Short Stories

Johnlock

this was my first johnlock fanfic thing

Sherlock P.O.V.
   Sherlock had finally figured out why he wasn't thinking straight: a little blonde man who'd gone through the horrors of war in Afghanistan and whom shared the flat with him:
"Jonathan," Sherlock said, the pads of his fingers touching and held just bellow his bottom lip.
   John, who read on the chair opposite him glared a little at his book.
"Sherlock, don't call me Jonathan, please," John said. His words slurred together, his brain half-concentrating in the book he held.
"Jonathan," Sherlock repeated. John rolled his eyes. "I'm bored."
"Then do something," John said. "I'm reading."
   Sherlock stood up and snatched the book from him, receiving a yelp from John. Sherlock felt the corner of his mouth twitch and took note of it.
"Not anymore. Now, come on!"
   He threw on his coat and scarf, making sure to turn up the collar. When he looked back, John was in the same exact spot, but his face was scarlet.
"Erm, Sherlock..." John quickly glanced down.
   That's how Sherlock discovered he had no trousers on. Sherlock sighed loudly and went to find a pair as John watched him leave the room.
   Sherlock's only thought was what can I wear for John? But he finally found something and went back to wear John hadn't even moved a centimetre.

John P.O.V.

   John held his breath again as Sherlock glided past him. He hated this feeling and he didn't know where it had come from. But he had a feeling Sherlock had it too. John was just better at hiding it.
   Which was weird, John thought. Because Sherlock was always the one that never showed any emotions, not for any exception.
"Where are we going?" John asked as they walked briskly through the streets.
"Nowhere —it just looks cooler if we keep walking. Don't worry, I usually do this until I know where to go," Sherlock said in John's ear. He moved away. John was momentarily flustered. Sherlock was never this open. It made it more obvious he was hiding something.

   When they got back from their unsurprisingly awkward outing, John found his book on the floor and began to read again. Sherlock groaned and paced in front of him.
"John, I'm bored!" John dropped the book on his lap and glared at Sherlock, who narrowed his eyes. Analysing.
"We just sodding went out, Sherlock! Go cook or something." John decided it was impossible to read with Sherlock on his mind(which was all the time--that's why he'd been on the same 200-paged book for a month) and went to his lap top.

Sherlock P.O.V.

   Sherlock ignored the bag of thumbs in the fridge and fished out a carton of eggs. He found a pan and pushed everything off the stove. What the hell was Sherlock Holmes doing?!
   As Sherlock searched for a spatula, he heard a gasp. John. It was the type of gasp that is very, very surprised. The type of gasp you gasp when there is a kidnapper looming over you. The kind of gasp that says, "when did the guy with the gun at my head arrive?" Sherlock came up with a million scenarios to the point where—he found the spatula—he spun around holding the spatula like a sword. But all that was present was John, looking over-dramatically surprised.
   Then John broke into laughter, making Sherlock annoyed as he lowered the spatula. Annoyed that he found this cute.
"Oh my god, Sherlock, you're adorable!" John said, still chuckling. He dabbed the corners of his eyes and grinned. Sherlock blushed.
   He actually felt his face heating up. This had never happened before. What was he supposed to do from there? And... Did John just call him adorable?
"What did you call me?" Sherlock asked in a questioning tone. John ducked his head. He shook his head.
"Nothing, Sherlock, never mind," John muttered. Refusal to repeat the words. Sherlock stored the information away.
   He turned around, and went back to scrambling his eggs. Although he wasn't hungry anymore. Sherlock wasn't bored at all.
                                                    •*•*•
   Sherlock lay on his back, staring at his ceiling. Insomnia no longer annoyed him. It was just the fact that he had to think. Thinking led to horrible... Just horrible things. Why couldn't he think right? Agh!
   But suddenly Sherlock heard whimpering. It's happened before. But now...
   Well, Sherlock couldn't sleep anyway. He sighed and heaved himself out of bed. Sherlock trudged down the hall to where John had been staying the past few months.
   Sherlock stood outside John's door, wrapped in a sheet. He wasn't sure what to do. He took a quick breath and opened the door. He stood, watching John writhe around.
"Er... John?" Of course that did nothing. "John..." Sherlock really was not good with this. "Jonathan! Wake the hell up!" Sherlock shouted.
   John sat up instinctively and blindly saluted. After squinting out the sleep a little, he seemed to realise he was just in his bedroom and put his hand down. Then he saw Sherlock.