Oh god, guys, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting for so long. It's been two months since my last update, and I can't really blame it on the F-5 tornado here or my birthday, so it's pretty much pure laziness. I appreciate all your feedbacks, reviews, favorites, etc. and it really does mean a lot to me! I had to go back and skim the first three chapters to know what was going on in my own story, so it might still be a bit off. Silly me.
I don't like my story anymore (as I've established in author notes in before chapters) but I'll finish this one for you guys. Then I'll write you something better (and hopefully with better smut ;) )
Disclaimer:
Not mine. Not even a fabulous curly hair on Cumberbatch's fabulous curly-haired head.
The look of surprise on John's face was absolutely priceless. In fact Sherlock swore the hit on his pride was more than worth just seeing John look so utterly dumbfounded. His eyes were wide and bright in surprise, lips parted in the rather attractive way Sherlock only saw occasionally when John was asleep. He crossed his arms, switching to staring down at the older man with a condescending glare.
"So are you leaving or not?" Sherlock huffed, "If you are I might as well find a new flat, as I couldn't afford this one without someone else. I mean really, kicking a man out on the street, John, it's a bit harsh if you ask me. Especially in this weather. You might as well kill a man. At least then you'd give me something worthwhile to do; though, no offense to your medical mind, doctor, I'm sure it would be a waste of my time. Day work."
Before he knew it John had gripped a hold of his face, holding it to make Sherlock directly at him. Still hard to believe a little man John that could be so strong. Sherlock was sure they would look ridiculous to a third party. John had reduced the towering detective to looking like a petulant child just by dragging him down to his height. Were the eggs in the fridge starting to become foul enough to dump into Anderson's locker? Oh, yes. Back to the point. John was doing wonderful things with his tongue in Sherlock's mouth. It was hard to focus on the important thing here- the eggs in the fridge, the mutated baby in a jar that was sitting next to it, figuring out John's new password, what he and John were going to eat that night, when John was going to get a new job, John's sweater, John's mouth, John, John, John.
At this point they had become tangled over the coach, shoving piles of papers and pillows to the floor in their fervor. Sherlock wasn't sure how he had wound up on top of John (well- he did know. He'd been the ones to shove them both on the couch) but oh god he wouldn't exchange that spot for anywhere else in the world. Except maybe sitting beside his rotten eggs. Oh, he couldn't wait to see Anderson's face…
"Shut up."
Sherlock was shaken out of his thoughts. "What?"
"I can hear you thinking." John growled, pulling Sherlock closer for sloppy kiss. "It's damn annoying."
Sherlock couldn't help but smile at that.
Sometime later John was curled back up into his chair, steaming cup of tea clutched in his steady hands. The only thing that would tip you off that he'd just been rolling around with his flatmate on the floor would be the fact that he was now sitting in the lap of said flatmate, leaning back into his thin frame. Sherlock was visibly bored, not one to sit there and watch mindless telly when there was a job to be done. But John would not hear of it, especially not just after a shag.
"Can I get up now?" Sherlock groaned as a new show started.
"No."
"But my eggs. I need to go check on them."
John made a face. "The hell? You're not a bloody chicken, Sherlock. Is that code for something?"
"The eggs. In the fridge. I have to check them."
"Oh, bloody hell, don't tell me that's what that smell was."
"But it was fun watching you smell yourself." The edge of Sherlock's mouth perked up in amusement.
"I hate you."
"Keep telling yourself that."