A/N: Hello, people!
I don't own Sherlock.
I have no beta.
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7 December 2015, Monday:
John had a bad day at the clinic. Sherlock could tell the moment he stomped into the flat. However, John did not say a word as he plopped down in his chair and turned on his laptop. He simply went to whatever he was doing and left it at that.
Figuring that he was much too wound up to do it himself, Sherlock decided to fetch John some tea.
He simply set the cup down on the table and went back to his own laptop, allowing John to blow off steam in the best way he could damage.
An hour later, John got up and stretched. He was significantly more calm and he had drunk all of his tea.
Sherlock was shocked into stiffness when John padded on over and nuzzled his cheek fondly, leaving the consulting detective gaping in his wake.
Mycroft paid them a visit, bearing a file with Sherlock's name on it. More like it was for Sherlock. It was a case. Another one.
Sherlock hadn't wanted to take it, but John was already there, beating him to it by grabbing the file from Mycroft's hands and flipping through it. He hummed a few times, scoffed once, and even laughed.
"Please tell me you aren't being serious with this?" he finally asked.
Mycroft sniffed, "It is entirely serious I assure you."
"But the answer is so obvious."
"Pardon?!" Mycroft did not like not having answers and John, who was usually not the best at paying attention, knowing something he didn't, would offend him greatly.
John sighed, "This is what happens when you have no life outside of politics. It's in the name. The answer to what you're looking for is right in the name."
He passed the file back to Mycroft, who stared for a moment, before nodding stiffly and making a call.
"Thank you Dr. Watson. Sherlock."
Mycroft was gone almost as quickly as he came and Sherlock simply sat there, wondering what had happened and why he wasn't a part of it.
John simply smiled and told him not to worry about it. Besides, didn't he have a calendar to look at?
Indeed he did, though he wasn't about to let earlier actions go. He saved the information for later, when he could actually dedicate time to think about it.
In a completely calm fashion, Sherlock departed to his bedroom where the day's golden gift, was waiting for him to unveil its contents. He licked his lips once and pulled the ribbon, letting the flaps fall open to reveal John, nude once more, but from behind. He was bent over a rock and the firm muscles in his arse were on full display. A perfectly convenient ray of sunlight illuminating the twin globes of perfection.
Whoever convinced John that he should allow himself to be photographed while in such a state, deserved every possible award on the planet.
Sherlock spent the next half hour in the bathroom, ignoring John's giggling.
A/N: Another is done!
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