Interruptions (John/Sherlock)

John hadn't really needed the whole science lecture on the various properties of the molecule H2O, but this was how Sherlock was and John was used to it at this point. He did actually find bits of the lecture interesting (for example the dipolarity of water molecules and how that effects the way it bonds to other substances) but mostly he just tuned the words out in favor of listening to the cadences of the deep voice and daydreaming about running his fingers through Sherlock's snowy curls.

Sherlock (as usual) could not make a trip to the grocery store without causing a girl to burst into tears, but this time the catastrophe was caused from good intentions on Sherlock's part, instead of him just being insulting. John yelled at Sherlock about basic tact a bit, but wasn't too upset because the lack of insults was still a major improvement.

They got to the door, and as Sherlock was unlocking it, John took one more fond look out at the falling snow. He had loved snow since a child, and it came so rarely in London. As a kid, he would go out to visit his cousins who lived in the country every Christmas, and they would spend whole days outside playing in the snow, to then come in and warm up before the fire with cocoa. Those were some of the best memories John had, at that wonderful country house where John had always felt so much more at home than at his parent's house.

Perhaps if the snow lasted he could have a snowball fight with Sherlock. Would Sherlock understand snowballs? John had always wanted to have a snowball fight with a girlfriend and then tackle her into a kiss. Stop it, you're not supposed to be having thoughts like that anymore!!! You're getting over Sherlock, remember?!?! Not easy to do after the alleyway. He really ought to talk to Sherlock about that. Maybe they could still have a snowballfight, but keep it platonic- no kissing. Decent compromise.

John smiled at Sherlock, who had gone to start up a fire, and went to the kitchen to make up the cocoa. After a few minutes, he brought out two steaming mugs to the sitting room, and handed one to Sherlock.

"With marshmallows and cinnamon, the proper way to make it."

John took a sip, then looked at Sherlock over his mug.

"Look, I know it was only for a case and everything, but I feel like I should talk to you about that whole thing in the alley. Are you ok? I really don't know about your past, but my instinct is that you've never done...anything...like that before, and it can be an unnerving experience..."

((So John's trying to broach the subject, because yes, it should be talked over. Also, hint-hint, snowball fight??? Maybe on the way to John's work, or Scotland Yard?))

((Caught the hint ^^ On the way to Scotland Yard, I guess. Sherlock will definitely not start one, he has to be hit first. But watch out. He's going to be competitive. He's also going to have fun ;) ))

Sherlock took the cup over from John and seated himself in his armchair.

Sherlock sniffed the cinnamon and chocolate scented steam swirling up his cup with closed eyes. He hummed in delight and when he opened his eyes, he caught John's amused expression. "What? Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it." A smile teased the corners of his lips. This moment felt familiar: good and warm. And with John. He had not felt so good before John came into his life.

He didn't want to loose John for anything. Every time he thought about John dating, even worse: seeing him wooing boring girls, incited an unfamiliar emotion in his gut. It hurt, but it was like fire and drove him to irrational thoughts. And that, that induced another emotion. He didn't dare to think what it was. It was fear. He was fearful of irrational thoughts that could get you into messy situations like relationships. Though fear stroke him every time he saw John with a girl. He didn't want to be left alone. Never. Again.

Though what they had done in the alley had felt good. Really good. It stimulated the part in Sherlock that hoped John would never leave him.

He was thinking about this when John asked him, looking over his cup. Sherlock assembled his thoughts quickly. He scoffed and took a sip to lengthen his thinking time. In that moment, he looked at John and how the light of the flames coloured the right side of his face. His hair seemed red, though it was reassuring blonde/grey, Sherlock knew. It still looked ruffled and Sherlock wondered if he had ran his fingers through his hair when they had been busy in the alley. He couldn't recall it. Though the thought of it made him warm.

"John, I am the master of disguise. I was going to propose to do the same thing, though you were faster in taking action." Well, propose... Sherlock wouldn't propose, but just strike John, press him against the wall and begin... doing things to him. He was a smart enough guy to catch the hint.

Sherlock felt another strike of warmth stroking the insides of his belly, which was odd, because he hadn't taken a sip of his cocoa. He let it be, because it felt delightful. It itched a little, though. And he didn't know how he could cure the itching. Scratching his belly surely didn't work.

"I am also the master of observing and reproducing what I observe. I know the theory, I've seen it loads of times on that crap TV you insist on watching. Alright, I haven't put it in practice before, but that doesn't mean I am incapable of it. It's all in the books. 'Wooing ladies' as they call it."

Sherlock frowned mockingly. "What do you mean with unnerving? Didn't you think it was 'unnerving'? You emphasize that you are not gay more than I do."

((Gah, I'm glad you posted 'early' ^^ Well... early... half past 11, but that's OK in the holidays :) Now I can reply :D:D))

((Well, it was 4 pm my time when I wrote that, so it was very early for me. Hmmm, helpful to have some idea of the time difference. Yay for snowball fights!!!!))

John smiled at Sherlock, "I'm glad you like the cocoa."

He then snorted snorted a laugh at Sherlock's mistake in terminology, and cocoa almost sprayed out of his nose.

"No one's called it 'wooing' since the Victorian Era, Sherlock. The modern term is 'hitting on' a girl; though I'll admit, it's not as romantic sounding."

"As for you being unnerved..." John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "I was just a bit concerned for you. For most people...physical contact like that, when not something you were planning on happening, can be disarming and produce unexpected mental and physical effects. Obviously you aren't most people, but...well you don't really like being in close physical contact with living people, and I just shoved you up against a wall. I just wanted to make sure you were ok. You're my friend, your wellbeing is important to me."

Sherlock gave John a look that clearly meant that he caught John's evasion of part of the question.

"I wasn't bothered by it. The basic actions are ones I've done...a fair number of times before, though never in a dark alley. As for your gender...well it was a desperate situation, and...it matters a lot less than most people think. I...make the argument about not being gay because I don't like people making assumptions about me...in reality...well I've never really fallen for a bloke before, but I would expect that it would be the person themselves that really mattered, not what parts they had in their pants."

John smiles.

"I can appreciate a nice body as easily as the next bloke, but it's what's in the person's mind and metaphorical heart that really matters. If all I wanted was a shag, I could technically just hire a prostitute, but that's not the type of person I am."

John realizes how much he's been babbling, at this point he was almost talking to himself more than Sherlock.

"Anyways, it was just for a disguise, like you said, so I was just thinking about getting out of the alleyway alive. Nothing to unnerve me."

John drains the last of his cocoa and stands up.

"Well, I have work tomorrow, so I should go to bed. I think we've done enough psychoanalysis for one evening. Look, if you do end up feeling upset or something later, let me know, ok? I wouldn't want you trying to deal with that alone, that's what friends are for."

((Yeah, now it is around 9 pm here... nice time for me ))

((So.. in this post I am going to give you a choice. In one: Sherlock gets an emotional crisis because of ALL THE FEELS. The other: everything goes on how it 'should', but there is no emotional development, so Sherlock is further away from being 'in love'. Your choice.))

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Sherlock finished his cocoa too and handed John over the mug. He would know what to do with it.

