Hey guys! Welcome to my first Sherlock fanfiction. I know if you've got me on author alert you're probably waiting for a Whispers on the Wind update but I've had a lot of exams recently and other distractions. Expect an update on WOTW in the next few days. Promise!
This oneshot is for Tes. Sherlock and John are probably out of character but it's the best I could do. This isn't really even fluff but I hope you like it all the same. Enjoy! :) - Léa
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. If I did, we'd be on series six or something by now. Probably wouldn't be as good though. ;)
John was exhausted. He tapped his fingers in a familiar rhythm on his desk as he watched the clock on the wall opposite him impatiently. He'd finished his paperwork and seen all of his appointments for the day; Mrs. Ogle had come in for a checkup on her false hip and he'd had the pleasure to deal with a small ten year old boy in need of a blood test who just happened to be deathly afraid of needles.
Oh, the joys of being a civilian doctor. He sighed to himself, looking at the clock again. Ten minutes to go.
Ah well. At least I have something to look forward to.
A few weeks previously, after solving a particularly challenging case, Sherlock had been feeling superior. A new quiz show had come on television and somewhat out of character Sherlock had challenged his blogger to a round of the questions. John had accepted, but only on the condition that the loser made dinner for the two of them at a later date. Keen for some of John's homemade spaghetti bolognaise Sherlock had agreed, sure he was going to be the victor, as he usually was at the end of games like this.
However, unfortunately for the consulting detective the topic of the questions on the television show had swapped from general knowledge to questions on the solar system. John barely managed to keep his laugh from escaping as Sherlock's triumphant smirk fell when the first question was asked.
After that it just got worse for Sherlock. Question after question about the solar system that would have been easy for a teenager to answer left Sherlock stumped. He was almost beginning to regret the fact he'd 'deleted' all this information from his brain for knowledge he considered to be more important. He wasn't so sure now.
Sherlock growled under his breath as John gloated silently in victory. Sherlock sighed heavily, crossing his arms and pulled his knees up to rest his chin on them, mumbling something about making dinner for them next week.
And today was the day. The loud ticking of the clock brought John out of his imaginings as he realised that it was finally time for him to go home. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and his bag from the floor, practically skipping out of his office.
He waved to the receptionist as he passed and left the building with a smile on his face, heading further down the road to hail a taxi.
Soon enough the familiar door of 221B came into view. He paid the driver, telling him to keep the change as he got out of the car.
The taxi pulled away as John reached the door of the flat he shared with his friend. He opened the door, stepped in and closed it quietly behind him, thankful for the warm air that greeted him as he entered. He climbed the stairs two at a time, dropping his bag on the floor at the top.
"Sherlock?" He shouted into the flat. No reply. "Anyone here?" He tried again.
An intelligible grunt broke the silence, sounding as if it came from the living room. Confused, John wandered into the room, staring at the unmoving lump that lay on the sofa.
"Sherlock?" John asked.
"Hmm?"
"What are you doing?" John questioned, an eyebrow raised.
"Bored." Sherlock replied, a mop of dark curls emerging from underneath the blanket.
Deciding not to stress the issue that Sherlock was still in his pyjamas at half five in the afternoon, John tried to change topic.
"Did you forget?" John asked, the disappointment evident in his voice.
Sherlock picked up on it, quickly searching through his brain for a reason as to why John was disheartened. What day was it? Friday. Oh. He realised. Tonight was the night he'd agreed to make dinner for the two of them. He shot up from the sofa to stand, startling John with the movement.
"No John, I didn't forget," He lied. "I just…" Just what? He thought. Just didn't know what to make? Just got hungry before John returned from work and eaten it all himself? Just watched as an eagle swooped down through the window and stole their meal from the table? His mind struggled to come up with an excuse John would believe.
Sherlock sighed in defeat. He met John's gaze as he raked a hand through his unruly hair.
"I forgot, John."
The reply he got was a small smile. "I can't say I'm surprised." John said, turning to walk into the kitchen. He opened the drawer by the sink, pushing aside the empty test tubes and a bag of dog treats, resisting from asking his flatmate the reason why they had them if they didn't even own a dog. The answer would always be that "it's for an experiment" and he would just have to accept it. He finally found what he was looking for and pulled them out.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked from the kitchen doorway, hands in the pockets of his dressing gown.
John turned around with a smile on his face. "Since you forgot to make us dinner, which I'm not letting you off for, by the way," He said, holding up two leaflets for Sherlock to see. "Pizza or Chinese?"
Sherlock smirked in response. "Pizza."