Just Some Johnlock Oneshots

Butterfingers

Clang

"Seriously, Sherlock?" John sighed from his place beside the detective at the counter. John was trying to get his friend to assist in making a meal for once, but it wasn't really working.

Sherlock just stood and stared at his flatmate. "Well aren't you going to pick it up?" John asked. Sherlock glanced down at the pot he had dropped on the floor then back at John.

"Don't feel like it."

The blond sighed again and rolled his eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you," he muttered under his breath while bending over to pick up the pot. Once he stood, John shoved the silver pot into Sherlock's hands. "Go wash it."

The detective stared at John again but eventually turned to the sink to clean the pot. So he can't pick it up but he'll wash it? John just shrugged his shoulders at the oddities of his flatmate and continued chopping up vegetables.

As they continued making their stir fry (although John of course was doing most of the work) Sherlock continued to drop spoons, knives, and a cutting board.

"What's up with you today, Butterfingers?" John chuckled as he bent down to pick up the bean Sherlock had just dropped.

The detective just gave his friend a lost look. John rolled his eyes. "At least I think we're about done. I just have to stir it every once in a while. I don't trust you to do it, you'd just go off into your mind palace for 10 minutes and the food would burn."

Sherlock opened his mouth to defend himself, but stopped because he knew it was true. "Now what do I do?"

"Can you start cleaning up? Just wash the dishes and put the veggies away," John said with his back to Sherlock, stirring the meal. He felt the taller man remain in his spot for a few seconds. The blond glanced behind him at his flatmate, causing Sherlock to spring into action.

John heard the gentle clanging of pots and silverware being washed, and was surprised the detective was actually helping out. However, after about two minutes, the noise stopped. John knew Sherlock couldn't be done with the dishes that fast. He turned and leaned back against the counter, making eye contact with Sherlock.

"What are you doing?" the amused blogger asked.

Sherlock looked hesitant. "Nothing."

"Well you're supposed to be washing," John smirked. Sherlock nodded his curly head and resumed his task. John chuckled while mixing the stir fry lightly. "I think it's all done," the blond told his friend.

Sherlock didn't reply, he just shut the water off and grabbed two bowls. They scooped out their servings (Sherlock's being significantly smaller than John's helping) and sat at the table. They began chowing down, and Sherlock even looked like he genuinely enjoyed the food.

"Is it good?"

"It's fine," the detective mumbled. John shook his head, feeling like he lived with a child.

"So I'm assuming Greg hasn't contacted you with any cases since we aren't running around."

"Very observant, John," Sherlock rolled his eyes causing John to give him a look. "He's tried to get me on a few, but they are so simple a child could solve it."

"Then it's perfect for you," John muttered under his breath. Sherlock must have heard for because gave the doctor a sharp glare.

The men continued their meals with some random conversations sprinkled in. After John brought up the weather, Sherlock jumped out of his chair and started to work on some experiments. John rolled his eyes but picked up their dishes and placed them by the sink, not feeling like washing them now. 

John plopped down in his armchair and opened up a good book. It was a bit difficult to read though, because Sherlock kept running back and forth between the kitchen and sitting room for his experiment. John finally got into his book enough to the point where Sherlock wasn't stealing his attention, when the detective dropped a beaker on the sitting room floor. It shattered into a million pieces, flying across the hardwood.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to that time," Sherlock said while stepping over the mess to resume his work.

"Aren't you going to clean it up?"

"Nope."

That pulled a long sigh from the blogger, and John had to remind himself to stay calm. "And what do you mean you didn't mean to drop it 'this time'?"

Sherlock looked up from his microscope to stare at John for a few unsettling seconds. "Nothing."

John restrained himself from shouting at his friend. He'd done it in the past and was always overwhelmed with guilt afterwards. Instead, he took a deep breath and got up to grab a broom. There was no way he was just going to leave glass all over the flat.

It took at least ten minutes, but the blond finally finished sweeping up the mess. He dumped the glass into the bin and sat down in his chair once again. But as he sat down, John noticed a chunk of glass that had slid under Sherlock's chair. John got down on hands and knees and struggled to reach the piece with his short arms. He had to turn his head to the side so he could extend the full length of his arm under the chair. With his head turned, John noticed Sherlock staring at him.

"What the hell are you doing now, Sherlock?"

The man in question jumped and fumbled with his hands. "Nothing."

"You're not doing 'nothing'," John sighed as he sat upright with the glass in hand. He walked to the kitchen to throw it away. As he stepped into the room, he saw Sherlock's pale face was burning bright red. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock sighed and looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Nothing."

"Damn it, Sherlock! What is it?"

"You have a nice ass," Sherlock blurted. He clamped a hand over his mouth immediately as the words left it.

John furrowed his brows together, past confused now. "I have a nice ass?"

Sherlock didn't answer, he just turned back to his work.

Finally, the gears clicked. Sherlock was dropping things so he would pick them up. John bit back a laugh. He stepped closer to Sherlock, and he could tell he had the detective's attention, even though Sherlock refused to look up from his beaker. John picked up a pen off the table, held it for a second, then dropped it to the floor.

"Oops!" He said in a fake concerned voice. John turned his back to Sherlock, bent at the waist, and took way too long to be just picking up the pen. When he stood and placed the pen back, Sherlock was looking at him and his face was practically glowing it was so red. "Sherlock, I'm not mad," John reassured in a soft voice.

Sherlock's grey eyes widened and he looked down at his hands. John gently grabbed Sherlock's chin to tilt his face up. "It's alright, Butterfingers," John smiled. He slowly brought their faces together, the doctor's stomach doing flip flops when Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed. They kissed each other sweetly and hesitantly. It was the best first kiss of a relationship John had ever had.

"John," Sherlock whispered against his lips.

John pulled back slightly to make eye contact with his flatmate. "Hmm?"

"Nothing," Sherlock smiled before bringing his lips to John's.

They continued kissing for a minute before John forced himself to pull away from the gorgeous man in front of him. They gazed into each other's eyes for a few moments in silence.

Well, until John's face broke out into a smirk.

"You have a nice ass too, Butterfingers."