"Unexpected mental and physical effects, you say?" Sherlock pouted in a thoughtful manner. "Your assumption that I don't like being in close physical contact is wrong. Have you ever experienced that I actually had physical contact? No. That's because no one actually wants to be in such a contact with me." Sherlock diverted his gaze for a moment, frowning lightly at the ceiling, eyes narrowed. “Except for Miss Adler of course...”

“So your assumption is wrong. I actually... did like it.” Sherlock stated somewhat surprised. Yes, he had enjoyed it. “It felt-“ He swallowed and frowned again.

Feelings. The hardest thing to deal with and to formulate. “It felt uh-“ He tried again, his breath failing him after the verb in this short sentence.

Sherlock got frustrated and gave up. Instead, he tried to distract John with something else. “Oh, does it even matter? Why don’t you woo your dates, oh valiant knight” He huffed. “I nstead of listening to me.” He snapped, the feeling of that night getting hold of him again.

Anger. Fear. Jealousy. It all hit him and he didn’t know what to do with them. He hated feelings.
He also knew that that was not true. Being shoved up, touched by John had felt amazingly comfortable and he actually wanted to happen again, though he wouldn’t admit it. It was like solving a case, pumping excitement and warmth through his stomach, but much better. That feeling was one he didn’t want to loose, though it didn’t temper his anger and anxiety in a cocktail of mixed feelings. Those bloody feelings made him so frustrated that he wanted to abuse the door for litting the fire and rip the slipcover from the pillows. He didn’t let that happen, but instead he got up and started pacing fiercely through the living room.

He didn’t want to look John in the eye, in fear of what he may see.
But why was he so afraid to show the truth, his true feelings?

Because he didn’t know what he felt. He didn’t know the truth. He was hopeless with feelings.

Maybe John could actually help him. Maybe Sherlock just should blurt out everything he felt. The anger, the anxiety, the jealousy, the excitement, his thoughts, the confusion, the uncertainty, everything because isn’t that what friends are for?

Sherlock stopped pacing and simply closed his eyes so that John could not read them. He sighed deeply and grunted, throwing his fists in the air in frustration. Why must feelings always be so difficult!?

He tried to calm the chaos in his head down, but the harder he tried to temper it, the bigger it became. It had been a very long time since he had an emotional crisis like this, and he repelled every bit of it. At least, he wasn’t alone now and he had no cocaine stocked up somewhere.

“This is why I don’t bother with feelings, they bloody mess up everything!”

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Sherlock finished his cocoa too and handed John over the mug. He would know what to do with it.
“I will.” He smiled back and they looked at each other for a longer time than possible. John’s face lit up when he smiled. Sherlock liked that.

“I think I am going to sleep too. It has been a while, and there are no interesting cases open. Good night.” Sherlock got up, got ready while listening to the noises John made and eventually went to bed.

His dreams were pleasant. Very pleasant. John had shoved him up the wall again, but now ‘round the corner from a crime scene. At the risk of being discovered, John made his quest to make Sherlock moan as loudly as possible, a challenge Sherlock accepted with enthusiasm. He turned around in bed, getting entangled with his sheets in order to escape from the position John had held him. He didn’t succeed. He didn’t mind anyway. John did amazing things with his fingers and mouth. In the nick of coming, Sherlock woke up, surprised at the mess he made, because he couldn’t fully remember what he had dreamt of.

((Soooo... I believe Sherlock cannot 'suddenly' fall in love. That's not canon for me... there had to be some trouble, I think... Or else he's not going to react well if John kisses him the next day.))

((again: YOUR CHOICE ENTIRELY))

((Hmmm...tough one, but I think I like the second one better, despite the lack of emotional development. It still feels a bit early to me for Sherlock to be admitting that he had feelings. Also, I'm considering having John meet a girl who's almost as smart as Sherlock, with the idea that- if Sherlock can't blame being annoyed by the girl because of her stupidity, it might serve as a wake up call for his feelings. What do you think? Not going to get to the point of them dating, I would just set it up so Sherlock comes across them talking a flirting once or twice.))

John, surprisingly, actually slept deeply enough he had no dreams. He awoke the next morning feeling especially fresh and in a wonderful mood. The morning was made even better when he looked out the window and saw a heavy blanket of snow over the ground outside his window.

Sherlock was sitting in the kitchen, looking absolutely adorable with his hair all tousled from sleep and wrapped up in his blue dressing gown, still yawning and rubbing at his eyes. John, without even realizing what he was doing, ruffled his hand fondly through the black curls as he walked by Sherlock to get to the tea kettle.

"Morning you," he said warmly, then realized what he had done. Not exactly a normal greeting for a flatmate...oh well, best to just act like it never happened.

In the now familiar routine, John made up two cups of tea (black for him, two sugars for Sherlock) and four pieces of toast. He put the toast on one plate, because Sherlock was more likely to eat food if it 'technically' was John's- for some reason then it didn't really count as him eating. When he took a bite of toast and got a smear of jam on the corner of his lip, John may have stared for a short moment, but he very resolutely restrained his hand from reaching out and wiping away the jam.

John read through the paper and updated Sherlock on the highlights he would deem worth hearing about, they talked over details from the current case (obviously quite close to being rounded up if Sherlock was eating a bite of toast).

When John got up to shower and get dressed he had a brilliant idea.

"Sherlock, why don't you come out with me when I leave for work? You need to head over to see Lestrade anyways, and the clinic is only a block out of your way. We can leave early and walk together, enjoy the snow."

When Sherlock didn't immediately say anything, John teased him, "Don't worry, I promise not to drag you in for a physical, though I still say you need one since you haven't had a proper check up since you started working with Lestrade."

(John had been harping on Sherlock about this for months now. He had a new problem though, because should Sherlock ever agree to an examine, John could have issues keeping his mindset professional with Sherlock in nothing but a hospital gown.)

"Well, anyways, think about it and just let me know if you decide to come along. I'm going to go shower," John lays a hand on Sherlock's shoulder for a moment as he passes by, "Put the plate in the sink when you're done, don't just leave it out for Mrs. Hudson- she's not our housekeeper."

((Yeah, definitely has to be a bit of trouble along the way. Sherlock's whole emotional thing isn't just a switch he can turn on or off, there will definitely be a freak out somewhere along the line.))

((Yeah, I thought it was too early too. That’s a great plan! Maybe the girl could be a new colleague of John’s?. Maybe Sherlock/John/girl’s first meeting could be if you could persuade Sherlock to let John examine him in the hospital? X) just blurting out ideas))

Sherlock could easily deduce what kind of dream he had had. He couldn’t remember the details though, however he could guess them. This had not happened since he had been drugged by Irene Adler. That night, he had had really weird dreams.

Sherlock got out of bed, grabbed a robe, put it on (missing the armhole a few times) and strode into the kitchen, clearly sleepdrunk. He flopped on a kitchen chair and rubbed at his eyes to drive the sleepiness away. Sleeping really did slow him down. He heard John coming into the living room, but did not respond. He was too busy yawning and stretching.

Sherlock stiffened for a second when he felt a hand brush through his hair. He relaxed when his slowed mind registered that it was John. It felt nice. Really nice. He felt like a cat. His imagination deserted his rationality and he daydreamed about being a cat while being stroked by someone.

