A/N: Written for the September 2012 fuckyeahjohnlockfanfic contest.
Monday, Monday, so good to me. Monday, Monday, it was all I hoped it would be.
Look at me! I'm John Watson, waking up on a Monday morning. Damn you, Monday morning! I really hate you! I don't wanna get up. Why can't I just stay in bed all day long? Or, why don't I just stay in bed all day long? Why do I have to get up anyway? Why would I get up anyway?
Looking for acceptable reasons to get up on a Monday morning:
- My cat could be dying and I need to go to the vet. Only, I don't have a cat.
- The house could be on fire. Only, it isn't.
- Sherlock could need my help with a case. Only, he doesn't.
Looking for acceptable reasons to stay in bed on a Monday morning:
- Bad weather. And the weather is bad.
- Cold weather. And the weather is cold.
- Work. And work …
Monday, Monday, won't go away. Monday, Monday, it's here to stay.
God, I hope not! Also, do they have to play the same song every Monday at twenty past seven? Aren't there any other songs about Monday? I guess not. Who would you wanna write a song about the worst day of the week?
I should really get up. Let's wait for the next song, though. Maybe it's a good one.
Humidity is rising, barometer's getting low. According to all sources, the street's the place to go.
As if there aren't any other songs about rain. Okay, that's it. Starting tomorrow, I'm gonna listen to another radio station.
It's weird … when I go to bed in the evening, the bed never feels this comfortable. But when I have to get up, it's like the most comfortable thing ever. Let's try sticking out one foot. No, bad idea! It's so cold! I can't get up. I'm gonna sleep for five more minutes, okay? Just five more minutes …
But John can't go back to sleep, now, can he? Because John has to go to work. There are bills that need to be paid. There is food that needs to be bought. So even though John hates work because it's just so boring and because the people there are just so annoying, he still needs to go. Of course he would love to stay at home and hunt criminals with Sherlock all day long, but he's not getting paid for that.
So John slowly rolls out of bed, wishing that it was evening already and that he could go to bed again. He stands up and stretches. The other side of the bed is empty, but there is evidence that someone has spent at least half the night there. A smile passes over John's face when he thinks of yesterday evening.
In other news: did you know that even carpets can be cold? Because John feels the coldness of the floor, even through his slippers. Slowly he shuffles into the bathroom to take a shower. And when he comes back, dressed only in a green dressing gown that is loosely tied around his waist, he makes his way to the wardrobe. But when he opens the drawer he keeps his underwear in, he stops, surprised.
Here's an interesting fact about John Watson: John Watson wears the same pants every Monday. They're red. They're made of cotton. They're his favourite piece of underwear. And they're missing.
Instead of his red pants, John finds a note in his drawer. He immediately recognises the writing, even though the person it belongs to tends to change it from time to time. It says:
I have hidden the pants you wear every Monday somewhere in this flat. If you want, you can see this as revenge for what happened yesterday evening. But I would call it a challenge. If you choose to accept this challenge, you have to manage to find them within one hour. If you succeed, you will get a reward. - SH
John should really go to work. He knows that, of course. But work is boring. This is much more interesting. So he decides to call in sick and just stay home. That sounds like a good plan, doesn't it?
Now, where to start? The flat isn't very big, but, knowing Sherlock, John's pants could be anywhere. Even in the cupboard under the sink in the bathroom. Or in the freezer in the kitchen. Or in one of Sherlock's dressing gowns. They could even be right in this very room. So John decides to start here.
Okay, let's open every drawer and have a look, then. But honestly, John doesn't expect that it will be this easy to find his pants. And it isn't. The pants aren't in his wardrobe either. Or under his bed. Or in the bedside table. Or somewhere in his bed. Maybe John is way too focused on his bed.
So he's gonna continue his search downstairs. Tying his dressing gown tighter around his waist, John leaves his bedroom and makes his way downstairs. The door that leads into the living room is closed, so he goes straight into the kitchen. For a flat this small, this room is rather big, with lots of drawers and cupboards.
John sighs. Because where should he start? This is gonna take forever! Maybe he should call his boss. He's gonna wonder why John hasn't turned up yet. So he does that, pretending that he has got the flu.
So, let's move on, then. John opens every drawer, looks behind every packet of flour, sugar, rice, lifts every lid of every pot, moves the plates, the mugs, the toaster, the water boiler. He finds a great many things. When he opens the dishwasher, he sighs again, because Sherlock had promised to empty it. Which he hasn't. When he opens the microwave, he shakes his head in disbelief, because there is still a jar filled with eyes in there. He can't believe it. (Also, they should use the microwave more often.) When he opens the fridge, he rolls his eyes because there's a severed human arm in there. Slowly, he's getting used to all kinds of body parts being distributed around the kitchen. John stopped complaining about that a long time ago because "it's for an experiment, John". He can't help thinking the last part in a kind of mocking voice.
After fifteen minutes John is sure that his pants aren't anywhere in the kitchen. Next stop: the bathroom. This shouldn't take too long, because, compared to the kitchen, the bathroom is really small. It's just …
Honestly, if you were in John's position, wouldn't you think that this whole situation is more than just a little bit awkward? I mean, someone who you thought was your friend (and who turned out to be more than that) hides your pants and, in doing so, prevents you from going to work. That's more than a little bit weird, right? But what's even weirder than that is that John just goes along with this. He doesn't even question this situation and Sherlock's behaviour. You know, whatever.
