Hello everyone!
Alright, have fun with the second chapter!
Chapter 2: Definitely a first
As John woke up to a silent flat, he was worried. A whole night without one single violin play or exploding experiment was very odd. No, not odd…it was scary! Quickly he put on his clothes and ran downstairs, curious if Sherlock was even there and if, why he didn't make a hell lot of noise, like he always did.
As he stumbled into the living room, expecting the worst he instantly got his answer. Yes, the detective was at home, rolled himself into a bundle of pale limbs on the sofa, snoring softly and cuddling a pillow to death.
At first John simply stood there and stared, but after he recovered from his shock and awe he had to violently bit back a giggle. Quickly he made a picture with his phone, imagining the look on Lestrade's face should he ever see Sherlock in such an adorable moment. Oh, it would be hilarious. Anyway, it wasn't often that John had a way to blackmail on the detective, and this photo would definitely work as such. He hadn't done this because his flatmate looked absolutely sweet while sleeping. Of course not. No. Just, no.
Rolling his eyes about his odd thoughts, he quietly disappeared into the kitchen where he opened the fridge, looking for some jam. That, obviously, how Sherlock would put it, was a mistake. With a ghastly thud the leg fell onto the floor and John jumped back, and no, he wasn't shrieking like a girl. Not at all.
"Well done Watson" the doctor muttered under his breath and carefully, just with his fingertips, he tried to put the leg back in its previous position. After his third failing attempt he already strangled the damn thing, when he heard a well-known voice coming from the kitchen door. "What are you doing with my leg?"
John winced and turned to Sherlock, who stood bleary in the doorway and gave him one of his much used death glares. Before the doctor had a chance to answer the question, the detective went up to him, snatched the body part from his hands and put it exactly how it was just a moment ago.
"How the hell have you done that?" John asked stunned and glanced up to his flatmate, feeling like he was the most stupid person in the world. Judging by the glance Sherlock shot him, he thought definitely the same.
"Don't touch it again, or you ruin the life of a possibly innocent woman." The detective snarled and turned around to his strange looking and even more stranger smelling experiments.
"Fine" John grumbled, put the kettle on and started to read an old newspaper until his tea was ready. A bit later, when John typed away on his laptop to blog the latest case, Sherlock paced restless in front of the window.
"Bored" he said the fifth time in the last thirty seconds and John sighted annoyed.
"I know! You don't have to repeat yourself"
"Bored", was the only answer he got.
"Seriously?", he asked and closed defeated his document, knowing that his friend won't stop until something happened.
"Yes. Jooooown I'm bored. BORED! "
"You know, my ears are working perfectly well"
"Obviously, but that changes nothing, because I'm still BORED!"
John buried his face in his hands.
"Can't you just, I don't know, play the violin or do some experiments?"
"I only play the violin when I have something to think about, you should know this by now and I have to wait for all my experiments, and NO, Lestrade has no cases for me, I already asked him and again NO, he also has no cold cases for me because I solved all the interesting ones"
"You could ask your brother if he has…"
The look Sherlock gave him was answer enough.
"Well, I'm running out of ideas. We could go out for a pint", John suggested, not knowing who exactly he was kidding. Sherlock goes as often out for a pint as he cleans the flat. But the detective said nothing, just raised his eyebrows sceptically.
"You could at least try it", John pushed and looked at him expectantly. Stormy eyes met his own and nobody said another word, they simply stared each other, silence surrounding them. John was fascinated by the colour of Sherlock's eyes, had always been. They were light grey or blue, sometimes even greenish; he had no idea what colour exactly because it changed with the light. Right now, it was like he looked straight into liquid silver.
He didn't know how long they kept this intensive eye contact, but it broke off as Sherlock suddenly blinked confused and cleared his throat. John knew his cheeks were burning and wanted nothing more than to vanish from the face of the planet.
"Well, are you coming?"
He nearly jumped, startled by his flatmates sudden voice. With big eyes he watched as the detective put on his coat and waited for him at the door, his scarf already surrounded his long, pale neck.
"You really want to go out for a pint" John said dumbfounded, clearly believing this was some sort of joke, a trick or something. But Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighted suffering.
