If you haven't noticed, Sherlock hates to wear clothes, and John certainly doesn't mind. It's not like he was always in want of Sherlock's body, or something. He could live without it, really. But he didn't mind being able to just stare every once in a while.
And Sherlock had a wide range of types of underwear. They were multi-colored, multi-style, but the same brand and softness. John's favorite were Sherlock's royal blue briefs. They made Sherlock's skin look more pale than usual, and for some reason John liked that.
John and Sherlock were in a weird sort of war with one another. It all started at a crime scene two days ago, and it was continuing here. Usually, Sherlock and John try not to take their work home, but Sherlock made John so angry that it had been two days of no talking.
"John," Sherlock said to John across the room, "You can't be angry with me forever."
Yes I can, John thought.
"You'll talk to me eventually."
No, I won't.
"Stop talking to yourself in your head and talk to me."
How could he possibly know…
"I know everything, John."
"Stop it!" John shouted.
Sherlock got off the couch and went to their room. He was gone for a while, and when he came back he was wearing John's favorite underwear, and that's it.
"Do you like, John?"
Yes.
"Do you want to touch, John?"
Yes.
"Just say the word, John."
No, I'm going to win this battle.
"You'll never win this battle."
Watch me.
For three days, Sherlock waltzed around the apartment naked. No, not naked. With underwear on. The same underwear. John figured Sherlock must have either bought a dozen pairs of the same exact underwear, or Sherlock was actually doing laundry. Either way, it made John feel special because Sherlock was making a huge effort to make John talk to him again.
But John didn't. On the fourth morning, Sherlock tried a different approach. He woke up while John was in the shower and made him toast. Well, he was trying to make toast. When John walked in, Sherlock was sticking a fork into the toaster trying to make the toast, that was smoking, come out.
"No, Sherlock!"
Sherlock dropped the fork instantly. John unplugged the toaster and made the toast pop out of it. It was very, very black.
"What were you trying to do? Kill yourself?"
"I don't understand."
"You would've been electrocuted. What are you doing? Shouldn't you be in bed? It's 6 AM."
"I wanted to make you toast."
"Are you sick?" John pressed his hand against Sherlock's forehead.
"No, I'm not sick, you idiot. I wanted you to talk to me again. I've been trying and trying-"
John rubbed his eyes. "You could have just apologized."
Sherlock looked confused, "I did."
"No. 'John, I'm sorry you're not as smart as I am.' is not an apology."
"What is, then?"
"'I'm sorry, my lovely John, for upsetting you."
"But I don't get why you're upset."
"You are such an idiot sometimes."
"I thought being naked and making you toast would-"
"Not always, Sherlock. I am a human, I like apologies."
"All right." Sherlock nodded and left the room.
Sherlock wore clothes for the rest of the day, but the next day when John got home from work, Sherlock was back in his underwear for another try.
Sherlock met John at the door, and before John had his coat off, he was being pushed against the door and being kissed.
John pulled away, "No, Sherlock. I had a bad day, I'm not in the mood."
"Stop, John. I'm sorry for the other day, at the crime scene. I'm sorry for making you angry," Sherlock kissed John, "And I'm sorry for not understanding."
John hugged Sherlock. He took into account that Sherlock was trying very hard to understand, and that he was trying so hard to make it better.
They hugged against the door for a while, then John said they should go have dinner. Sherlock got dressed, but once they were back in the apartment he was undressed again, and was undressed for days after. He was still trying to make it up to John, and John was ok with that.