A Study in Boredom: A Johnlock Fanfiction

"John."

The consulting detective was perched on the arm of the couch in their living-room, shocking blue-grey eyes closed and long, slender fingers to his lips in steeple fashion. He was thinking.

'Probably about that case Lestrade presented him with, and he needed me to stop thinking because I was being distracting,' thought John as he sighed exasperatedly, looking up from the book he was reading.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

He opened his eyes to see John looking at him expectantly. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at his flatmate. What an odd sense of fashion he possesses. What's with all the jumpers? Today he sported a hideous knitted argyle jumper that Sherlock remembered Mrs. Hudson giving him last year for Christmas, brown trousers and woollen grey socks.

Hang on... Since when did Sherlock ever notice what John wore? This was interesting...

A hint of annoyance was present in the doctor's eyes - he hated being interrupted whilst reading and especially by Sherlock. Perhaps because he thought the detective was about to insult him.

No, not perhaps. Sherlock could read John like his silly blog. Well, perhaps Sherlock would surprise him. A compliment would do nicely. Now, just to think of one.

He looked into John's eyes and tried to think of something nice to say. He couldn't. In fact, he couldn't think of anything at all. Once he met his friend's ocean-blue eyes, all thoughts disappeared from his vast mind - a feat Sherlock would have assumed impossible.

Focus, Sherlock. Compliment, compliment...

Damn it.

"Nothing, never mind." He said finally.

John rolled his eyes and looked back down at his book, muttering.

Just as Sherlock closed his eyes once more, his mobile phone rang. Suddenly, he had an idea. An idea that would surely explain the apparent lack of thoughts when John was present.

An experiment.

The annoyingly shrill sound hung in the air as Sherlock continued to ignore the caller.

"John." He repeated.

"Yeah, yeah." John sighed, getting up from his armchair (which sat across from Sherlock's) and made his way quickly over to the unmoving Sherlock.

"Where?" He asked when he got to him.

"Jacket. Breast pocket," came the immediate reply.

John shoved his hand in the pocket of Sherlock's coat on the right side. Not in there. Perhaps the other side. He reached over Sherlock and fished the phone out. As soon as he touched the device, the bloody thing stopped ringing. He leaned over Sherlock again to return the phone, and as he pulled away, Sherlock flicked his wrist up and grabbed John's arm, with a grip like stone.

"Sh-Sherlock?"