Now, the bathroom. It takes John less than five minutes to search the bathroom. And again, he can't find his pants. But then, for the first time since the start of this weird game, he hesitates. He isn't sure if he should really invade Sherlock's privacy and search his room. Still, the note said that his pants were somewhere in this flat, which, by definition, includes Sherlock's bedroom. Right? Right.
John knocks on the door. When there's no reply, he just enters. Sherlock's bedroom is unbelievably tidy. It looks as if no one has used it for days, maybe even weeks. John hesitates again, because he doesn't want to touch anything and disturb this almost unnatural tidiness. Finally, he decides to search very carefully, because the desire to find his pants is stronger than his doubts.
Actually, it is quite unnecessary to search Sherlock's bedroom. His pants aren't here. But John couldn't know that, now, could he? Also, once he has overcome his doubts, he doesn't mind rooting around Sherlock's stuff. It's actually quite interesting. Sherlock doesn't seem to have any normal clothes, no jeans, no T-shirts, just suits. John also finds a stack of science magazines and a photo album, which is full of newspaper articles about cases that he and Sherlock have solved. But no red pants. Which leaves just one more room.
John enters the living room, already occupied with the question where he should start with his search. He can be really focused sometimes. So it takes him a few seconds to realise that he isn't alone. Sherlock is sitting on the sofa, dressed in his blue dressing gown, his computer in front of him, typing away. But when John enters, he looks up.
Sherlock stops typing. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?" he asks casually.
"See, I'm not even gonna answer that," John replies, while he starts to move the books on the shelf around. Even without turning around he knows that Sherlock is smirking.
"All right then," he says and starts typing again.
John ignores Sherlock. Good decision, isn't it?
Searching the living room takes forever. There's just so much stuff in here! But no matter how thorough the search, John is unable to find his pants. They're not between the cushions on the sofa. They're not under the sofa. They're not on the shelves between the books. They're not behind the TV. And now John is getting annoyed. This is just stupid!
"Are you looking for something?" Sherlock asks.
John also ignores that. He's standing in the middle of the living room, trying to collect his thoughts and to think of a new strategy. There must be a place that he has overlooked. He looks at Sherlock, who is focused on his computer. Of course!
It takes him two strides to cross the room. And with an "excuse me" he lifts Sherlock's computer. But – again – no pants.
"Even though I don't like to repeat myself, I'm gonna ask you again. Are you looking for something?" Sherlock looks up at John all innocently and John wonders, for a short moment, if Sherlock really wrote that note.
But then Sherlock starts smirking again. John puts the computer back down rather forcefully.
"You stupid git!" John shouts at him. "This isn't funny anymore. Where are they? What have you done with them?"
"Where is what? I don't know what you are talking about."
John takes a deep breath. "Don't be like this," he says in a calm voice. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."
"Do I though?" Sherlock asks while leaning back and folding his arms behind his head.
And finally! There they are. John has found his pants. In less than an hour, by the way. Because there is just one place he has overlooked after all. But honestly, would you have looked there?
John is speechless for a short moment.
"But you said … you said that you would hide them somewhere in the flat," he finally manages to mumble.
"Yes, and that is exactly what I did," Sherlock replies.
"You know that I will have to punish you for that, don't you?" John says menacingly. "Wearing my pants without my permission … you should know better than that."
"So you don't want your reward, then?" Sherlock asks.
"What reward?" John is momentarily confused.
In the blink of an eye Sherlock is standing right in front of John, looking down on him (Sherlock is taller than John; as if you didn't know that already), with no regard for personal space. John just stares into Sherlock's eyes, unable to move or to breathe. And Sherlock holds John's gaze without moving or saying anything.
Finally, after what seems to be hours of staring into each other's eyes, Sherlock leans down and whispers into John's ear: "You found them in under an hour, after all. Which means that you're gonna get a reward."
Sherlock takes John's face into his hands. Then he slowly starts kissing John's neck, and these kisses make John shudder. Of course they do. Sherlock proceeds to kiss John's mouth and John returns the kiss, deeply and passionately. Caught off guard, Sherlock gasps and John can't help but smile against Sherlock's lips.
But then Sherlock pulls away.
"Wait!" John says with an edge of panic to his voice. "That's it? That was my reward?"
"Don't be silly, John," Sherlock responds with a slightly ominous grin. "I'm only getting started."
"And it's nine o'clock on this rainy Monday morning."
What? Oh no! I did it again! In future, I won't just stay in bed for "five more minutes". I really hate it when this happens to me. I mean, I'm imagining getting out of bed, and I think it's real, but really it's just a dream.
Speaking of dreams … I had a really weird one. Something about Sherlock stealing my pants and kissing me. How silly. Something like that would never happen. What was I thinking? What did I do yesterday evening? Oh yes! I watched that one movie. Well, that's it. No more TV before I go to bed.
Wait! Didn't that guy on the radio just say that it's nine? I'm gonna be late! Hurry up! Hurry up! Oh my God! The floor is cold! I should really talk to Mrs Hudson. Maybe we can get underfloor heating or something. Hopping down the stairs. Hop! Hop! Hop!
Oh, Sherlock is already up. If you can call "lying on the sofa in your dressing gown" being up. I wonder what he's up to though.
Is that …? No, it can't be, can it? I mean ... it was ... this is ... am I still asleep?
Look at me! I'm John Watson, standing in the middle of my living room, gaping like an idiot.
Because my dream just came true.