"John, you should stop stating the obvious, it's exhausting" With that he rushed out of their flat, his coat dramatically flowing behind him. The blonde silently grinned to himself while he quickly put on his jacket and ran after his friend, like he always did.
...
"How could you possibly know my favourite pub?"
"Obvious"Oh, how John hated that word.
"How that?"
Sherlock just snorted and didn't answer until they sat by a little table in the back of the pub, where they had a great few about the other guests.
"You're a very precautionary man, John. The pub had to be near our flat because if you would be drunk, you wouldn't have a long way to go. You also hate small rooms with many people because, let's face it, you're not the tallest one and you can't stand feeling overlooked and unimportant. At this point I have to say that's totally nonsense. Just because you're shorter than the most other people in your age, it doesn't mean you're less important. That's completely illogical. Anyway, so it also had to be a relatively big pub but also a cozy one, if you come here often, you had to feel somehow comfortable. You don't have much money so it had to be cheap and the only pub who fulfilled the requirement is this one. As I said, obvious"
John, completely amazed by this 'obvious' statement, ran his fingers through his hair.
"It could also be a pub further away and I'd just take a cab"
"Please John, you never take a cab if you don't have to, because in your opinion it harms the environment. Really, how small is your little br…"
The doctor decided he had enough and headed over to the bar to get them two pints and to calm his nerves. Why was he doing this again?
Meanwhile, Sherlock leaned back in his chair and looked at the other guests. There was a young man who studied history, wanted to become a teacher like his grandfather, had a crush on his seatmate and lived in a flat with his two best friends, a black cat and two white poodles. A seat behind him was an old couple, arguing about their money problems caused by their shopping addicted daughter and living in a dusty house where the shower didn't function properly. There were two women in their thirty's, definitely drunk and laughing about nonsense, the blonde was divorced since yesterday and the brunette tried to cheer her up by paying all her drinks and talking about her latest one night stand, who, by the way, sat on the other side of the bar, talking to a pretty, red haired journalist.
The detective's sharp gaze continued to slide over every single person until he reached John, who leaned over the counter and made polite small talk with the barkeeper. He wore one of his many jumpers, a dark red one with horrible white circles on it and old jeans. Every other person would say that his blogger has absolutely no taste in terms of clothing and Sherlock would whole heartily agree with them but somehow he didn't want it any other way. It just looked so…Johnish. His wholly jumpers and worn out jeans spoke for all the things which defined his flatmate. Laughing at crime scenes, hot tea in the evenings, a remarkably amount of patience and politeness and of course his caring about every single person, even about a high functional sociopath. Somehow this retired soldier who is addicted to jam and earl grey is a greater enigma than every serial killer ever would be.
Sherlock continued staring at the object of his curiosity until the man in question put their pints on the table and sat in front of him. John himself frowned a bit about the piercing stare but apart from that he simply ignored his friend and sipped his beer. After all, it wasn't the first time Sherlock deduced him and sometime ago he got used to the fact, that he wasn't able to hide anything. He even stopped trying.
Slowly relaxing, the doctor let his mind wander and stopped, just as usually, by his flatmate. It was odd to watch Sherlock sitting in a pub like a normal man and drinking a beer, but John somehow enjoyed it. He rarely spent time with this crazy madman without any case or suspect they could hunt, because after the 'game is over' Sherlock will always become bored out of his mind and with that an absolutely unbearable asshole. During those black moods the doctor just went for a walk or out for a pint alone, tired of the scientists upsetting comments. Today was definitely a first.
"Is that what people usually do? Sitting in a pub and drink?" Sherlock scoffed and ran his long, pale fingers over the edge of his glass.
"Yes" John confirmed and crossed his arms.
"Going out with people, having fun, forgetting about their life"
"That's not fun. A case is fun. A serial killer is fun. People are boring and slow. Not a thousand of drinks would change that. Believe me, I tried it several times as I was young and they were still so stupid", The detective growled, not realising his companions hardened glare.
"Why are you here then?" John asked, grinding his teeth because of the other man's harsh words. He knew he should have long time ago stopped being offended by the detectives outbursts but lately he was unusually sensitive in this sort of matter. He didn't know why, but the words stung.
"I'm bored and because you aren't people"
Bewildered he raised his head to look at Sherlock, who in turn watched a little fly, which crawled around on their table and suddenly seemed to fascinate him.
