Hey guys! This is our first fic on this account, so we hope you enjoy! Just some fluff on the fact that John's whole argument always rests on "I'm not gay!". Basically, 5 times everyone thought John was gay and 1 time John thought he was gay.
Enjoy! Please review!
The first time, Sherlock bursts in while he's halfway out of the bath.
He takes them for relaxation mostly. He used to take them for his leg, but now they're for the flatmate that plays the violin at 3am and, apparently, strolls into the bathroom while he's naked.
John's easing his way out of the hot water with a sigh when the door flies open. His reaction time is usually quick, but the bath makes him bleary.
"Sherlock-" he chokes as the man strides right past him, furiously working with the knot on his bathrobe. John snatches his towel more out of surprise than embarrassment and draws it around his waist.
Of course, Sherlock doesn't acknowledge him. He yanks the bathrobe away and begins relieving himself with a noisy sigh.
John sucks in a breath, as if to comment, but then it whooshes out of him. He turns around. One. Two. Three. He breathes evenly. "Sherlock."
"Yes?"
Breathe. Breathe. "What are you doing?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Well of course- but-" he fumbles. "Bloody hell, what I mean is that you couldn't have waited two more minutes?"
Sherlock sighs, this time in exasperation. John hears what he doesn't say: If I could've, then I wouldn't have come in.
"Bloody hell," he mutters again.
For a moment there's just the awkward sound of Sherlock relieving himself, enough to bring an abashed flush to John's neck. Someone's voice floats in from the sitting room.
Mrs. Hudson. Oh God.
"Bloody hell."
"Repetitiveness is not becoming, John. I suggest you shut up."
He ignores Sherlock and hurries out of the bathroom, shutting the door just in time for Mrs. Hudson to round the corner with a box settled in her arms. He remembers too late that he's in a towel as her eyebrows go up the slightest bit.
"Oh, sorry to disturb, dearie; I just wanted to drop this of-"
"Ah! No, it's, um, it's fine, thanks-"
The toilet flushes, cutting him off. Mrs. Hudson's eyebrows slide upward even more and John almost curses again; he prays Sherlock at least has some sense, any sense at all not to-
"Good evening, Mrs. Hudson." He steps out of the bathroom.
Bloody hell.
She takes in Sherlock's appearance and squeaks. John realizes his hair is mussed, post-makeout style, and the bathrobe is tied haphazardly about his waist and oh god, he's not wearing anything beneath it.
John himself is clothed only in a towel. He's flushed, just as messy as Sherlock, and just as naked.
"Oh," she squeaks again. "Oh, well, I- um - I suppose I'll just-"
"No! No, no," John stuttered. "We weren't- I mean, I was just- he randomly-" John sighed again. It was no use, and he knew it. He glanced towards the source of the problem.
Sherlock is just calmly standing there, not saying a word, just watching John stutter and fumble his way through an explanation. His face is expressionless, which isn't uncommon. It usually is. The only consulting detective in the world, and the source of all John's problems, suddenly took notice of the box in his landlady's arms.
"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, would you like me to get that for you?" Mrs. Hudson just stood there, not saying a word. Her face was a chalky white, and her eyebrows seemed to be attempting to escape.
Sherlock calmly took the box from her arms and carried it into the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the current situation- a situation that is definitely classified as 'a bit not good'.
That, however, seems to break her out of her stupor. She clears her throat, and color begins to return to her cheeks.
"Mrs. Hudson," John tries, once again, to explain, "We weren't...he just walked in on me- on accident- while I was showering...I'm not gay!" That seems to calm the poor old lady down a bit, because she actually chuckles.
"That's just fine, dearie. Why don't you go put on some clothes- you too, Sherlock, dear- and I'll make you two a nice cuppa." John flushes again as he realizes that he's still only wrapped in a towel.
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Of course, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry, Mrs. Hudson." John says- a little too quickly- as he goes back up to his room to change. As he's walking up the stairs, he hears Sherlock's voice echo up the stairs after John.
"Some biscuits too, Mrs. Hudson."
"Not your housekeeper, dear!"
So we hope you guys enjoyed that! Leave a review, and if you have any ideas on awkward situations for the 221b boys to encounter, PM us!
Bye from the both of us, and until next time,
-Benedict's Our Division