John awoke with the instant, all encompassing feeling that something wasn't right. It wasn't a feeling of immediate danger...more that there was something bothering him. It only took him a moment to remember what. His self-proclaimed-sociopath friend who's latest crazy experiment involved handcuffing the two of them together. He gazed over at Sherlock, who was still sleeping peacefully, and it was only then that John noticed that some time during the night they had linked hands. And they were lying close together. Far too close, in fact. John's breath hitched slightly as he stared at their intertwined hands for a long moment— at Sherlock's long, slender fingers wrapped within his own. He should move his hand, his brain told him repeatedly. But he didn't want to wake Sherlock— the man needed sleep after everything that had happened in the past few days, and John knew just how damn stubborn he could be when it came to looking after himself. Besides, John had to admit that it was much more comfortable like this than twisting his wrist at that awkward angle within the cuffs.
He moved away a little, careful not to disturb their hands, and glanced again at the sleeping man beside him. He looked so peaceful, his strange features relaxed and somewhat free of their usual intensity. John allowed himself to watch the other man for a moment, trying not to focus on how insanely beautiful he really was. He managed not to focus on it most of the time but every now and then he was caught off guard. Looking at Sherlock now no one could guess how amazing he was, how clever he was, what he was capable of. John sighed lightly and closed his eyes, wondering how he was going to talk Sherlock out of his experiment. He mentally rehearsed what he would say to convince Sherlock to come downstairs with him and find the key. It would all be fine.
Just then he felt Sherlock stir on the bed beside him and opened his eyes to find Sherlock's strange blue grey gaze focused on him, somehow loosing none of its intensity despite the fact that he had just woken up. For a moment neither of them said anything, and John was all too aware that they were still holding hands. He released Sherlock's immediately and cleared his throat.
"Good, you're up," John said, then felt his face turn bright red. "Awake, I mean," he clarified awkwardly, looking away and making a move to sit up.
What was wrong with him? Why did he have to make this more awkward than it already was? Sherlock smirked but said nothing, instead leaning over to retrieve his phone and check his messages.
"I have a message to call Lestrade as soon as possible," he said absently, still touching buttons on his phone. "It's already ten am- why did you let me sleep so late, John?"
But before John could give his reasons, Sherlock was on the phone to Lestrade. From what John could gather from the one sided conversation, Lestrade wanted them to come into the office. Good, he thought, now Sherlock would have no choice but to help him find the key and put an end to this ridiculous situation. Sherlock finished his phone call and rose from the bed, leaving John with little choice but to follow.
"Lestrade wants to see us immediately to follow up on the incident at the pool. There's also a new case that he wants our input on."
The words were spoken casually enough, but John could hear the glimmer of excitement that even Sherlock couldn't hide.
"Well come on then," Sherlock said, attempting to move towards the door.
John stared blankly at Sherlock and didn't budge.
"I'll admit that it's not ideal, but we do need to get a move on."
It took John a moment to realise that Sherlock had no intention to come downstairs and find the key. He couldn't help letting out a short bark of laughter at this.
"Just so I know, do you honestly think I'm leaving this flat in these to do anything other than get the bloody key from downstairs?"
"Do I really need to explain my reasoning again?" Sherlock asked, clearly exasperated. "It's really quite straight forward and you know how I hate to repeat myself."
John took a deep breath, his pre-rehearsed argument suddenly gone from his mind.
"Sherlock," he began in a voice of forced calm. "There is no way in hell that I am going to Scotland bloody Yard with us like this. People talk enough as it is! Can you imagine what they'll say?"
Sherlock observed him for a moment.
"Why do you care so much what people think, John?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
"I don't," John began, defensively. "It's just—"
Sherlock cut him off. "I know you don't like my experiment" – here John let out a snort of derision, which Sherlock ignored – "but I want you to know that I listened carefully to what you said last night and decided that you were right. I really think this will help us, John."
Sherlock's voice was surprisingly gentle, and he was staring straight into John's eyes with the same piercing glare that he sometimes used to get his point across. They held the eye contact until something within John broke. Sherlock was just too damn stubborn to argue with. John knew he would never win, so he abruptly decided that the next best thing would be to just go along with it. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner Sherlock would end this outrageous game. But the worst part was that John was sure Sherlock could pinpoint the exact second that he caved.
"Alright. Fine. Let's just do this," John replied, defeated and already feeling exhausted despite the decent night's sleep.
To Sherlock's credit, he did at least try to hide the triumph in his face.
John sat next to Sherlock in the cab, trying not to dwell on the strange looks the two of them had received just from leaving the flat and walking a few steps down the busy London street to hail a cab. He'd had trouble keeping up with Sherlock's enthusiastic strides and Sherlock had been forced to slow his pace slightly. Team work, John thought grimly. Getting ready for the day had certainly been...interesting. Though, if he was being honest, John was more likely to term it 'awkward as all hell'.
Sure, he'd gotten used to living in close, uncomfortable conditions when he was in Afghanistan, but taking a leak with his mad flatmate standing right beside him was something else entirely. He'd made Sherlock turn away and close his eyes, but John had found it hadn't much helped the situation. Showering or changing clothes had been rendered impossible by the barrier of the cuffs and John felt that he had to give Sherlock some credit for his dedication to the endeavour— he didn't think he'd ever before witnessed Sherlock not having showered first thing in the morning, let alone wearing the same clothes two days in a row. John's stomach did an uncomfortable flip as the cab pulled up outside Scotland Yard and Sherlock reached into his pocket to pay the fare. He wasn't at all sure that he was ready for this.
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