It had been the hottest July on record, and the Met Office had forecast an increase in temperature during August.
Since Afghanistan John was rarely one to complain about heat, but as the temperature soared he moped around the flat looking distinctly unhappy.
"I'm tempted to ring your brother and ask him to come over and cool this place down a bit." He said, spreading a sheet over the couch.
Sherlock watched him with a frown.
"He has no self-control, he'd freeze us all to death… John what are you doing?"
"Putting a sheet on the couch."
"Obvious John. Dare I ask why?"
John smirked.
"Obvious Sherlock." He mimicked. "In this heat the leather gets sweaty and bloody uncomfortable, at least if I lay on a sheet it won't be such an issue."
"What's wrong with your bed?"
"Heat rises."
Sherlock shrugged and said no more, John opened both the kitchen and the living room windows in the hopes of catching a cross breeze, stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers and lay down.
He didn't say anything when Sherlock went out a little later, nor when he came back smirking shortly afterwards. He did, however, grin broadly when later that evening Sherlock sat reading to him, an ornate fan held in the end of his tail creating a cool breeze.