He woke up when he heard John’s warm greeting. “Morning.” He rumbled with a husky voice. Another reason why he detested sleeping: it made his voice go funny in the morning. Also another reason why he needed a scarf. Sherlock looked up to John and smiled back as John prepared breakfast.
His breakfast. Needless to say Sherlock would snatch a slice or two too.

John was dressed in a grey v-neck t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His hair was flattened on his right side and spikey on the other. His t-shirt was put into his pants on one side and hanging loose on the other. Sherlock thought he looked rather nice and together with the ruffle in his hair, the warm greeting and the warm tea, he felt all warm and fuzzy.

John enlightened him with today’s paper contents and they discussed the current case. Sherlock was unaware of the jam on the corner of his lip, but when he found out, he licked it away with the tip of his tongue. Or at least tried to. There was still some left, which he rubbed away with his thumb and licked his thumb too.

“Sounds good.” He yawned again, stretching his arms up in the air and wide. He took a deep breath. “Though, remember putting gloves on, will you? I’m going to shower too. See you in a beat.” And with that, he got up and strode to his bathroom.

((Please, make a beginning for the snowballfight because I'm going to a party tonight ^^))

((That would work. I was thinking that should would either work at the clinic, or at Bart's. I'll work something up. Of course I can start the snowballfight. Have fun at your party))

John and Sherlock stepped out into the crisp winter morning- John bundled up in his favorite oatmeal jumper, a wool hat, coat, and gloves; Sherlock in his usual suit, but with his coat buttoned for once, and his scarf more tightly wound than usual. John took in a lungful of cold air. He smiled at the fresh snap in it. He and Sherlock started crunching off down the street, careful of icy patches.

As they made to cut through the local park, John recalled his snowball idea. He casually let himself slip a few steps back from Sherlock (a common occurence due to their height difference, and nothing likely to catch Sherlock's attention). He bent down, got a handful of snow, packed it expertly, aimed, and then let it fly.

[i]Splat[/i]

The snowball hit Sherlock smack in the back of the head, a champion shot. Sherlock froze in the path, one hand coming up to touch the back of his head. John let out a victorious cry of laughter, too amused by the shot to take in the dangerous stillness in the line of Sherlock's shoulders.

He was wiping away some tears of mirth from his eyes when he felt a snowball smack into face. He wiped the snow out of his eyes, looked up in bewilderment, and saw Sherlock staring at him with a look on his face that John had only ever before seen while chasing down criminals. His stomach flipped pleasantly at the sight, and he sucked in a breath.

"Oh, so you want to play that way do you?" John challenged, grinning mischievously, "You realized you've declared war, right?"

((Let the snowball war begin! :) ))

((Party ended early, thunderstorm and a garden party don't go well...))

Crisping over the fresh snow, Sherlock suddenly felt a cold hit against the back of his head. Good shot. he thought. He didn't like to be laughed at. Oh he's going to regret this. the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

He got down, grabbed some snow and made a nice ball of it. He turned around, finding John too amused to pay attention and aimed his shot right in his face, to wipe his grin away. He managed to look like looks could kill.

"Let the war commence."

Sherlock was down immediately, making snowballs that he could easily throw. He cared for quality, not quantity. He ducked when John aimed one at his chest. "Vatican Cameos." he murmured. He got up, aimed at John's neck (the only place where John had no clothing to keep him warm) and hit him.

They threw to and fro a couple of times. Sherlock hit John perfectly in the shoulder, neck and face again and missed some and hit John half too. John aimed at his head a lot, which was easy to dodge, but also easy to forget.

They had moved the fight to the middle of a street, which was quite slippery. During the fight, Sherlock could not hold up his mask and enthusiastically shouted and laughed at their war. When he was running over the street, bowed to evade one of John's chest hits, he slipped and suddenly, his back lay on the cold surface of the snow. He laughed out loud, almost getting an uncontrollable fit of laughter. John looked worried and came over, but was stopped by the last ball Sherlock held in his hand, which hit John in his face. Another fit of laugher.

((Did it end too fast, you think? :/))

((Ah, yes. I can see how that would be an issue.))

"Watch it! I was coming to help you, dolt."

John wiped the snow off his face. That had been an extremely fun snowball fight. He had not expected Sherlock to join in so easily, and was happily surprised at his readiness to loosen up and goof around a bit. They had actually been about equally matched in skill, using different strategies to achieve similar end results.

John walked over to Sherlock (who was still on his arse in a snowdrift, having trouble standing up in the slippery patch with his long legs). He took a handfull of snow, rubbed it into Sherlock's hair, then helped to haul him up to his feet. They both ended up off balance, and had to clutch at each other for a moment to keep from falling over.

"Steady there," John murmured, holding Sherlock's arms until the man could stand properly.

"Thanks for that, I haven't done something that fun since--" John was cut off by a horrid sounding cough that burst out of Sherlock. John's doctor instincts instantly went on red alert.

"That had a rattle in it, you sound like you could be getting pneumonia," John fretted, starting to get worried- Sherlock treated his body like crap, getting sick could be very serious for him. That, and given how moody Sherlock could be normally, he was probably hell to be around when sick, "I need to get a scan of your chest."

Sherlock started to spout out some blather about never getting sick.

"Don't even try it. You're coming in to have me check that. I know I have an open appointment at 11, I'm scheduling you then. That's right before I get off work, we can go and stop by Bart's to pick up a new bottle of hydrocholric acid after- I noticed you were just about out. If you don't come to your appointment, the eyeballs in the fridge are getting tossed out, and I'm giving Mrs. Hudson the skull to confiscate for a week, understood?"

John was taking no chances with Sherlock avoiding this one.

"Sherlock, I'm worried about that cough, I don't want you to get seriously ill. It could put you off cases for weeks if we don't catch this now. Please listen to me for this one. Hopefully it's just a chest cold, and a bit of cough syrup will clear it up. I'm surprised you haven't caught anything before with how poorly you look after yourself."

((I'm planning on this only being a cold. I have no interest in dealing with a seriously ill Sherlock, he would most likely be completely unbearable. I think that the new girl will work at Bart's- hence using it to bribe Sherlock. The clinic John works at seems fairly small, not the place someone smart enough to compete with Sherlock would work. I think I'll have her be a new professor at the med school.))

((Ah, sounds great. Doctor John is Doctor-ish. If it's just a cold, Sherlock can be all annoying and I-told-you-so.))

Sherlock chuckled and made some mockingly noises at John rubbing even more snow in his hair. That was bloody cold.

His chuckle transformed in a cough, which made him lean over a little bit, his hand gripping John's shoulder for support. Not good

"Oh, God, no. I am fine. I am absolutely fine. I never get si-" He tried, but he was cut off by John who was very authoritative and made the situation quite clear. Sherlock liked it when he was like that. It made him simpler directer and delightfully straightforward. Though he wasn't happy with the things John proposed. (Well... proposed...). He tried to put some 'But-... I-.. No need- Not the skull!-''s in, but to no avail. He grumbled reluctantly. In fact, he then realised how cold he was. His arse, back and legs had been exposed with snow and a cold wind. Somewhere in his mind he knew, John was right, though Sherlock would not admit he thought that.

John grabbed him by the shoulders and made him look him in the eye. Sherlock had trouble focussing on the words because John's face was partly wet by the snow and dripping down his neck.

