Sherlock Holmes was once again, hunched over himself, staring in deep concentration at the wall, gun in hand. Dr. John Watson observed from the flat's kitchen. As John poured boiling tea in the ceramic glass, he looked over at Sherlock and noticed he was scratching the back of his head with his gun. John was always nervous whenever Sherlock did that. He was afraid he was going to accidentally shoot himself, but he knew he wouldn't as well.
"Black. Two sugars. Leave the spoon in," Sherlock piped up after a long silence.
"I was making tea, not coffee," John stammered.
"Well, you will be now," Sherlock said with a monotone voice, then repeated his order, "Black. Two sugars. Leave the spoon."
John sighed as he brought out another pot and began grinding coffee beans. His right leg ached as he bent down to retrieve his items. Footsteps were heard coming up the stairs outside their open front doorway. The steps would most likely be Mrs. Hudson, and the two men were right.
Without looking Sherlock called out, "Good morning, Mrs. Hudson. Did you find everything you need at the grocery shop?" He quickly put his gun within a wooden box, hidden away from Mrs. Hudson's sight. He knew how upset Mrs. Hudson became at the sight of guns, especially after he went on a shooting spree when he became bored and started firing at the wall. After all, he was bored.
"Oh Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson began as she put grocery bags on their kitchen table, "How'd you know I went to the grocery shop?"
Without hesitation, Sherlock answered, "I heard your bags. Let me guess, eggs, flour, and sugar were the important items. I heard the polystyrene foam egg container rubbing against the paper bags of the flour, sugar and the grocery bag itself."
"Poly?" Mrs. Hudson tried to repeat.
"Styrofoam," Sherlock explained quickly.
"Brilliant, you are," John murmured quietly to himself.
"Thank you," Sherlock smirked.
John smirked as well as he continued with the tea and coffee, "Mrs. Hudson, would you like a cuppa?"
"Oh no, John," she put some canned goods on the kitchen counter, "I have to go start baking for the bake sale tomorrow! All proceeds go to the local shelter and there's even a competition for best taste and best decoration! Oh, I hope I win at least one this year!"
"Well, good luck," John smiled at Mrs. Hudson as she grabbed her bags and left to her flat.
As soon as Mrs. Hudson was out of ear-shot, Sherlock announced, "She's going to come in second place again this year…" he furrowed his brows in concentration, "in the decorating competition."
John dropped down the two cups sternly, "And how do you know this?"
"Because she does every year, and I said two sugars, not three," Sherlock immediately got up from his crouching position, walked over the coffee table, and glided into the kitchen to pour his cuppa down the drain. He decided to make his own cuppa the correct way. John looked up at the ceiling and sighed as Sherlock took over the coffee and tea making. He always does this, John thought.
John watched as Sherlock observed the crime scene. What Sherlock did was always amazing as he could pin point any sort of information needed within a quick glance. However, you had to listen to him closely and intently as he rambled with his monotone voice in a long monologue.
"…and that's how the killer managed to get the suitcase all the way over to Liverpool without it going off," Sherlock finished.
As the investigators were shocked by the way Sherlock handled the case ("It's so obvious!" he dismissed quickly.), and stunned by his performance, John just merely leaned back onto the wall behind him and folded his arms over his chest as he watched the crew wrap up the scene. A smirk grew on his face as Sherlock looked over at him and winked.
John winked back and chuckled to himself, "9," he called out to the other man.
Sherlock nodded and continued packing up the materials that the other crew members supposedly needed.
The two men were sitting across from each other at the table they always sit at, at the pub they always went to. The owner always had to remind Sherlock on how he saved him from going to prison every time they visited, and Sherlock would always correct the owner on how he still went to prison anyways. And as always, the table had candles set up between them.
Tea for Sherlock, and a slice of the raspberry cheesecake for John. Sherlock would occasionally take a bite of the dessert and stare off into the street as he savored the fruit on his tongue.
The two men needn't hold hands, or to sit next to each other to show affection. Just being in each other's presence was enough for one another. Sherlock put down his fork after taking a bite of dessert and as John was reaching to take the fork for his own bite, he grazed Sherlock's hand.
Sherlock's thought process had stopped. You could tell by how he looked up and glossed his eyes over to John. John meekly looked up and bit his tongue. He could see Sherlock's eyes grew red and tired. He's been solving puzzles all day and John had to sit there and try his best to understand what was going through his other half's mind.
Fingertips still touched as Sherlock looked away from John, "I've grown tired, you?"
John nodded, "Yes. Want to take this home and finish it there?"
Sherlock faintly smiled, "Sure, why not? But let's get another slice while at it."
