Assorted ship one shots

Bloody Machines

It was getting late, and Sherlock was getting worried. He tapped a three-four rhythm with his left foot, the beat of his most recent violin composition.

Tap tap tap, tap break tap, tap tap tap, tap break-tap tap

After what seemed like eons of tapping-filled quiet, the door downstairs swung open, and was slammed shut, and he could hear John pounding up the stairs. He stalked inside. Sherlock's hopes plummeted. He'd been going to ask John if he'd like to go out for dinner tonight, but John's stormy expression told him that probably wasn't going to happen. 

"What's up, hon?" He asked, offering a mug of tea, although it was long-gone-cold. 

John accepted the cuppa and gulped it down, still scowling. "Bloody self-service machines again." 

Sherlock looked down at his boyfriend's adorably angry face, and fought to keep a smile from creeping over his own. 

"Come here," he said, opening his arms. John fell into them, burying his face in Sherlock's shirt, letting his lover's smell surround him as Sherlock's arms wrapped around his back. 

"Let's order fish and chips tonight." Sherlock's chest was fuzzy through his chest. "And we can watch a movie on the couch."

John mumbled something.

"What?"

He looked up. "Bloody machines."

Sherlock smiled slyly. "You can't say much." 

INNUENDO INNUENDO INNUENDO