So...first Sherlock/John maybe sort of. Oh dear...
Very light slash if you look very, very hard...
Please if you read this, review. For my last story (Office Romance) I got loads of subscribers when it's only a oneshot. And everyone loves the feeling of a review :)
I own ZILCH. Sadly...
Through the opened window, he could hear the heavy rain, moving like a gargantuan cloth over London, rustling the leaves and muting the traffic as it did so. The dark curtains with their tulle innards, flapped slightly as the wind caught on the window.
He sighed. Typical English summer. CLICK. The kettle had boiled, and he found he was unwillingly dragging himself across the bleak flat; there was no-one else to make his coffee after all.
Silence. He usually loved the thing. Even at home as well as work. He often shunned people for even breathing if it disturbed him. Not since John had moved in. Properly. And now he had moved out, even if only for a few days whilst visiting Clara of all people.
Ten to ten. John would come down from his room now and examine the fridge. However, not once had he taken something out at this time of night. Then, he would walk around the left side of the table to his armchair, where he would sit for about ten minutes, fingers placed on his temples, and do nothing.
Goodness. What was the point of him noticing that? It wasn't important, just someone doing nothing! He sighed yet another sigh. "How many sugars? Ah yes, two". It'd been so long since he'd made his own coffee he'd forgotten how he takes it.
Oh screw the coffee, that's not the drug he needed right now. For behind the bookcase, was a jumper the colour of porridge and not unlike in texture, it smelt of wood shavings, musk, tea and spice; all the things he associated with his flatmate. No. Friend?
"Only two more days Sherlock. Two days."
Next Chapter...?