Hey everyone! Sorry the chapters are a bit shorter, but I promise to update often. Please favorite or follow and give reviews, tell me what you like or don't like or what you want to happen and ill try to fix it. Enjoy! :D
"Would you like a cuppa?" John asked, walking through the door and tossing his coat aside. Sherlock laughed inside at his predictability. He always needed a cup of tea when he got home. "No, I need to work on this case. The answer is obvious, it's staring at me right in the face, just like the fake painting. But what is it? Why can't I think? It's like my thoughts are covered by a sheet and I can't take it off, I can't even find my mind palace..." He trailed off and John sighed as he continued to stare at the pages of the file.
A few minutes later, Sherlock snapped his head up. Taking in the surroundings, he saw John flipping through channels on the telly, his hair freshly wet, just out of the shower. Looking outside, he saw the moonlight shining through his window. I guess I lost track of time again, he thought to himself. "John, I think ill take that cuppa now."
"Why can't you make it yourself Sherlock? I just got comfortable." John practically whined. After having no reply for two minutes from the curly haired shell, John sighed and got up, finding himself smiling slightly at his flatmate. Such a genius, yet he relies on his best friend for tea.
After making Sherlock's tea, John walked over to where he had been sitting for the last five hours. Smiling at the sight of him, he set the tea down in front of human turned around. Walking over to his chair, he hear a small crash, a yelp, and a chair fall. Spinning around he saw a smashed tea cup, Sherlock's chair on its side and Sherlock with a soaking shirt. "Oh god Sherlock, what did you do?" John walked over with a broom to clean up the smashed cup. Standing up, he immediately noticed the way Sherlock's shirt stuck to him even more than usual. John stared at his chest for a moment, taking in the strong build of his body, noticing the way his muscles bulged against the wet shirt. He traveled his eyes down to his navel, seeing a slight definition of muscles and... And what was he doing? Why was he noticing all this? John shook his head as a blush rose to his cheeks. Taking the broken tea cup away, he hoped Sherlock didn't notice.
But of course, Sherlock noticed. And he noticed John's body as well. He watched John as he leaned over to clean up his mess. Cocking his head slightly, he took in John's muscular back, the way his toned forearms looked through rolled up sleeves. And when he leaned over, he noticed the way John's jeans hugged his butt tightly. And then he noticed that he was noticing these things and turned away quickly. As John stood up, he looked out of the corner of his eye and saw John's eyes searching his body. After a few seconds of feeling slightly violated, slightly flattered by John's stare, he saw a scarlet blush come on his cheeks, noticing for the first time that John's blush traveled down his neck disappearing into his shirt. Now it was Sherlock's turn to blush, and he realized that the hot tea on his shirt was burning him. Quickly unbuttoning his shirt, he threw it on John's chair, assuming he wouldn't mind and picked up his chair.
As John came back into the room carrying another cup of tea for Sherlock, he almost had another broken tea cup. His eyes widened and his blush deepened as he saw Sherlock's strong body lean over the fallen chair and lift it back into place. "Um, She-Sherlock, would you want me to grab you uh-" he trailed off for a moment as Sherlock turned to face him, completely topless. John became red as an apple and turned his head, trying to remember how to form words. Think you idiot, his brain yelled. Why are you so embarrassed, you're flatmates, you've seen him shirtless before, even cleaned wounds for him, why is this time different? "A shirt!" He finally remembered, practically screaming it with joy. Sherlock jumped slightly, surprised by his flatmates enthusiasm. Do I look that bad, he wondered. Suddenly very self conscious about his half naked body, he nodded and cleared his throat. "Yes, a shirt, of course, that would be lovely, any shirt will do." John hurried out of the room as Sherlock yelled to him. "And don't mess up my shirt index either, I had a hell of a time fixing it during your last drug search, I don't want to have to fix that one too!"
The next morning, John groggily shuffled into the kitchen, getting out some jam and popping bread in the toaster as he set some water for tea to boil. "Would you like a cuppa Sherlock?" He yelled in the direction of the living room, knowing his flatmate would already be awake, if he even did sleep last night. John sure didn't, it was a restless night as he tossed and turned, trying to get Sherlock's pale, white, muscular... Not helping John, not helping. He tried for the millionth time to shake the perfect image out of his head that was burned there as if with a branding iron.
Noticing his flatmate had not replied to his offer (Surprise surprise), John strolled over to the living room. Sherlock was sitting in the same position he'd left him yesterday, still shirtless. John had come back into the living room last night with a clean white shirt, and seeing Sherlock already deep in thought, he took one last long glance at his friend and draped the shirt over the arm of his chair, heading off to bed. Sighing, John decided against making Sherlock a cup as well, not wanting another mishap. Then again, he thought, this time Sherlock has no shirt. It would just spill on his naked torso. Or even better, it could spill on his pants, and then he would have to- Oh god John, what are you thinking?! He blushed a bright red for the second time in the past twenty four hours and grabbed his jam covered toast and tea, sat down to watch some telly. After a good twenty minutes of watching Sherlock instead with the telly as background noise and crossing his legs for a very specific reason, he went upstairs to take a very cold shower and get ready for the day. "Hopefully Sherlock will have put a shirt on by the time I'm out," he grumbled to himself, walking awkwardly to the bathroom.