"John, I am sure it's just a cold." He rolled with his eyes to emphasize his disbelief. "So. Appointment with Doctor John Hamish Watson in..." He looked on his watch "an hour. Do you need to prepare thoroughly for a cold?" He scoffed, but rather fondly. if he let anyone examine him, it was John.

((Yes, Doctor John is very Doctorish, and Sherlock is free to be smug about being right))

John and Sherlock eventually parted ways and John went in to work.

"Hi Sara, can you put in Sherlock as my 11 o'clock? He had a bad cough this morning, I want to take a look at his chest."

Sara looked up and smiled, "You got him to agree to come in? Did you hold him at gunpoint?"

"Threatened to throw out some eyeballs."

"Ah, that would do it. Sure thing. You have a patient in there now, kid with a sprained wrist, should be a quick one."

John set the kid's wrist, then took a walk in with a stomach flu before 11 o'clock comes around. John takes a moment in the hallway to pull himself together. This is a professional location, you are a professional. You are Sherlock's doctor and that is all. You can do this.

John sees opens the door, sees that Sherlock has actually shown up, takes a moment to text Molly to let her know they will be coming by to pick up some chemicals, pockets his phone, then walks in.

"Hello Mr. Holmes, nice to see you in today. I'm going to just do a general look-over of you, the standard visit procedure, then we'll do some listens and scans of your chest to check for pneumonia."

When Sherlock came in, he shot a quick glance through the hallway and saw that John was already waiting. Before he talked to him, he sent a text and pocketed his phone.

Sherlock gave an impressive eyeroll at John's professionalism. "Oh, come on, John." He sighed dramatically. John closed the door behind them and Sherlock took his coat and scarf off. "There's no need for diplomatic talk. I live with you, for God's sake."

"Can we skip the standard visit procedure? I already know what you're going to do, Doctor." He said mockingly, emphasizing the last word.

Sherlock didn't stop with unclothing himself. After his coat and jacket, he now unbuttoned his purple shirt until it was fully open. If John had to listen to his chest. Fine. Than John can listen to his chest.

((Sherlock has made his new personal mission: break John's professionalism. ehehehe))
((By the way: I have no idea what the standard procedures are x) You'll have to guide me then :c))

John had seen Sherlock shirtless before- it's not like the man was a paragon of modesty and propriety. However, there was something about Sherlock casually stripping in front of him that made John's eyes glue themselves to the action. Making the torture worse was the shirt- the purple shirt, the one that was so tight it barely stayed closed over Sherlock's chest, and always made his skin look the color of fresh cream. Seeing Sherlock's fingers methodically popping the buttons of that shirt and exposing the white flesh and hard muscle underneath was effecting John like hardcore porn.

A sharp voice that sounded rather similar to John's old drill sergeant started yelling in John's head. Watson, you will pull yourself together and you will do it right now! you are not letting this man get to you! You will do a basic health check on him and keep yourself calm and collected. You invaded Afghanistan, this should be nothing compared to that."

"I'll need you to remove socks, shoes, and trousers as well. You can leave your pants on," John walked over to the cabinet and got down a hospital gown, "You can put this on. I'm afraid I can't skip the standard check ups. You don't have a previous medical record with us, so I'm legally obliged to go through them."

John turned his back to make some notes while Sherlock changed.

"As for my bedside manner, I've never had complaints about it before. If you don't like it, I'd be perfectly happy to call in a different doctor to treat you. I will not, however, deal with you being non-compliant. You will cooperate with me for this visit, even if I have to use...unorthodox methods to get you to behave."

He turned back around and gave Sherlock a hard stare. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, challenging John's statement.

"Don't even try," he warned, "Now sit. I am going to take your temperature, check your eyes, ears, and mouth, and take a blood pressure reading."

((Oh God yes))
((No problem. My family tends to end up at the doctor's fairly often, so I'm familiar with it. After this John will check basic reaction-hitting the knee to see if the other jerks up- flexibility-touching toes, at which point he will also look to make sure spinal alignment is in good shape- weight-yell at him for being under weight, listening to breathing, feeling stomach for abnormal growths, brief look at penis to check for infections-should be awkward-and updating Sherlock on any immunizations he would need- Tdap for tetanus, and Hepatitis A and B for safety, possibly one for meningitis as well, since they regularly exposed to blood. Will do an x-ray of chest to check for mucus build up- leads to pneumonia. That should be it. Umm...yeah...probably a bit weird that I can list that off...))

((Whoa, that's a lot indeed :O I hope your family is in good health then! Indeed, the Penis check will be very awkward!))
((Dang, I just realised I can't reach my toes o.o))

Sherlock gave another exhausted sigh and murmured something about ‘legally obligations’ and ‘stupid rules’. He did what John asked him, though. He stripped down to his pants, put the hospital gown on and made some remarks on the hideous gown. It looked ridiculous. It had a kind of colour of which one could not decide whether it was blue or green.

“John. You are my doctor, I am your patient. I get that. It’s just.. why bother the formality? We’ve been living together for quite some time now.” He said while behaving somewhat reluctant. He sat down on the bench that decided to be a bed, but did not succeed, which was a typical bench/bed for doctors and sport masseurs. He spread his arms behind him and leaned on them while John started at the procedure-list. “What’s next, doctor? Are you going to check if I can fly?”

Secretly, he was quite curious what John’s ‘unorthodox methods’ were. As long as it had nothing to do with restricting him from talking to the skull or even no cases! Well, for John that wouldn’t be beneficial eitherway. Sherlock would be unmanageable.

The eye-check up was fine, but caused black spots for his vision for a few moments. Sherlock gave John a very bored look before the mouth check. Eventually and very scholastic, Sherlock opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. He took a theatrical breath before breathing ‘aaaaaaaaaaaaah’ and “I said so it was fine!” though it lost effect because he had his mouth open. This was all so boring. Sherlock predicted what the result would be, in which the word ‘fine’ occurred very frequently. Temperature: fine. Eyes: fine. Ears: fine. Mouth: absolutely fine. Knees: even more fine than anything.

This was all so boring, Sherlock tried to make things more entertaining by annoying and distracting John as much as possible. John told him to get up, bend over and touch his toes. So Sherlock did, jutting his butt very prominently and deliberately. He reached for his toes, but couldn’t touch them. He felt quite stiff and blamed the snowy climate.

When John checked his vertebrae, his cool hands brushed over his warm back. It made goosebumps appear on his arms. John’s hands glided over his whole back, up to his tailbone. It felt ticklish and nice really. He didn’t want it to stop.

Of course he was underweight, he knew that. He just simply didn’t care. “John there’s no need-“ he tried but John was already yelling at him. Suddenly, Sherlock was deaf, though the ear check was fine.

Sherlock decided to abandon the gown completely. It looked ludicrous, it had no use and he would be shirtless for the next few things on the list, so he saw no need for having it on still. He pulled it over his head, commenting on it again.

Next on the list: listening and stomach check. John breathed very politely on the metal circle to warm it a bit up, but to no avail. It still felt cold when John pressed it to his chest. It made his nipples go hard, which Sherlock cursed in silence.

