Pseudo Beau [Johnlock]

8: Foolish

John knew that Mycroft had eyes and ears everywhere, so once they arrived back at the flat, he wasn't the least bit surprised when he received a text from the older Holmes brother.

That was hardly a date. -M

The blogger simply ignored the text, feeling the exact opposite. Sherlock had touched him. He knew Sherlock wasn't always keen on physical contact, so the act surprised him, especially considering the circumstances surrounding it. More than anything, he hoped to get a case tomorrow. It would distract Sherlock while he contemplated what to do next. As he thought about all his options and possibly their next date, he watched Sherlock toss his coat on to the coat rack and slink off to his room.

As he went to his own quarters for the night an undetermined amount of time later, he stopped in front of Sherlock's door, knocking on it in a gentle way, as if he almost didn't want the detective to reply. There was that, and the fact that he had knocked using his injured arm. It was an idiotic thing, John noted as an afterthought.

Sherlock's hair was already in disarray, as if he had been sleeping, which John felt was a bit rude on his part. Holmes' robe was loosely fastened around his waist.

"Sorry um.. Did I wake you?" John inquired, almost sounding worried, because sherlock was often a cranky man if awoken from his slumber.

"No, it's fine. What did you need, John?" Sherlock questioned, with a look that said for once he was unsure as to what his blogger would say.

"Just.. Goodnight. That's all." With that having been said, John turned on his heels and walked to his own bedroom.

After plopping on to his bed with a soft thud, it was then that John pulled out his mobile and decided to reply to the snake that was Mycroft.

Were you and I watching the same thing? -JW

----
Another night went and passed, John waking up rather early. He made himself some tea, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't be up for another few hours or so.

Now, he felt, would be a good time to start typing up the case involving the clown. After thinking over way too many names involving bad puns, he decided upon The Cleaving Clown. It wasn't his best title, but he decided that it could always be changed later.

"The Cleaving Clown?" Sherlock's words scared John, making him startle and almost tip backwards in his seat. He winced in pain as the motion sent tiny shockwaves through the wound.

Sherlock's hand steadied the chair, to prevent it from causing any more damage. "That case is hardly solved."

"I was just going to start the draft." He stated, as he began typing with one arm now, as the injured one had become more irritated than it had previously.

"That's hardly efficient." The consulting detective said, observing as John typed one letter at a time.

John's childish instincts couldn't help but take over. "If you want to do it more 'efficiently' then type it yourself."

Without even hesitating, he took John's laptop then went and sat on the couch. "Would you rather I type what you say, or shall I state the night's events from my view?"

John flailed his free arm in an attempt to shrug. "I'm interested to see what the Great Sherlock Holmes has to say about that night." His voice was filled with nothing but sarcasm as he spoke.

Sherlock situated himself more comfortably on the couch, then began narrating as he typed. "John Watson foolishly runs in to battle without a care as to how potentially dangerous the crime scene actually is."