One shots (johnlock fluff mostly)

Pencil and pen.

"John, what are you doing?" Sherlock asked in an irritated tone.

John had in fact been sitting in his chair glancing up with a focused look on his face, tongue sticking out, slight frown before glancing back down. Every time he looked down there was the faint scratching of pencil on paper.

"Sketching" John said simply as if that explained everything without explaining anything at all.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, head over shoulder and looking at John from his position facing the back of the sofa, lying on his right side and curled into a true consulting detective sulking pose.

"Feel like it" John decided and added some extra scribbles to the page.

"What are you drawing?"Sherlock asked, his curiosity pulling him further out of his sulk.

"You"

"Me?" Sherlock asked, incredulous. "Why me?"

"Felt like it" John said again.

"Oh."

John continued and eventually Sherlock slipped off the sofa and crawled around to Johns side looking at the picture.

"I'm not that skinny!" Sherlock complained.

"You really are, that's why I've been trying to convince you to eat more" John defended as Sherlock hissed incredulously.

"My hairs not that messy!"

"It is at the back you git!"

"My--"

"Stop whinging" John stopped him before he could speak again.

Sherlock huffed in reply and went off to sulk again and then distracting himself with ears from the morgue and testing the decomposition of said ears when placed in citric acid of varying strengths.

John chuckled and after signing the date and his signature, closed the paper notepad and ticked then pencil into the rings before heading out of his chair into the kitchen.

Sherlock was, as expected, still in a sulk. Dressing gown hanging off one shoulder and grey tshirt underneath, trousers legs rumpled and slightly up his shin showing his ankle and part of his leg.

John just chuckled at the rumpled sight and lifted his left hand as he walked by from behind, placing his hand on the sulking mans nape and sliding up into his curls and ruffling them all fondly. Sherlock had frozen at the touch. Back straight and eyes unfocused and confused. John sighed sadly and trailed his hand out of the mans hair.

He made them both tea and when he turned around Sherlock was still frozen. Calculating. Why? He was asking himself. What was that? It wasn't unpleasant, just--confusing.

Sherlock began to move again when he realised he must have been frozen for a while, finally breathing in a breath. He glanced to his left. Even though john knows he's right handed. The left side is more natural to John who is left handed. Funny. Ah yes tea!

Sherlock reaches over, sips the tea carefully. Stings a little but the sugary sweetness soothes the burn. Sips some more.

Little does he know, Johns picked up the notepad again and is sketching away with a blue biro.

Sketching away, scribbling wildly for the hair, little flicks and curls. More disheveled than any other time. John smirked to himself as Sherlock twiddled precisely at the dials on the microscope.

Another drawing of Sherlock complete, sipping tea whilst focusing his lens. John drew as often as he could. Something so pleasing about the sharp angles that made Sherlock, lines here and then there and there you had an eye, calculating, the colour a new shade for each picture and then the gentle brush of the edge of the pencil to catch the freestyle of the curls but yet also precise way they'd been placed.

Sherlock as ever remained curious as to why John was constantly drawing him no matter his mood. He was angry at one of the yarders and Jon caught the expression with the line of his eyebrows and the crinkle along his nose.

It hit John like a train when he realised with each drawing, that yes, he was indeed falling in love with every drawing, a little bit more with every shaded line and accidental smudge of fingerprints along the corners of the page. He'd fallen in love with the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes, he'd fallen in love with the impossible.

Sherlock however remained confused as to the increasing drawings and the third notebook purchased since the beginning along with the glances and faraway expressions.

Yes Sherlock Holmes remained puzzled as to what John had seen in his boring complexion, his alien features and sharp angles of someone who barely ate. But there it was again, another glance, a fond smile, a ruffle of curls, the side step in front of him when someone fuming, attempted to get closer to Sherlock. Always on defensive. The snide remarks to those that verbally abused Sherlock.

The sudden bleeding nose or black eye for someone that had overstepped the invisible line. A special treat for whoever called him freak and thought that was acceptable.

Yes. John had fallen in love with his flat mates mind first and then grown to appreciate the whole outside as well as the mind that controlled this 'transport' and all the while completely baffled the great Sherlock Holmes in the process.