"Please, you just have to look at me; I'm the ordinary in person. Of course I'm people, besides a horribly boring one", John huffed, leaning back in his seat.
"No"
"No?"
"No, you're NOT people, stop telling yourself this nonsense"
The doctor rolled his eyes.
"Could the great Sherlock Holmes at least tell me, WHAT I am in his all-seeing-eyes?"
Sherlock's gaze flickered briefly over his bloggers face.
"You're John"
They stared at each other the second time on this day, but were interrupted already a few seconds later because of John's phone. And again John's cheeks were burning like a full grown tomato while he read the message he'd get, aware of the grey-blue eyes, which still were staring at him intently.
"Well, I hope you'll manage to leave our flat in one piece tonight, because I'm on a date"Sherlock narrowed his eyes and pressed his hands together, fingertips resting under his chin.
"No, don't you dare to look at me like that! I couldn't care less about your opinion right n…"
"She's from work. You're nervous, you're scared that I interrupt your date and that she would probably tell her other female friends at work about the disastrous meeting with you. Your already minimal chances to date some other women from the surgery would be unchangeably destroyed"
John emptied his pint in the next two seconds.
"Sherlock, please, can't we just talk about something else? Anything. The weather for example", The poor man asked while ordering another drink.
"But why? Why, John, are you still trying to date these brainless human beings? You can't tell me you still believe that maybe, one day, you'll find the one! With your lifestyle? You're addicted to adrenaline and danger and you're favourite hobby is chasing some killers down. What kind of woman would like to stay with a man whose life is practically throughout in danger and whose best friend and flatmate is me? You don't really believe that a girlfriend of yours would make an exception and I would actually play nice? I think you have to admit that it would be better for all parties if you just stay alone"
And he went on and on, listing facts while all of John's hopes and dreams exploded like his experiments. After he was finished with his speech and was very pleased with himself, John had drunk so many pints he'd completely lost count.
"You…hicks"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "John?"
"I…hihihihi…I hate dyou", The doctor giggled madly and tried to take another gulp until he realised that his glass was already empty and waved hectically for another one.
"But…You can't be drunk; I just spoke for, what? Fifteen minutes?"
The barkeeper, who put the next drink in front of the crazy smiling ex-soldier, shook his head, utterly impressed.
"I've never seen somebody drinking like this. It's almost like he's absorbing my beer stock" Because of Sherlock's death-stare he hurriedly walked back behind the counter.
"You knoth whath? You are anth asssssssHIHIHIHIHIHIHI"
"Thanks, and why exactly? I was just stating the truth and you know it"
"Becauth…waith a momenth"John seemed to think and emptied his next pint. Then he shrugged his shoulders. "I havth no ideaaaaaa…hihii"But as he wanted to wave for another round, Sherlock quickly stood up and paid for John's…EIGHT PINTS?…and grabbed the disoriented doctor at his upper arm.
"Come on John. I think we should go"
"But…"
"No but, we go. Now"
Trying not to hurt his companion's bad shoulder he shoved him as less as rough out on the street as possible. The way back home with a drunken and laughing John was more difficult than Sherlock anticipated and almost ended with a car crash, because of John, who wanted desperately to stroke the middle of the road.
Finally, Sherlock managed to get them both unharmed back to their flat and in the living room. At this point, John stumbled over his feet and crashed hard onto the floor, laughing his ass of.
Sighting, the detective helped his flatmate up and directed him to the sofa, not willing to carry him up in his bedroom. He still had a little bit of dignity, thank you very much.
A couple of minutes later John snored blissfully and Sherlock sat on his chair and watched the slow raising of the sleeping men's chest. Drunk at 11am on a Sunday. This day seemed to have a lot of firsts.
The grey eyes travelled over the ex-solder's frame. Surprised he realised that he hadn't been bored since they leaved the flat and even now he was pleased just to look at the figure in front of him. One of his rare smiles tucked on his lips as his blogger snuggled himself deeper in the cushions and he quietly got to his feet to pick up the blanket from his bedroom. Carefully he throwed it over John, sat himself back in his chair and continued observing every single wrinkle on the familiar face in front of him, unconsciously storing it all away in his mindpalace.
I love it when John is drunk ;)
PLEASE, please review and tell me what you think :D