Coffee Cup
Sherlock ran his hands through his tangled hair, causing the curls to become even more of a mess than they usually were. He was sat on the coach in baker street, feet in John's lap, a thick brown folder full of case notes in his left hand and a cup of coffee in his right. He flicked through the notes, absorbing the information at a rate faster than it would have taken John to read the first few paragraphs.
The consulting detective had been working on this case for the past week and as much as John loved the man, it drove him up the wall when Sherlock was in this frame of mind. He would be constantly demanding the smallest things, for example, the other day John had been updating his blog when Sherlock had sent him all the way to Lestrade's office. Just to borrow a pen.
John got so close to disliking the detective on days like that, but he found that it was better than having a bored Sherlock on his hands. That was very difficult indeed.
Sherlock twitched his feet and John began to slowly stroke the bottom of the taller mans legs to calm him down. Sherlock flicked through the case files before sighing. Suddenly he jumped off John, kicking him in the crotch. As John winced in pain, Sherlock set up his microscope and studied something.
A loud exclamation of "Aha!" told John that Sherlock had finally figured out who the murderer was. The dark-haired man strolled over to John, kissing him full on the lips before pulling away and stating that "It was obvious all along".
Sherlock's eyes were sparkling and he picked up his coffee, draining the liquid. John stretched upwards, kissing Sherlock again, pushing his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. The shock caused Sherlock to drop his drink but he was too distracted to pick up the discarded coffee cup.