"Let me know when you've finished putting away the shopping."
Sherlock sat the two bags that he had been carrying on the kitchen table and waltzed off toward the bedroom that he and the blogger now shared without a backward glance.
"Sherlock! You could help me!" John exclaimed, staring after his boyfriend in slight amazement.
"Arsehole," He muttered, throwing his jacket onto the back of a chair and taking out the milk from one of the four bags.
The detective chuckled quietly, slipping off his own jacket and throwing it onto the couch as he passed. Tomorrow was going to be the first Christmas that he and John had spent together as a couple, as the doctor had reminded him of no less than three times that week, and Sherlock was well aware that the day would consist of nothing but boring trivialities. However, to keep John happy, he would try to pout minimally throughout the ordeal, and try not to deduce anything out loud. Whether or not this would be possible for the consulting detective was unclear.
Regardless, Sherlock had went through the silly notions of picking a gift for his significant other (with only a little help from Lestrade) and fully planned on keeping John to himself all night long. The jumper-clad man was clueless, poor bloke.