John’s hands, now warm, explored his stomach by stroking and pressing delicately on essential points. Sherlock didn’t dare to look at John, nor his hands, in fear of what that might do to his rationality. His hands felt very, very nice though. He feared it might show. Luckily, it didn’t last that long.

Sherlock also knew what came next and he swallowed. He looked at John and put his hands on his hips. “You said I could leave my pans on.” He stated coolly.

((Let the awkwardness be awkward!))

((We're all fine, just never organized enough to all get into the doctor at the same time, so we all get dragged in a lot))

John hoped that Sherlock didn't realize that when he said Sherlock's eyes and mouth were 'fine' he didn't only mean that medically- the man was fine. His eyes changed colors when John shone the light in them, and John had to reign in all his reserve to keep his inspection of Sherlock's mouth on his tonsils, not the highly distracting lips that were making a perfect 'O'.

Then, of course, Sherlock's nipples went hard during the stomach exam, which meant that John took a good five seconds longer doing the exam than he normally did. He also had a momentary moment of utter distraction when, in the course of the stomach exam, his fingers went over the patch of dark, curly hair leading down into Sherlock's pants.

John was pleased that, with the stethoscope, Sherlock's breathing sounded much better, though he would still want to do an x-ray to be safe.

Then came up the point of the exam that John had been dreading. This was uncomfortable enough with normal patients- not that John really thought about it too much, all business, look quickly, make sure everything was in order, move on- but with Sherlock, with a bloke he had recently discovered having feelings for, this would be torture.

"Sorry, but I need to check. You don't need to completely remove your pants, I'll just pull them down. I promise to keep this quick and painless. I can assure you that all my patients make it out of this without any mental scarring."

John took a deep, but hopefully inconspicuous breath, and pulled down Sherlock's pants. The forefront of his mind had locked firmly in emotionless doctor mode, to preserve his sanity, but in the back of his mind- the part that would come to light later that night, when he was alone- was making non-medical observations. He's thinner than I am, but longer, like the rest of his body. Circumcised. Would love to see him hard.

John lightly squeezed to check for fluids, lifted to look for sores underneath, felt lightly for abnormalities. Overall, it took no more than a few seconds, but John was sure that he was holding his breath for the whole thing. He very quickly pulled Sherlock's pants back up and stepped back from the table.

"Right, you look good...meaning healthy."

((Awkward enough, or am I lacking?))

Almost awkward enough. I’ll do my duty and make it more awkward))

Sherlock dared a glance down and his breath hitched. John had his hands on the most sensitive part of his body and squeezed it. It didn’t hurt. Oh, no. Not in the least. Sherlock couldn’t place the feeling. The best thing he could compare it with was a case in which there was a brilliant serial killer and he just deduced the final clue. A rush of excitement and... arousal(!?) rushed through him. Sherlock cast his eyes on the ceiling and began to recall the periodic table in his mind, but when he felt John’s fingers stroking him feathery and lifted him, Sherlock clenched his teeth and hold his breath.

First the back, then the stethoscope and the nipples, then John’s digits stroking his line of hair wandering down from his bellybutton and now his actual cock... it was all much for Sherlock to cope with rationally. He hoped that his beginning erection would not have a will of its own when John let him go and stay up, standing proudly.


Sherlock tried to distract John from his getting-hardness by clearing his throat, which ended up in a well-timed coughing fit. Sherlock trusted on his acting skills and made it look a little bit worse than it really was, by grabbing the nearest surface for support, which was John’s shoulder. “Thanks.” He managed to say rather raspy between coughs. Probably, John knew that his cough couldn’t be so bad, because he had just listened. Well... Sherlock could pretend either way.

Sherlock had noticed that the underlying layer John had slipped his tongue over by saying he looked ‘good... meaning healthy’. Quite odd to hear from your best and only friend, but it stroked his ego remarkably.

((I'll leave the rest to you, because I've never had an x-ray, nor immunizations [really!] and I don't know what 'muscus build up' means x]))

((No problem, I can handle this part. The last bit was the most difficult to write because I personally don't have the parts included in that exam, so I was totally making it up.))
((Also, mucus build up-gross as it is- is pretty much when the fluids from your nose drip down your throat into your lungs, and it blocks off the airflow. Kind of like a drain getting clogged. That's part of what causes pneumonia))

John had been about to ask Sherlock a question about an unexplained flush to his skin...down there, that could potentially indicate something wrong with his bloodflow (strangely enough the symptoms were similar to arousal, but since that had to be out of the question, it could mean something serious was wrong), when Sherlock was suddenly struck by a nasty coughing fit that nearly caused him to slip off the bench.

John took out his stethoscope again to listen as Sherlock coughed. Not as bad as it could be, didn't sound too much like pneumonia, but John wasn't taking any chances. The coughs finally subsided, and John rubbed lightly at Sherlock's shoulder in comfort.

"Ok, lets go take an x-ray of your chest, and then while that's developing I'm going to give you a few immunizations you need. Yes," John cut Sherlock off before the protest could leave his mouth, "I know for a fact that you're behind on them. Mycroft told me, soon after I moved in, what immunizations I was to give you should I ever get you into a doctor's office."

Sherlock started to protest again, but John cut him off a second time, "I'm aware the fact that Mycroft is involved only makes you more unwilling to do this, but honestly Sherlock, it's not up for debate. You are four years behind on your tetanus shot, which protects you from infections caught from cutting oneself on rusty metal. You go hopping over rusty fences every week; this is not negotiable, you need the shots."

John wrapped Sherlock back up into the hospital gown while turning deaf to the protests Sherlock was spouting. He dragged him over to the x-ray room, pushed him down onto the machine, and threatened to strap Sherlock down should he try to get up. He got a murderous glare, but Sherlock stayed down for the scan.

He then dragged Sherlock back to exam room (they were getting some very strange looks from the nurses), and John called out for a Tdap, Hep A, and Hep B immunization to be brought in for him.

"Are you seriously still complaining? Why? I know-" John bit his tongue. Even if Sherlock was being annoying, making a comment about Sherlock not being scared of needles was not ok. The drugs were an off-limits topic of conversation.

The nurse came with the shots, "I can do this if you want, Doctor."

"It's fine, Beth. He's a bit of a difficult patient and I'm familiar with dealing with him. However, I would appreciate it if you would pick up some x-rays for me. Room 7- front, back, and side scans of the chest. Patient name, Sherlock Holmes."

John turned back to Sherlock, already opening the packets for the shots and pulling off the safety tops with gloved fingers. He saw Sherlock's mouth open to complain again, and finally lost patience. He pulled out one of the lollies he kept for children from his pocket, and roughly stuck it in to Sherlock's mouth.

"Shut up."

He then quickly jabbed Sherlock with each of the needles, one after another- one on the right shoulder, and two on the left.

"See, all done. Was it really that bad?"

The nurse knocked on the door and brought in the scans. John looked them over.

"Excellent, no pneumonia, what a relief. We'll just have to be extra careful to keep you warm and boost your immune system a bit to keep things that way. I may give you some medicine to take that will give your immune system a boost, and you'll need to increase your liquid intake to make sure you don't get mucus build up."

He was fairly sure Sherlock was ignoring him at this point.

"Ok, well you get dressed, I'll sort out the last of this paperwork, and we can go to Bart's. You haven't exactly been an ideal patient, but you did come in, so we can go get you some new chemicals to play with."

