Sherlock hopped up the last step, swinging the carrier bag as he whipped through the doorway. Running into the kitchen, he threw the bag on the counter.
"Shopping's in, start cooking!"
"Only if you say please, mister. I thought you were supposed to be the polite one?" called Moriarty.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. Turning round, he realized that Jim was sat cross legged on the sofa staring at the television. He was watching Glee again.
"Oh my god I ship Klaine so much! Just fucking help me!"
"James Moriarty, put 20p in the swear jar right now!"
"Ugh, you have so many stupid rules. Whenever John comes over he swears all the time, but he's never even looked at the swear jar. Just because he's your best friend doesn't mean the rules don't apply."
Jim dropped a cold 20p into the jar, where it clattered onto the large pile already inside. He glanced over to Sherlock who had a disheartened expression on his face.
"You did it again," he murmured.
"What?"
"You compared yourself to John again. We talked about this. John is my friend and only my friend. It's always been like that and it always will, so just drop the you-love-John-more-than-me act, please."
"Sherlock, honey, I didn't mean it like-"
"I don't care what you meant. Why do you always do this? It's like you're trying to hurt me."
"No, sherly-"
"DON'T CALL ME SHERLY!"
Sherlock couldn't look at Jim, and sighed.
"Ugh, I'll make dinner then. I just wish you wouldn't always twist every little thing I say." Jim said, moving over to the counter where the shopping bag had been thrown.
Moriarty sent a glance in Sherlock's direction, tears in his eyes. He grimly started slicing vegetables, thinking over the previous conversation. His cheeks reddened as he grew embarrassed by his accusations. He was slicing a carrot when-
"Oh my god, Jim! Your finger!"
Jim turned and looked at the shocked expression on Sherlock's face. He was staring down at Jim's hands, not blinking, mouth open. Slowly, Jim lowered his eyes to his hand, and saw a large red line oozing blood on his index finger. He had been distracted and cut his finger instead of the carrot.
"How did you manage that, silly?" Sherlock smiled. "Come on, I'll sort it out."
Sherlock picked Jim up and sat him on the counter. He frowned, looking into Jim's eyes.
"You're... crying..."
Jim wiped his hand along his cheek. "Sorry, it hurts."
"Why are you apologising? You're allowed to have feelings, honey." He pressed his lips against Jim's cheek, making him smile. With Sherlock still kissing him, Jim pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around him. Sherlock hugged him back, giggling.
"I need to sort out your cut! Let me go!" Jim released him and Sherlock immediately started rummaging around his kitchen, searching for plasters. Instead of giving it to Jim, Sherlock insisted on treating the cut himself. He placed the pink plaster over the cut, tucking the ends underneath, pulling Jim's finger up to his mouth and giving it a small kiss.
"Look, I kissed it better!"
Jim rolled his eyes. "We both know that doesn't do anything, Sherlock."
