A/N: Just a short drabble about John shopping. Because, honestly, can you imagine Sherlock shopping for himself?
John sighed as he rifled through the shirts on the rack. Green? No, he hates green. Stripes? Although the thought of him in stripes tickled some hidden funnybone deep within him, John decided against it. He took one out and held it up, appraising it with a critical eye. Perhaps.
But did Sherlock really need another purple button-down?
John reflected upon his past memories of Sherlock in the purple shirt he already owned. The only ones he could summon were the ones with the detective sitting at a microscope, the buttons straining across his chest.
He sniggered. The girls always went crazy when Sherlock donned the purple shirt. The Purple Shirt of Sex, they'd dubbed it reverentially.
John had to admit he'd been scheming for a while, when it came to Sherlock Holmes. Not concerning himself, no no. But he'd find a way to force Sherlock into the dating game one way or another. Even if it meant buying him purposefully too-small shirts.
He'd been doing all the shopping for a while now. Mrs. Hudson assumed – as she always did – that he was just doing his wifely duties. But honestly, as straight as John was, he just couldn't allow Sherlock to run his clothes to rags. The detective would rather go naked than worry about buying himself anything new, and he wore through clothes surprisingly fast.
But this wasn't just about doing his wifely duties. This was about finding Sherlock a girlfriend. And a new purple shirt might do just that.
And so, with a decisive nod, John placed the lavender shirt next to the milk and jam in his cart.
A/N: Thanks for reading, guys! Oh, and you see that little box down there? Yes, that one. That's for you to write things in. I suggest you do it. That would make me quite happy. Plus you can suggest silly, fluffy, crack-like things for me to write for you. Danke sehr!