((Ok, doctor's check-up is finally over, we can move on to stuff that's easier to write!))

"Mycroft." Sherlock scoffed angrily. Why can't Mycroft leave him alone for once. Sherlock underwent the rest of the exams without great difficulty, in means of health. Of course Sherlock complained, mocked and muttered, but it was all rather amusing. At least he thought so. John's defence layers had grown thick and it was almost becoming a sort of teasing. Again, so thought Sherlock.

He was put off when John stuck a lolly in his mouth, though. He jabbered with the lolly in his mouth at John about the nurse Beth, how she had a dog and a cat and a son who loved to leave his lego on the ground. He tried to tell John about how she had tripped on one of her pets, fell over with her leg on a lego piece before she left. Sherlock knew he was jabbering away, but that was one of the amazing benefits of having John around.

And of course he wouldn't take the the medicine. Maybe he'd push it that far that John showed his 'unorthodox methods'. Yes, that may be interesting.

Sherlock thought John was treating him as if he was a child. Sherlock didn't need an incentive to dress himself again. He was getting cold again and he had to admit: he didn't want to catch a cold or worse. He wouldn't be able to work. So he stepped into his pants, buttoned up his shirt, sat down to pull up his socks and put on his shoes. Finally, he grabbed his coat and scarf and he was ready to go.

When they arrived at Bart's they met with Molly. Molly didn't want to cooperate immediately, so Sherlock flirted with her just a tiny bit. He saw John casting a judging glance on him and he gave an unimpressed one in return. He did get the chemicals, eventually.

((When are we going to meet the girl? Will it be in the hospital? Gahh I'm quite inspirationless today ._.))

((Warning: Really, REALLY long post!!! Babbling, but hopefully making progress!!!!))

((Planning on bringing her in now, don't worry about it. I'm bored and still have a while until dinner, so I might as well pass the time on this.))

They walked over to St. Barts, Sherlock, as usual, going between babbling, pouting, and getting lost in his own head.

Molly, unfortunately, was not as compliant as John had hoped when they arrived. Sherlock started to flirt with her to try and get her more cooperative. John glowered, confused about how much this was bothering him. He normally didn’t like it when Sherlock flirted with Molly, he thought it was incredibly cruel of Sherlock to exploit the girl’s feelings the way he did. This was different though, he felt no pity for Molly at the moment, in fact he felt a touch of resentment towards her. He was jealous. He was actually jealous of Molly, because Sherlock was flirting with her, even though John knew the only reason Sherlock was flirting was to get his chemicals. This was ridiculous.

John needed to get out of the room.

“Molly, we need the chemicals, we all know that if you don’t give them to Sherlock he’ll just break in tonight and take them- it’s fairly common knowledge that he can bypass the security system. Please, he is at risk of getting pneumonia, just give him the chemicals so he has something to entertain him so he stays inside tonight and doesn’t make himself more sick.”

Molly finally gave in, and John went back to get the chemicals.

He was surprised to find someone already in the back room- a tall, slender woman, auburn hair done up in a tight bun. She was wearing a labcoat over a black suit and skirt that showed off her legs quite nicely. The woman stared at the shelves, clearly looking for something.

“Can I help you find something?” John asked with a smile, reaching past the woman to grab bottles hydrocholric acid, arsenic, and nitrate “You must be new here, the organizational schematic can be a bit tricky at first.”

“I need Lithium Hydroxide and Tungsten.”

“Right...that would be farthest right on the second shelf from the top, and about middle of the third shelf from the bottom, closer to the left.”

The woman looks, then grabs the two containers with a surprised noise.

“How did you...”

“Top is acids, going left to right in decreasing acidity. Next bases, strongest base at the right, decreasing to the left. Everything after that on this shelf is a pure element, higher molar concentrations to the right. I have no idea how that shelf over there is organized, but if you need something I can normally find it after a bit of looking.”

The woman looked over at the shelf in question for a few moments.

“Oh, that makes sense, it’s organized by-”

John cut her off, “Don’t bother, I’ve had Sherlock try and explain it to me, never helps, I jsut memorized where the stuff is he asks for.”

“Sherlock?”

“Holmes, man who sorted all this stuff onto the shelves.”

“Ah, it’s better than the usual method, much more logical.”

“He’d be thrilled to hear it, though wouldn’t be surprised.

“John Watson, by the way,” John extended his hand.

“Mary Morstan, new graduate-level biochemisty professor.”

“Pleasure to meet you. Biochemistry? Never got very far there.”

“I mainly focus on nuerochemistry, it’s a fascinating topic. I’ve recently been doing a study on adult male adolescent brains and how they differ from adults in high-stress situations. I’m writing a paper on how the differences in releases of certain chemicals make adolescent males more likely to commit illegal acts than adult males, even when both are placed in the same environment with the same factors contributing to the decisions.”

“Wouldn’t personality have a lot to do with that?”

“Potentially, yes, but on a chemical level that has little influence, and that’s why you have a large sample spread.”

“It sounds like an interesting study. Did you read the paper by Professor Charles Lockley on adolescent brain development leading to a sort of adrenaline addiction, causing an increase in risk-taking?”

“I loved that study! Though on further research into his test methods, I had a few objections to the results.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I- oh damn, I need to get back to my office! I have a meeting with a student. Would you like to meet for dinner sometime, perhaps we could continue the conversation? It’s not often I find someone who’s willing to listen to me talk about this sort of thing.”

“I’d love that! You could tell me about your experiment as well.”

“You probably wouldn’t be interested. It’s nothing ground-breaking, just some tinkering, inspired by the work of a stuffy old dead man. Besides, it’s a bit gory.”

“Trust me, it would not turn me off. I live with a man who’s constantly tinkering around with gory experiments. We solve crimes, so I rather frequently open the refrigerator to find decomposing body parts.”

“Oh wow, that makes me sound tame! How about--”

The door to the storeroom burst open, and John jumped back from Mary, unaware of how close he had gotten to her.

“Sherlock, I was just talking about you. Here are the chemicals for you. I know you didn’t ask for the arsenic, but I noticed you were almost out of it, and that you have been using it in whatever that experiment is that’s taken over my spice shelf.”

((Ok, so please do not believe any of the sciency talk. I am nowhere near a science expert on any of that, and totally made up everything except the names of the chemicals. The studies mentioned are not real at all, I just wrote something that sounded vaguely smart and complicated. Hope it serves to somewhat impress Sherlock.))

((GAAAH I must stop being up so late and replying. It's literally almost 3 am in the morning =,=" But hey: answer is here ^^))

Sherlock thought it John was taking far too long to get the chemicals. When he was done smalltalking/flirting against Molly (she never had much interesting to tell, always mumbling and eeeerrr- and uhmmm-ming. So annoying) until there hung an awkward silence in the morgue. He decided to go to the chemical-stock, in which he found John and a woman, standing dangerously close to each other.

"Hmmmm hmmmm" he hummed slowly, eyes switching from John to the woman. He didn't need to deduce much to see what was going on.

"Thank you, John." Sherlock took over some of the pots and pocketed them.

"Ehm.. Sherlock, this is-" John began, but Sherlock cut him off.

