Oneshots, imagines, and ideas, oh my! *discontinued*

Johnlock Imagine

Always
Johnlock Imagine
For: CumberCritter to make up for that piss-poor one. Sorry. Just wasn't feeling it. I'm good now, darling.
Warnings:Cuteness Gayness
Always

"Do we have any sugar?" John called. There was no response. He sighed and shook his head. "Sherlock Holmes, do we have any sugar?"
"John, I'm on a case. I hardly have time for sugar." John grumbled and trotted out to the living room. "Well at least you could take one moment to pay attention to-" Sherlock breezed past him. "Come along, John. I've solved it." He huffed as Sherlock slipped on his coat. "No." He paused, looking back, before shrugging. "You...are irrelevant." Sherlock swished out, leaving John in a shocked silence. Then, he puttered about the kitchen, grumbling angrily about Sherlock Holmes, opening cupboards, looking for sugar. When he found none, he decided to go get some. Out the door on half a second, he decided to walk to the market, to clear his head. About halfway there, his phone started ringing. "Hello?"
"Who is this?"
"Who is this? This is John Watson, you called me." The person calling clicked their tongue.
"Usually, Sherlock answers. Hello John. Did you miss me? Maybe we should go to the pool sometime." John sucked in a breath.
"Tell me mister Watson-what are you doing out so late?" A slick black car pulled up to the curb where John was walking. Logically, he ran as fast as he could, but nevertheless, someone heavy tackled him and started charlie horsing him in the face. (Don't know what a Charlie Horse is? Boom, I just punched you extremely hard. That is a Charlie Horse.)

Eventually, John caught him in an uppercut, which knocked him off. Using his only chance and last ounce of energy, he shot up and ran up the alley, hailing a Taxi. He climbed in,ignoring the drivers frantic questioning on the state of him. "St. Bart's. Step on it." His phone rang again. "What?" He snapped into it. Moriarty giggled. "I'll see you later!" And hung up. In around ten minutes, the driver dropped him off and John manuevered his way around the place until he got to the morgue.
"Dear god John, what happened?" He sat down on one of the stools whole she got some supplies arranged. He had a split lip, two black eyes, and bruises nearly covering his face. Sherlock swished in in his usual manner, but stopped short at the sight of John. "John," he said slowly. "You wouldn't have happened to of taken up street fighting?" John shook his head. "Moriarty." He growled and slammed his fist on the table. "Come on. Let's go."

The ride back was silent, but as soon as they were in the door, Sherlock had his arms around John. "I am deeply apologetic about what happened, John." John murmered and continued the embrace for longer than that of a simple friend. "I will always be there." John met his lips with a sigh, knowing, somehow, that wouldn't always be true