Johnlock OneShots

You're Heavy

I'M BACK PEOPLE. I FIGURED SINCE ALL YOU LOVELY PEOPLE HAD READ THIS THAT 2.06 K READS WAS AN ACCOMPLISHMENT SO I HAVE DECIDED TO GRACE YOU ALL WITH SOME SMUTTY ASS SHIT. HAVE FUN.

This wasn't how it advertised itself. It was normal. It was domestic. It was -supposed- to be friends, and best friends at that. This was not how it advertised itself.

 When John finally got home it was late. The lamplights had turned on hours ago and all the shops had closed soon after their light flooded the busy London streets. John came home drenched in rain. Clothes mussed, face looking completely debauched. Sherlock opened one eye to peek a look at John. Then quickly opened both and shot strait up off sofa once he deduced what the mud on John's boots meant. Sherlock should not have been excited but he simply couldn't help himself. His mouth barely curved up into a smile as he calmly stated that, "Ahh so she thought you were gay too. You’re really quite rubbish at first dates aren't you?"

John apparently was not having any of Sherlock's shit tonight. Instead John stomped over, past Sherlock to look out the window, making sure he pushed Sherlock back into to couch as he did so. Splaying his hand across Sherlock’s chest and shoving hard. Slightly twisting Sherlock’s shirt under his fingertips.

 Sherlock shouldn't have... he really should have been able to keep in control of his vocal cords, and after all, his body was just transport...right? Sherlock moaned as soon as John's fingers came into contact with his chest. Yes Sherlock was being pushed down (and wasn't that just plain rude) But he didn't have control over himself for just that. One. Second. Sherlock moaned. And she. Sherlock moan oh he moaned.

Sherlock wanted to die. He wanted to rush past John and fling himself out of the window. But John... Sherlock didnt know... What had John been doing on his cab ride home to have unbuttoned those two top buttons? It didn't matter what John was doing because as soon as John heard him it was all over. It felt like Sherlock had 3 lives in a video game and went and walked off the same damn cliff and lost all three. Every. Single. Time. And now the screen in front of him was flashing in all caps "GAME OVER" but it wasn’t just the screen. The words were right there in front of him. Right in front of John’s quizzical stare, bright red and pixilated.

John turned on his heels, "What? No- wait... What?"

"I-uh-I coughed John, I've been feeling congested lately. Didn't I tell you? Ever since the case on the banks of the Thames... Yeah." 

"You mean the case where you fell into the Thames?" The smirk on John's face seemed to light up all of London, even at this late hour.

"I didn't fall! I was pushed..." John's eyes seemed to say Sure, Sherlock, sure. "Honestly John I'm just not feeling well and I coughed. The Thames is cold. Of course I'm sick now. Yeah. That's what happened and that's what I did... I coughed..." Sherlock was almost positive he had been speaking in tongues he spoke so fast and without a single breath. Sherlock knew that John would never take the bait. Sure he called John an idiot sometimes but surely he wasn't -that- stupid.

Apparently John was that stupid.

 "Sherlock, why didn't you tell me sooner. I would have given you at least a lozenge to help you. I'll be right back. Got to find you some cough medicine."

 What. The. Hell. Had just happened? Had Sherlock seriously gotten away with that?

Sherlock didn't have time to think more on John's short comings before John had a Popsicle stick in his mouth telling him repeatedly to open his mouth more. Sherlock’s throat felt like it was expanding and swelling past his limits. Sherlock couldn't breathe and it certainly wasn't because he was "sick".

 Sherlock had managed to fall for John the second he walked into the lab at Bart's. It had been a year since then and Sherlock’s feelings had all but doubled than tripled the quadrupled his first initial fascination for John. Nights when he played his violin at ungodly hours were the worst. John would always follow Sherlock’s music down the stairs and into the sitting room. He would plant himself down in his armchair and listen, and wait for Sherlock to be through with whatever melodious air he was playing. Once he finished John would drag Sherlock back to his bedroom and close the door, Sherlock trapped inside and John outside. John would demand that Sherlock go to bed and he would go back to his own room and sleep while Sherlock laid awake knowing that John lay just above his room and…and… Sherlock would torture himself every night over what he wanted to do with John. Sherlock followed this by sulking over the slim chance that what we wanted would ever happen. And now John was so, so close. Sherlock had only to lean forward a bit after John had taken the Popsicle stick out and he would be kissing him. But Sherlock couldn't. This was John "I'm not gay" Watson. John would only get mad at him.