"Mary Morstan, I know." Sherlock held out his hand with a brief, fake smile. "Sherlock Holmes." He shook her hand and simultaneously did his usual scan.

She was about their age, came very frequently in the lab, according to her labcoat. At the wrists it was covered with spots of stains and blood. She had her hair up in a tight bun, comfortable, though practical. Gave her a stern look. Her personalised labcoat told Sherlock that she was involved with the Central London Medical University, which operated at Bart's. Too old to be a student, old enough to be a very young professor. He glanced at the chemicals she was holding in her hand. Chemistry but with a hint to biology. She was single, obviously. Her skirt was too short to be decent for a married wife, nor wore she jewellery that hinted to a steady romantic relationship.

"But how do you-?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Your personalised labcoat tells me you come here very frequently and have enough authorisation to get a personalised labcoat. It also tells me your name and your function: professor Biochemistry at the university here. Or well, the chemicals in your hand and your age tell me that. Lithium Hydroxide and Tungsten are that kind of chemicals. You'd probably do a titration with them, mixed with blood to see how fast they'd stain in a solution."

"How do you kno-"

"I don't know. I notice." Sherlock sneered. "I observe. Your clothing tells me enough about you."

"Well, please tell me then... what does it tell about me?" She seemed genuinely interested. John tried to protest, in knowledge of what might come. Sherlock ignored him as usual. The lady insisted.

"The length of your skirt, the low cut top under your jacket and your perfume tell me that you are desperate for a date, a man in your life because your body clock almost hit its eleventh hour. The piece of paper sticking out of your breast pocket probably contains your phonenumber, which you wanted to give my friend here."

"Then let me break it to you: John is occupied tonight. He has to come with me, so no date." Sherlock grumbled. 'Because he's mine' Sherlock almost added, but he contained that thought to himself. He felt that tingle in his chest again. That itchy, bad feeling of jealousy.

Damn. He hated seeing John with women. Smiling brightly, winking, standing close, flirting. Bah. He had to change this.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and tugged him to the exit. "Bye!" Sherlock said cheerfully, waving a goodbye to Mary. He understood how he must have come across to Mary. Grabbing John's hand, announcing he was occupied that evening... That would make sure she never wanted to date John again, because she would think he was gay. Ha! Take that, woman!

When they were outside, Sherlock got pulled back and faced an angry John. He estimated what would come.

((You can hit him if you like ;) ))

John roughly yanks his arm out of Sherlock's grip, turns around, and gives Sherlock a rough shove.

"WHAT. THE. Hell!!!! WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?!?!?! WHAT DO YOU HAVE AGAINST ME HAVING MY OWN LIFE?!?!?"

John smacked the wall next to Sherlock's head, wanting to hit the man, but knowing he would regret doing so later.

"Look, I get that my need to date isn't something you understand or like, but you CANNOT keep doing this!!! She was a perfectly intelligent woman, not at all 'dull' as you would put it. What could you possibly object to about her?!?! She's a bloody college professor, she does titration experiments in her spare time!!! I can't very well get any smarter than her without asking out James Moriarty!!! Perhaps I should give him a call, you seemed to get along well enough with him at the pool, he seems like the only person you would put up with me seeing!!!"

John had somehow ended up tightly grasping Sherlock's forearms while he talked, and shaking Sherlock slightly. He thrust the tall man away and turned around to take a few deep breaths. He needed to get his temper under control, even if it was completely unfair to him to have Sherlock storming in like a jealous lover and ruining a potential date.

Speaking of dates, crap, I'm technically, sort of, still with Alice. I'd totally forgotten about her. Not a good sign. I should probably end things with her, it's really not fair anymore.

John finishes reciting the Latin names of every bone he could remember from med school, then turned back to Sherlock.

"Right, we are going back there. You will apologize to Mary and allow me to attempt to repair the damage you have done, or so help me Sherlock, I'll--"

John attempted to think up a sufficient threat.

"I'll move out for two weeks and go stay with your brother!!!!"

Oh SHIT, did I really say that??? If he calls my bluff I'm going to have to stay with Mycroft, or risk Sherlock never taking my threats seriously again. DAMMIT!!! Why do I do this to myself???

((So yeah, remembered that John technically has a girlfriend to break up with. Probably will just have it happen as some background info. Sherlock going to call John on his 'threat' and force John to go stay with Mycroft, or is the sibling rivalry going to win out on this one?))

Sherlock's snapped his wide eyes on John when he thought of a decent threat
No no no no no. He can't leave. I wouldn't function without him. My mind would explode. A chaotic mess. No no no no. Must phone Mycroft in advance.

And then he thought rather startled: Weird... didn't think I'd ever say that before I met John.

Sherlock felt a fling of hurt when John mentioned leaving him. He had been left many times before, which had made him the man he was today. Distant and 'arrogant' as they call it. His former flatmates had always: been extremely annoying, party animals, drunk students etc.... that was type A. Type B: gay men who wanted something else than the shared rent from him, which he always ignored until they felt rejected and left. At first, he had felt lonely when that happened. But every time another left him, he felt less. He changed his behaviour towards the new ones too. He became distant, was uncomfortable around them and did not trust them.
He didn't need the flatmates for money issues, no. With Mycroft as a brother, one was not in financial distress. He always wanted a flatmate to experiment on. But after a couple of failed flatmates, he had decided to take a break. That was the time he had become addicted to cocaine and he was unstable. That was two years before he met John and now he couldn't imagine his future without him.

So when John suggested that he left him, of for 2 weeks, Sherlock panicked a little.

“Fine.” He growled, responding to either proposal. “You go to her first, I’ll be soon behind.” He encouraged John to go inside and took out his phone.

Whatever John asks you, don’t give in. -SH
Have you had a row, again? Is it again about a girl?. -MH
John threatened to leave me for two weeks and live with you if I do not cooperate with this girl. Just do that for me, will you? -SH

No response after that one. Sherlock got frustrated again and felt like slamming the phone on the floor. He opened the door and found John and that Morstan girl standing dangerously close again. Sherlock cockblocked them by positioning him uncomfortably close between them, so that they had to take a step back.

“I am sorry for the inconvenience I caused.” Sherlock said blankly. “Plea-“ Sherlock began, but was cut off by Mary.

“So, you two are not lovers then?”

Sherlock did not reply immediately and just looked at John, who was, as always, going to deny the logical assumption.

((Gah, it's late again and I have no inspiration again :\ I hope after this conversation with Mary, Sherlock will like her, which disturbs him and then all the other emotional shit will come... I hope this emotional development didn't come too early :\))

((Oh no, it seems just right. If I didn't think Sherlock would panic over John leaving, I wouldn't have used the threat.))

"No, we're not. We're just good friends," John does his best not to sound disappointed at this now familiar statement, but he's not sure if he's successful, "and Sherlock was apologizing for the way he acted, and the incorrect implication he made."

Mary looks from John to Sherlock. Sherlock is clearly possessive of John, the way he keeps standing between her and John when they talk, the looks he gives. They might not be together romantically, but it's clear that Sherlock has no interest in sharing his friend.

John, on the other hand, was harder to read. He seemed to care very much for Sherlock, that was clear by the way he acted when picking up the chemicals, and the fondness that had been present in his voice when Sherlock had originally entered the room. Besides which, something had been off in his voice when he claimed he and Sherlock were 'just good friends', though Mary didn't know him well enough to tell what.

