rough ashes ;; johnlock

Chapter eight

why must love
hurt so, so
much?
n.a

"Sherlock!" rang John's voice throughout the room. "You are honestly the most annoying ass in the whole of Great Britain. For once in your life, can you shut up!"

"You know I don't listen John, I daresay I do need a hearing aid. I was quite sure you have figured that out by now."

He exclaimed in both frustration and annoyance.

"Fuck you."

"I rather not."

For most of this week, Sherlock had been not only been deducing every little thing, that John bought, found, brought home (girls for that matter), he had been flipping through that papers, solving every mystery, every quizzical case, even every crossword. He would mutter to himself, then yell or gasp, whichever was most appropriate at the time, and throw the papers on to the floor and and yell,

"Boring!"

On some rare occasional nights John would open the door with a bottle in one hand, a girl the in other.
Sherlock would be sitting in his chair. With a book.

"Ah John, who is this creature?"

"Don't mind him, lets go upstairs." Gesturing to the girl John motioned upstairs with his thumb.

"No, no John, what if she see your collective collection of pornography magazines, or the condoms in the drawers?" Butts in Sherlock circling them slowly.

"I uh-, Sherlock fuck off."

"Although must say-"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." He clearly pronounced every syllable, as if he was explaining a very hard question a a six year old.

"-Terrible choice," he continued. "Buys most of her clothes from the thrift shop or the pound shop if she's lucky perhaps one or two nice dresses that she wears to dinner, hence this dress. She quite likes it, you can tell it been worn more than an average dress too, works at a standed salary, something to do with making an impression on men," he breathed in, "Yes, Chanel no. 5, not much left and you can't afford to buy anymore, after all it must have cost a fortune with a pay like yours. Vague alcoholic, only ever sober when at work. Sleeves roughly tailored, again can't afford another dress, obviously can't afford a sewing machine either, so its handone, navy ink smudges on the palm of her hand, numbers by the way she's tried to make an unsuccessful attempt to rub it off, obviously meaning she's hooked up with other men tonight, so no John, you're not the only one with her tonight. How do you know that Sherlock? Well the way shes written the number on her hand are slightly slant, she was most likely drunk or a tiny bit tipsy, either way the numbers a little bit crooked. She writes down the number in her phone and tries to rub them away, ready for the next man." He inhaled sharply, "am I right?" He asked the girl, she timidly nodded.

"You see John, there is so much you can observe if you think."

But the girl had already ran out the flat.

"Fu- Ugh! " he exclaimed and hurried off towards the girl.

***
"Bored."

"Do your homework then." said John, not looking up from his computer.

"Jesus Christ John," said Sherlock mockingly surprised, "You sound like my dear old mother."

"Well don't mind me Sherly-Werly-Burly-bubby I'll just look after you some more shall I darling, because you cannot actually fucking look after yourself without burning down the flat." Snapped John, suddenly turning off his kindly motherly voice.

He gave John a devilish smile that made John's blush.

Curse the devil.

***
"How's school?"
"Boring. We studied the shit of a frog. Charmingly pleasant."
***
"How are you doing?"
"Good yeah."
John resumed to typing at his computer, making almost silent clicking noises.
"You don't wanna talk?"
"Nah."
"Righty - o then."
***

an- YAS UAS UA SKANSKN IVE FINNALLY GOTYEN TO UPDAT YASS
OKAY ANYWAY MORIARTYS SEXY BUTT WILL BE IN TEH NEXT CHAPTER IM SERIOUSLY LIKE AJSBSKAN JUSHCHA RIGHT NOW.

okay love you and thanks for so many reads bye
naomi