true."
John rolled his eyes. "Stop trying to be funny." He looked back down at his paper again.
"I wasn't." Sherlock answered. Silence settled in the room. And then, "Get my phone, John."
John looked up once again. He sighed heavily. "What do I get out of it?"
"Out of what?" Sherlock questioned.
"Getting your phone."
Sherlock paused to think, and then smirked ever so slightly. "Exercise."
"I walked to the store to get milk this morning." John countered.
"It took you an hour." Sherlock then retorted.
"The girl at the checkout was nice." John admitted honestly. In the silence that followed, Sherlock looked at John, his eyes almost saying 'please'. John answered with, "Get your phone yourself, Sherlock."
"I told you I was busy." He reiterated in the same fashion as last time.
"Busy thinking." John said dully.
"Yes."
"I'm thinking right now too." John piped up suddenly. "I'm busy as well." He claimed.
Sherlock's face held a slight suggestion of a smirk. "You're not thinking." He said.
"Yes I am." John defended.
Sherlock actually smirked this time. "You're thinking about the cashier's –"
"Leave it, Sherlock." John cut him off.
Sherlock looked back up to the ceiling. John looked back down to the newspaper. Silence fell.
Sherlock again broke the silence. "Now get my phone."
"I'm not getting your phone." John responded, not looking up.
Sherlock studied John's face. "You're thinking about it." He proclaimed.
"No I'm not."
"What else could you be thinking about?" He smirked again. "The cashier?"
John sighed irritably. "I'm thinking you should get up from the couch, get your own bloody phone from your desk and then ask Lestrade yourself if he has any cases." He barked.
"But that's boring." Sherlock responded, his speech even despite John's slightly raised voice.
"It was you who complained first." John retorted.
"It was you who moved in with me." Sherlock countered.
"It was you who offered." The doctor continued.
"It's you who's enjoying this conversation." The consulting said unexpectedly.
John scoffed and looked up at Sherlock. "Excuse me?"
"You find it amusing." He repeated.
John sneered again. "Amusing that you won't get your phone for yourself? Yes. But the fact you want me to get it? No." He said.
A look of concentration crossed Sherlock's face as he examined John again. He then looked back up to the ceiling, his finger tapping on his chin. "No, that's not it." He said.
"What else would I be amused about?" John asked.
Sherlock blinked. "You're amused about me."
"You've never been funny." John chortled.
Sherlock didn't respond. He stared up at the ceiling, still tapping his fingers on his chin. "Do you enjoy my presence, John?" He asked abruptly.
"What?" John responded sharply.
"You heard me." Sherlock said in monotone.
"I did." said John. "But what? What are you implying?" He then asked.
"I simply asked a question." Sherlock responded justly.
"And do you expect me to answer that question?" The doctor asked.
"It would be polite, yes."
John considered this for a moment. He studied Sherlock for a second – he was still gazing at the ceiling – and then the newspaper, and finally the consulting detective again.
"Then yes, Sherlock. I do enjoy your presence." He answered finally.
Sherlock seemed to digest John's answer. He stopped tapping on his chin and rested his fingers there. He closed his eyelids and was silent. John went back to reading the newspaper.
Suddenly he spoke up again, "You can get my phone for me now."
John groaned. "You run around London after criminals but can't bear walking to your desk to get your phone?"
"Chasing criminals isn't boring." Sherlock said.
"And walking to your desk is?" John countered.
"I thought we established this before." The consulting detective counteracted again.
John sighed heavily – he knew he wasn't going to win this argument. "Why are you so difficult?" He asked rhetorically instead.
"Why won't you just get my phone?" Sherlock asked, an irritated tone now ringing in his voice.
"Because it's your phone!" John barked.
"You're closer."
"By one or two steps!" He snapped again.
"It can make a lot of difference."
"Like what?" John scoffed, raising his eyebrows.
"I could fall on the extra two steps and break something." Sherlock responded.
John threw his hands in the air. "Now you're being pathetic." He paused and got up from where he was sitting. He put one hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair, looking at the detective sprawled out on the sofa. "I just don't understand why you want me to get your phone when you were the one who wanted a case in the first place!" He said.
"I've told you twice now that I'm busy." Sherlock responded in monotone.
"Thinking." John said.
"Yes."
John ran both hands down his face. He then looked over to Sherlock's desk, where the Blackberry was sitting screen-down. "Okay, you know what." He said. He stomped over, snatched the phone from the desk and threw it back to Sherlock. "Here's your bloody phone." It landed on the detective's stomach and he jumped, having had his eyes closed. "Happynow?" John then asked.
Sherlock grabbed the phone with his eyes still closed. "Yes. Thank you, John."
John sat back down in the chair heavily. He didn't bother picking up the newspaper again. He instead watched Sherlock, who was now furiously texting to who John hoped was Lestrade.
In the taut silence, a thought suddenly washed over the doctor, although he was afraid to voice it to the consulting detective.
"Sherlock." John said a little too loudly, having built up the courage to voice his thoughts.
"Mmph?" Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat, still solely focused on texting. He didn't look up.
John licked his lips. "Do you appreciate my presence?"
Sherlock looked up from the text he was currently typing and examined John rather thoroughly. The phone remained in his hand, but the calculating look was clearly present in his eyes.
After a long moment a silence the detective ultimately smiled slightly and said, "Yes."