To serve my muse, and my recent obsession, I figured I would get it out of me using this! I love oneshots! YAY.

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Living with Sherlock

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John grunted, heaving Sherlock into one of the chairs in front of Lestrade's desk. The taller man went with little grumble, his eyes wide and darting everywhere. Lestrade himself sighed and put a hand over his face.

"How is it Sherlock," John started, voice carefully controlled, "That you managed to not only drug half of Greg's task force, but also the killer, and yourself?" Sherlock's head fell back and he slumped, sliding in the chair so he could look at John without the effort of turning his head.

"But Jawn!" Sherlock slurred, "I caught him! Aren't you going to say I'm brilliant?" He even pouted. Trying very hard not to let his amusement twist his lips into a grin, John took a glance at Lestrade, whose hand still covered his face, but his mouth was twitching into a grin behind it.

Clearing his throat, John employed his impeccable self-control, "Yes, it was well done Sherlock, but you lost points with the drug."

Sherlock sulked, his bottom lip thrusting out and his chin falling to his chest in unhappiness, "Just wanted to try it out." He sounded vaguely like a child being punished. It pulled at John's over large heart.

"Alright Sherlock, I am proud of you, just don't do it again." He said sternly, and Lestrade's shoulders shook in response. Sherlock turned his face back to John and gave him the most heart-warming smile he had ever done. It was open, a somewhat out of focus, but also so genuine that John's own mouth slipped into a smile.

"Jawn," Sherlock said, head lolling around the chair, his hand coming up to scratch at his face, ending in smacking himself, "Why is Boron such a brute, while Iron is so silky?" John blinked.

"I…I don't know?" he answered, looking at Lestrade again, who had taken to holding his own mouth shut in glee. Sherlock made a "Huh." Like sound, something that had never escaped him before. Then he made a grab for John which ended with Sherlock on his knees leaning heavily into John's legs.

"You're so strong Jawn," Sherlock said sleepily, "My strong Jawn." John's mouth quivered and his face grew red when Lestrade couldn't control himself any longer, and a snicker burst forth.

"Oi!" came a voice from outside, sounding furious, "What the hell was that you freak, I've only just got those infected some medical help, what did you—" Donovan stopped short upon entered, when she found Sherlock blearily smiling up at her, curled like a cat around John's feet.

"Sally!" Sherlock greeted, winding an arm up John's leg like a snake. Donovan looked like she didn't know what to do. John was having too much fun to consider being embarrassed. At least until Sherlock opened his mouth again.

"Have you met Jawn?" Sherlock smiled again, something that made Donovan blink, "He's my John, my wonderful army-doctor of death." John laughed, leaning down to untangle the lanky man from his legs. Lestrade gave him a hand hauling the consulting detective up from the ground, and from there, Sherlock grasped John's shoulders and stared into his face seriously.

"That's not right, something's missing. I mean, I know you're full of metal John but there's no need to be angry." With his voice deepening to a musing tilt and his slur all but gone, Sherlock winded his arms around John's shoulders and buried his face in his hair, gently carding through it with his smile and his long fingers. Normally John would revel in this, but not with both Lestrade and Donovan gaping at him in the middle of the office. Sherlock hummed some classical tune, before squeezing John so hard he lifted his feet off the floor.

John's face turned bright red when Sherlock, a few minutes ago sleepy on the ground, laughed joyously in his ear and without a stumble spun him around like a doll.

"My teddy bear of death is what you are, John. Because you're so warm and soft and squishy on the outside, but you don't let me cuddle you enough. You were in the army john." Sherlock informed him, as if he didn't know, "you kill people. That means you are a bear of death, but a doctor too. My John is so special." And Sherlock was back to being sleepy, lolling onto John's shoulders like he was a pillar.

His face bright red, but happiness swelling in his chest, John calmly asked Lestrade to help him and Sherlock out to a taxi. He also inquired Donovan about what to do with this drug, if she knew anything.

Sherlock continued mumbling, the entire way home, sometimes about John, other times about the periodic table, and other completely clear and succinct times on the case they had just finished. With Mrs. Hudson already in bed, John hauled Sherlock up the stairs and sat him on the couch, he was half asleep. Not particularly feeling up to dragging the other all the way through the experiment laden kitchen into his bedroom, John just put on a kettle, feeling like he needed something hot.

Groaning, Sherlock put a hand over his face. "Jooohn." He lengthened his name, "My head hurts."

"You realize that's your own fault right?" John answered with a sigh.

"No, you must have dropped me." Sherlock answered, and John gave an incredulous laugh.

"I dropped you? No, I think that was you falling on the ground to love at my feet. You silly man, right in Lestrade's office too!" John carried out his biscuits and tea to Sherlock, who had wormed his way into the cushion crease. Lightly rubbing Sherlock's back, he offered it to him, rewarded when Sherlock shuffled enough he could sit.

After a quiet minute eating at some ungodly hour, after a particularly crazy case, John felt exhaustion creep up on him, and Sherlock's eyes dimmed and weighed down.

"John, I'm sorry." Sherlock murmured, something obviously still affecting his brain. John blinked in surprise.

"What could you be sorry for, Sherlock? Drugging yourself? You don't have to apologize to me." Indulging himself while Sherlock was regrettably unable to stop him, John swept his fingers through his flatmate's hair, and caressed his angular face. Sherlock sighed and leaned into him harder, nearly shoving John off the couch.

"I called you a teddy bear." Sherlock struggled to say, trying to focus his blinking eyes on John's face. Moving so Sherlock was lying on the couch, head pillowed on a convenient jacket, John slipped form his grasp. Soothing the frown lines that arose, John smiled.

Sherlock's lips moved but no sound came and his eyes were shut. John gave one last pat to the tall man's head before turning out the lights and climbing to his own room. Idly to himself, probably an aftereffect of the drug or of sleep deprivation ran through his mind. He should take Sherlock to build-a-bear sometime.

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Now, wasn't that cute. I'm always curious what Lestrade recorded when Irene drugged him! Does anybody have any ideas?

Thank you!