Five Minutes Peace A Johnlock story
John Watson is enjoying a relaxing bath; the steam clearing his senses, the warm water calming his aching muscles. It has been a long day – and now he has five minutes away from stray body parts, violin droning and a very annoying consulting detective.
Sorry, I spoke to soon.
There is a knock on the door, the kind of knock that announces that the knocker is not waiting for a reply, and sure enough Sherlock just strides into the room.
"What the-" John begins, curling his knees up and hiding behind the edge of the bath. "I'm having a bath."
"Surprisingly with my super intellect I had deduced this." Sherlock is now removing his dark oh-so-sexy shirt.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I recently read an article stating that people in London are wasting too much water." He is now in the process of removing his shoes, swiftly and expertly.
"But the what the hell are you doing?" Says John, not really wanting to grasp the obvious. And oh God, there go the trousers – John quickly turns away *Face Palm* before the word 'grasp' gets any ideas.
"Budge up" Sherlock states, climbing in the end with the taps. In all honestly John can't budge much more than he is.
Sherlock raises one eyebrow like he can't understand what in the world is bothering John and says calmly "Pass the soap"
Keeping one arm wrapped tightly around his knees, he uses the other to grab the soap. It is slippery and with true comedic timing he manages to drop it into the water somewhere between them. This cannot possibly get any worse.
Sherlock innocently reaches into the gap between them, fishing around with those long pale fingers. John freezes.
"Sherlock...that- that is not the soap"
"But it's hard!" Playing naive really doesn't work when the detective has that twinkle in his eye.
"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY BATH!"
Using the taps as leverage Sherlock rises up from the water and proceeds to step over the rim. John really wishes he hadn't looked up when he did.
Instead of leaving however, because let's be honest – that would have been conventional – Sherlock steps back in the water behind John and slips down into the space between his friend and the end of the bath.
"Oh God" John groans, the pressure in the small of his back only too evident. Unable to stop himself he relaxes his legs so they fit between the pair already occupying most of the space.
Sherlock snakes one hand round John's torso, holding him back against his own body, warm and very very forbidden. With the other hand he reaches down between John's legs.
John leans back into Sherlock, his breath flush against the other's neck. Sherlock suddenly removes his hands and John nearly slips.
"What the-"
"There it is" Sherlock smiles 'sweetly', dropping the soap into John's hands. "Wash my legs would you – I can't quite reach"
And with that he leans back, closes his eyes, and lets John get on with the dirty work.