The curly haired man was playing his violin in front of the left window overlooking the street below their flat. All while John was mindlessly reading The Guardian. John knew not to bother Sherlock as he was playing his instrument, for he was thinking. At least Sherlock was speaking every once in a while. When the two first met, Sherlock would go days without speaking, and he still would on occasion.
John let the newspaper fall onto the coffee table and turned on the television on a low volume setting. Sometimes he could only read the news so much before he just watched it instead of reading. Even more, sometimes he wished there were some sort of violence on the television. It reminded him of his military days and gave him flashbacks of the war in Afghanistan.
So far, nothing. He turned the television off hastily and turned towards Sherlock. He was gone. Instead of being in the front window, he was pacing the flat. John was surprised that he didn't notice this at first.
"Where?" Sherlock would ask aloud every couple of paces. He'd crouch down into cabinets and shelves, ruining the organization and leaving a mess on the floor.
"Sherlock," John exclaimed, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Sherlock picked up a human skull and found what he was looking for, "Ah! My fags! I've been missing these."
"Sherlock, no!" John exclaimed as he pulled the box out of the detectives hands, "You said whenever you have a craving, I have to take these away from you." A second later, the detective launched himself at John and tackled him.
John was bent over as Sherlock wrapped his arms around the other mans shoulders, "I haven't had a case. I'm bored, and I'm craving. Now give me what I need," the detective hissed into his other half's ear.
"You don't need these, Sherlock!" John tossed the box into a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. Quickly, Sherlock let go of John and went after his fags but was met by John coming for him and pulling him away from the clothes on the floor. He quickly threw the detective down on the floor and pulled his hands behind his back, "I said no!"
A knock was heard at the front door, "Oh boys, are we having a domestic?"
Sherlock and John quickly pulled apart and stood up, dusting themselves off after their hands on argument. Sherlock paced into the kitchen and put a pot of water on the stove to boil.
"Everything is fine, Mrs. Hudson," John shrugged.
"So, if you weren't having an argument, were you-"
"No," the two men stopped her question, "No, just trying to find something and John wouldn't let me," Sherlock continued.
"Oh let him have what he wants, John," Mrs. Hudson said as she began cleaning up the mess left on the floor.
John sighed, and retrieved the box of fags from the dirty clothing. He tossed the box without looking and heard Sherlock catch them seconds later. Then heard the box hit the kitchen counter. He looked over as he heard Sherlock, "I don't need them."
"But you just-" John stammered. He began walking over to the other man.
"Mrs. Hudson, you don't have to clean up after us," Sherlock looked over Johns shoulder, "You're not our housekeeper, remember?" he smiled.
John laughed as he put the fags to the back of the counter and moved the now boiling water to a cool stove top. He found tea bags, set them in, and watched as Sherlock took out a box of biscuits and ate a few.
"That's what I've been telling you for years," Mrs. Hudson reminded the two men, "Well, if you two are alright now, I'll leave you alone," she turned to leave their flat, "Goodnight, boys."
"Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson," both men said in unison. After a few moments of silence, the two men began laughing.
"Well, that was silly of us," Sherlock announced as he poured the hot water over his tea bag. John put two spoons of sugar in the cup for the other man and watched as he consumed the tea, "Are you officially ready to retire?"
John sighed deeply, and tiredly, "Yes, yes I am."
"Good," Sherlock put his now half-empty mug onto the counter and began walking into his bedroom.
John shuffled across the living room towards his own bedroom before he was stopped, "Where do you think you're going?"
"Bed," John answered, "What do you think?"
"Yes, but your bed is in here."
John stopped in his tracks and peered around the wall into the dark room that was Sherlock's. He saw light outlines of Sherlock's body as he was changing into his pyjamas, "We normally sleep in separate bedrooms."
"Not tonight," Sherlock sat upon his bed and stared outside, looking into the night sky. John could see his other half's face by the illumination of the moon.
John quickly changed into his pyjamas and walked into Sherlock's bedroom. This time, the other man was now laying in the bed, sheets wrapped fully around him, "Alright now," John began, "how do I get sheets if you have all of them?" John rested himself into bed and looked over at Sherlock.
Sherlock rolled over, his curly hair everywhere. He held open the sheets, "You have to come and get some of the sheets then," he smiled and chuckled. Sherlock hardly ever joked around, but when he did, he was damn cute, John thought. John saw that his other half only had pyjama pants on, and he gulped.
"Well?" Sherlock asked, "Do you want some sheets or not?"
"Okay, fine," John rolled over and stopped mid-motion. He grew curious as he saw Sherlock's smile turn tight into a smirk, "Sherlock?" he grew wary, "What are you doing? This isn't funny…"
Seconds later, without thought or time to register, Sherlock pounced onto John, who quickly exclaimed, "Sherlock!"