"Oh, will you stop it?" John pleaded, entering the living room in his usual state; wearing a knitted oatmeal jumper, a weary expression, and a head of messy bed hair.
Sherlock looked up, the innocence and confusion of a child plaguing his mature and usually blank face, "Stop what?"
"You know," sighed John, "wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama pants to show off your torso and make yourself look sexy. It's like that thing you do where you pull up your coat collar to look cool."
"I don't do that!" Sherlock retorted childishly. John did not reply, but he raised his eyebrow at him over the top of the newspaper he was settling down with. Sherlock just huffed and continued to type away at what was notably John's laptop.
He sighed and rustled his newspaper, getting ready for a presumably quiet day unless Sherlock jumped up and realised something and dashed out, insisting that John tagged along. Either that or some mysterious person in a suit would turn up, and the rest is unpredictable. Still, there was always the possibility of a bomb exploding at 221B Baker Street as well. Or so that's what usually happened. John chuckled to himself as the thought struck him that the odd and excitable had become the norm ever since he had met Sherlock.
"Something funny?" the detective asked, cocking his head in bafflement.
John caught himself and cleared his throat, rustling his newspaper again for a distraction, "No, nothing." Sherlock hummed in response and went back to typing. Their morning was quiet; the silence only broken by the turning of pages and the repetitive clattering of a keyboard.
Author's notes: Just another quick drabble for you lovely people. I must say, I was quite stunned by the mass of positive feedback I received for my first drabble. You've made me very happy, thank you!
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. It belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
AnorexicWalrus~