There was clearly something going on between these two. Even when clearly angry at each other, the two men seemed perfectly comfortable standing so close they were nearly touching. There was a natural ease in their interacting with each other. When one of them moved, the other shifted to accommodate the change unconsciously, meaning that (without realizing it) they were constantly keeping track of the other person.

Attracted to each other, possibly completely in love, but have yet to come to terms with the fact. Mary decided. So, she might have a chance with John, but it wouldn't be permanent, or even last long, given the way these two are acting now.

Hmm, maybe I could have some fun with this, Mary thought, see if I can help push these two idiots together. They clearly need the help. Sherlock seems jealous enough already that it shouldn't be hard, and it doesn't look like John would fight the change.

Mary went through all these thoughts in a few seconds, there wasn't even a lull in the conversation.

"It's perfectly fine. I know what an annoyance it can be to have a friend go off and flirt at inconvenient times. You don't need to worry, Sherlock, I wasn't planning on interfering with your plans tonight- whatever they are. I'm busy myself. Would it be acceptable for me to come over on Saturday night? There's a special on stem cell research being shown as the weekly BBC science special that I want to watch. Perhaps we could all watch together? Despite your deduction of me being 'desperate for a date' I normally like to get to know a man a bit before I jump completely into things with him. This could serve as a good chance to make an assessment of each other."

Mary got out the paper with her number and slipped it into Sherlock's coat pocket.

"Ball's in your court, Mr. Holmes, do with it as you will, but I need to run- I have a student waiting. Cheers John, hope to see you soon."

((So I figure Sherlock will either be somewhat grudgingly impressed by Mary- enough to put up with her- or he'll find her totally obnoxious here. I don't know, It's past 11, I'm exhausted, AND I have to get up at 6:30 tomorrow, so I'm not looking back over it.))

((Don’t worry, I think it was perfect!))

Sherlock pouted and cocked an eyebrow as John famously announced that they were not romantically involved and stated that Sherlock apologized for his behaviour. Huh, please.

Mary caught Sherlock’s attention. He could imagine men thought she was handsome, but what caught Sherlock’s eye, was her eyes. Not the colour or the shape or what poets like to dream about. No, he recognised the eye movements, the way she looked at them. He recognised in himself. She was deducing. What worried him was the fact that she was deducing them. He raised an eyebrow again, in a pleasant surprised. Maybe he had underestimated this Morstan woman.

Sherlock of course was completely oblivious of his movements and behaviour towards John.

Sherlock looked down at her hand slipping in his pocket and then followed her with his gaze until she closed the door behind her. Unusual woman. Not like The Woman, no one was like her... Though, there was something with Mary Morstan he liked, which disturbed him. He thought he wasn’t able to like a girl who wanted to date John.

He got the paper and his phone out and started to type a message.

Saturday evening, 221B Baker Street. -SH

See you two then. -Mary came soon after

John was reading (not literally) over his shoulder and made a teasing comment.
“Stam cells, very interesting, don’t you think? I’d like to see that too. I can’t disagree with her on getting aquainted before you ‘float someone’s boat’.” Sherlock said with a straight face. He walked towards the door, John close behind.

***

Sherlock had secretly hoped that he had a fantastic case going on by the time Saturday evening came, but alas... he had just finished one. Saturday morning started good. Sherlock had finally slept in 4 days and had had a very tasty breakfast, prepared by John. The morning did look like their ‘morning after’, after the incident in the alley. Not that there happened something, but Sherlock felt tension. He googled Mary and concluded that she could be a great partner for John, which concerned him very much.

The sun soon disappeared behind the horizon and it was evening. Sherlock had showered, shaved and dressed in the morning (not that this was especially for Mary, it was what he always did). They were hanging around 221B, John writing about the last case on his blog, waiting on the doorbell to ring.

At last, it rang. He heard chatter downstairs. Mrs Hudson was always polite. When he heard steps coming up the stairs, Sherlock got up from the couch and straightened his clothing. A single knock on the door and there she was, Mary Morstan.

((I skipped the time... if you want it differently, just ignore please ))

((Nope, that works perfectly))

John couldn't believe it, Sherlock was actually being decent with Mary. He scheduled the date for them.

"What, now you're my matchmaker? I can organize my own dates, you know."

Sherlock just ignored him.

After they got home, John called Alice and broke things off with her, which was unpleasant, but manageable.

-------------

The week passed quickly after that. They got another case, which finished up Friday night. John and Sherlock both collapsed as soon as they got home, catching up on sleep. Saturday was a lazy day- late breakfast together, grocery shopping (only John), an experiment (only Sherlock, though John cleaned up the mess), and then companionable laying around in the evening waiting for Mary. There was only one problem, a source of tension that John had been trying to keep under control all day- for the past week all he had been able to think about was Sherlock. His dreams had all been about Sherlock; they had gone to Bart's during the case and he had stared at Sherlock, but forgotten to say hi to Mary; he had almost forgotten about the date, had his phone calender not reminded him. He was excited for it, now that he remembered, but he felt guilty for not thinking about it more.

John was wearing one of his favorite jumpers (the heater was acting tetchy today, and the flat was just the slightest bit chilly), the black and white striped one- very cozy, perfect for sitting about watching TV- and his best-fitting pair of jeans. Before Mary was due to arrive he made sure his hair was nicely combed, and put on a touch of aftershave- no need to look and smell like he had been lying about all day.

Mary arrived and John let her in, "I've made up some Shepard's Pie for dinner, if you want some. If not, I can whip up something else, or just get you a drink."

"Shepard's Pie sounds lovely, perfect thing for an evening like this. Also, I would love a glass of wine if you have any."

John served up pie and dinner for everyone, "Eat it Sherlock. It's beef, potatoes, peas, and carrots- nothing you can possibly object to, and you still need to make up for not eating all week with the case."

They all then settled in the living room to watch the show. John and Mary sat at each end of the couch, and Sherlock settled in his chair. Sherlock and Mary had little debates over ridiculously minute details of the show, and John had a combined feeling of both elation over how easily they were getting along, and jealousy- though who he was jealous of he wasn't sure, which frightened him a bit. In any case, he was fairly sure that- intelligent as he was- he was the dumbest person in the room, so he stayed fairly quiet and just enjoyed the two showing off their smarts to each other, laughing when they got frustrated over having a point refuted. It wasn't like watching Sherlock and Mycroft argue, there wasn't the same antagonism or ulterior motive, it seemed like he was just debating because he enjoyed the challenge.

After a bit- when Mary's plate was empty and his wine had given him a touch of boldness, John made a move on Mary.

"I know the flat is a bit chilly," he said, pulling an afghan out from under them, "want to share the blanket?"

Mary smiled knowingly, but went along with the ploy- as far as her experience with men went, that was actually rather decent. She scooted closer to John, allowed the blanket to be put over both of their laps, and eventually relaxed until she was snuggled up against his chest. John was in heaven- he loved cuddling, and Mary used a really nice smelling shampoo. He began to idly play with her hair as he watched the TV.

((So yeah, John is about as subtle as an elephant...but he did get a cuddle in the end.))