Another of the rare, unshared secrets of Sherlock Holmes (well, maybe not so unknown…) is that, while he refuses to wear his own clothes or eat his own food, he refuses to share anything of his (and sometimes, even of mine).
"Watson, what's that?"
"What's what?"
"That…thing in your hand?"
I sent my friend a questioning glance but decided to indulge him this once. "It's a newspaper, Hol-"
"Wrong."
Now I was truly lost. "What?"
"Don't play dumb, Watson. You know just as well as I do what I said."
"It's not a newspaper?"
"Nope. You're warm, though."
I beamed at him from his position on my lap, munching on my untouched breakfast (I've learned it's pointless anyway, as by the time I get up, he will have already gotten dressed, or as dressed as he ever is, taken a walk, experimented on Gladstone twice, and eaten my breakfast. My best guess as to why is that Miss Hudson has stopped making him breakfast anymore. Per his instruction, of course.), at the rare compliment. "Thank you!"
He smirked. "Not like that. But yes, you are very cozy."
To emphasize this, he snuggled deeper into my lap. Like a kitten. I swear the man is an enigma to even himself most days.
"Okay then...Um...Oh gosh Holmes, it's too early for your puzzles, just tell me what you mean and get on with it. Please!"
Holmes sighed and sat up, his hair sticking up in the back. He crossed his arms and glared straight ahead.
"Fine, John, I'll tell you what it is."
Crap. He only calls me John when he's mad at me. And a mad Sherlcok means a very cold and uncomfortable night on the couch for me.
"It's a newspaper, yes, but it's not just a newspaper. It's my newspaper."
My jaw must have dropped because Sherlock smiled a little. He always says I look silly when I do that.
"So?", I question, turning back to the-excuse me-Holmes's newspaper and snapping it a bit.
Holmes's stubborn glare turned into a slight pout and he stuck his hand out at me.
"I want it back."
"What?" And suddenly a thought hit me. "No."
Holmes's head whipped in my direction so fast, I thought it might fall off. "What?"
"Don't play dumb, Holmes. You know just as well as I do what I said.", I said with a devilish smirk. I love using his words against him.
Holmes glared again, though this time directly at me, and made a grab for the newspaper, which I held over my head.
He tucked his legs underneath him and stood on his knees, putting a hand on my leg to get more leverage. His hand just barely brushed the edge of the paper before I abruptly stood up.
He fell over on the couch and glared at me briefly, then jumped up and over to me, where he clung to my waist coat and stood on his toes to try to reach his prize (Holmes is about a good head or two shorter than me, which annoys him just about as much as it pleases me.)
What he didn't know is that I had him right where I wanted him.
"Holmes."
Grunt. Jump. Failure. "What?", he snaps. Jump. Grab. Failure.
"You know you'll never reach this, don't you?"
Whine. Punch. Jump. Failure. "Not-never, no. Just-ugh-highly unlikely. Unless I can find your weak spot-"
"I have none."
Of course, that was a flat out lie. I had many, still do, but my biggest weakness was, is, and always will be him. Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock let his arms swing back down and I smiled brightly.
"So what you're saying is is that you'll never give it back?"
I tapped my chin with one hand, my other still in the air with the London Times clutched tightly in it, as if thinking it over. "Hmmm...not never, no. Just highly unlikely."
Holmes pouts again.
I smirk evilly down at my Sherlock. "Unless! You do me a favor."
Holmes gives me a cautious, untrusting look. "I'm not letting you give me another bath, if thats what you mean."
I burst out laughing at that, Sherlock eventually joining in. I smiled. He has such a beautiful laugh.
"No, no, that's for later."
I wink and Holmes turns red, his smile vanishing, replaced with an acidic glare.
"Kidding, kidding! But really, what I want...is...a...-"
"Oh just get on with it, John!"
"-Kiss!"
To emphasize this, I grabbed Holmes by the wrist and pulled him into my arms, wrapping both around his waist. I pushed my lips to his and watched through narrowed eyes as his beautiful brown ones widened, then slowly closed as he responded to the surprise kiss. Our tongues intertwined and he threaded his calloused fingers through my hair with a moan.
When we came up for air, Holmes was against the wall, his legs around my waist, and my hand on his bum to hold him there.
"Wha-...how...what-what did-who-h-how did we get here?" I questioned, my mind still swimming through the sweet bliss that Holmes lips always managed to dredge up.
"Legs. Arms. Lips. Honestly John, keep up, will you?"
I barely had time to chuckle before he brought our lips together again.
It was only an hour later, in a completely different room than we'd started in that I realized that I was missing my-Holmes's newspaper, and that Holmes's pillow was strangely crinkly.
It was at that point that I began to wonder-who's tricking who?
(A/N): This is the most romantic thing I have ever written. It burned my hands a little to write,() but if people react the same they did with the other story (really, THE BEST comments ever, guys), then it was well worth it. Question: if anyone here has or is watching BBC's Sherlock, my mom and I are watching it currently, and she wants to know if its a love story between Sherly and Johnny-boy. Anyone know?
This is the
