Chapter Summary: John finds out just how fast anger can vanish into thin air. Prompt: Desk
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.
A/N: After some schedule problems I suffered a severe case of writer's block all week. I knew exactly what I wanted to write for this prompt but somehow it just wouldn't come out. I'm sorry you had to wait so long, I hope this chapter makes up for it. Although this prompt came from oneword(dot)com I'd like to remind you all that you're welcome to prompt me yourself in a review or PM.
A/N2: I've been told that the key combination that John uses on his laptop is wrong, since he supposedly has a Mac, not a PC. Well, in season 1 both Sherlock and John had PCs and in season 2 it is Sherlock who has a Mac, John only borrows it (as seems to be the habit in 221B). At least that's what my favourite prop-research site Sherlockolgy said - and I'm going to stick with that.
They had been living together for over a year now and it had never happened before. Why should it? There were two tables in the kitchen and they were both comfortable writing with their laptops perched on their laps while they sat in their armchairs or on the sofa.
John had worked at the desk for a couple of hours now when Sherlock sat himself down opposite of him. His legs had fallen asleep a few minutes back but he still felt how the space underneath the little desk got crowded.
"Why do you need to sit here now?", he asked his flatmate with irritation in his voice.
"The kitchen still needs to air after my experiment, the couch is currently occupied and I don't want to sit in an armchair right now. That leaves the desk." Sherlock replied dryly.
"You could remove those books from the couch or sit in my armchair if yours isn't to your liking." John countered, getting more irritated by the second.
"Yours is not ergonomically fit to a man of my height." His flatmate shot Sherlock an angry look. He knew exactly how much he hated it when Sherlock used the height difference in an argument. "But you could sit in it if you don't want to share the desk."
John tried to wiggle his toes – in vain. "That's not an option right now", he grumbled.
"Your legs have fallen asleep." Sherlock deduced.
"Yes. So if you don't mind..." he gestured towards the armchairs.
"No." And that was that.
John sighed in frustration. Sometimes his flatmate was just unbearable. But he knew by now that he had to pick his battles carefully, so he didn't say anything else. Instead he just opened a new tab in his browser and started writing a new blog post about living with England's most inconsiderate man.
After fifteen minutes of typing he noticed that he slowly regained the feeling in his legs. When he was still a child John had found out that if you brought your leg in a better position to enable unhindered circulation again and kept it really still then it would wake up without the sensation of pins and needles. He hated that feeling which was why he tried to keep his legs as motionless as possible now, but somehow they were still tingling.
It took John a couple of seconds before he noticed the reason why. Sherlock was massaging his feet with his own.
John couldn't help but steal a glance over the rim of his laptop's screen. Was Sherlock aware of what he was doing or was it simply yet another nervous tick he had? Was this really happening? Was Sherlock Holmes playing footsie with him? He stopped writing in order to concentrate on the unfamiliar sensation. He knew Sherlock's feet were a few sizes bigger than his but actually feeling it was a whole different matter.
His toes were like little fingers, caressing the back of John's feet and tickling their sides. Sometimes he seemed to actually massage his friend's feet with the ball of his foot. The tingling was no longer confined to his legs, now it spread beyond his hips and into his stomach, all the way up his spine. It took John a lot of effort not to move but he managed to do it, because somehow he knew that if he moved Sherlock would stop.
He looked back at his screen and saw his unfinished blog entry. He pressed the control and the A key and after yet another long stroke against the underside of his foot he pressed delete. The anger about his flatmate's unreasonable behaviour had vanished.