Multifandom Oneshots

Routine (Sherlock drabble)

Sherlock knew exactly how long it took John to get ready in the mornings. He had the routine memorized. Even the conversations. He could tell John's mood for the day from the length of time he spent in the shower, and know exactly when he'd shuffle into the room, still in his pajamas, still drying his hair, clean shaven and yawning.

"Morning."

He never replied.

"I said good morning, Sherlock."

"I heard you."

"Then why didn't...you know what, nevermind." He'd look in the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Love some, thanks." And off he went, and Sherlock would watch him go. He knew exactly how long it took him to prepare his breakfast, usually a bowl of some low-calorie cereal with milk and two cups of tea, no sugar, splash of milk. Occasionally he'd come back into the room and toss a banana at him, grunting "Eat."

"I don't want-"

"You haven't eaten in days. Eat."

He'd eat.

John would finish his cereal, take it into the kitchen, wash the bowl and spoon, and put them away. He'd shuffle off to his bedroom, and emerge exactly eight minutes later, in a jumper, jeans, and white socks. He'd give Sherlock a pointed look, to which he would sigh dramatically before going and getting dressed himself.

Then John would sit down and pull out his laptop. First stop was a news website. Then, a brief email check, normally he had a few administrative ones from the clinic. Then his blog, and he'd write until Sherlock, without preamble, "waltzed" (John's own description) into the room and described the latest case to him, and they began their job of the day.

For some reason, this was something he looked forward to every morning. Their little routine.