June 5th, 2011. To behonest, Lestrade’s kind of used to it by now.
Goddammit, he knows better than to make tea before checking to see if there’s milk first. He knows.
But he’s done it anyway.
“Sherlock!” John calls from the kitchen. “You promised to get the damn milk. Twice, if I recall correctly, and I do. Yet here I am, completely milk-less.”
“That’s not even a word,” Sherlock retorts from the sofa, where he’s been thumbing through a forensic journal. “And I’m busy. Get it yourself.”
John narrows his eyes, walks to the kitchen door and gives Sherlock his best disapproving glare. He’s such a spoiled child, and it really doesn’t matter that the haughty curve of his jaw and the wrinkle in his nose when he’s being particularly impudent turns John on six ways to Sunday.
Doesn’t matter at all.
John crosses the room and pulls the journal from Sherlock’s hands, eliciting a squawk of outrage that decends to a purr of contentment when John sits on the edge of the sofa and draws a gentle finger down the vee of Sherlock’s shirt collar.
“You promised, my lovely. And you know I always reward you when you obey.”
Sherlock shivers, tries to sit up and kiss John at the same time. As he does, John slides backward into the corner cushions on the opposite side.
“Ah ah,” he teases. “Not until there’s milk.”
Sherlock huffs annoyance and rolls his eyes. “Are you seriously withholding your sexual favors in return for milk?”
John snickers, ready to hold his ground despite the vision of a flushed and obviously aroused Sherlock gazing at him ravenously with heavy-lidded eyes. He’s determined to win this round so he stands, surreptitiously adjusts himself in his jeans, and leans down to ghost a kiss along Sherlock’s jaw.
It’s a little unfair, because he knows exactly where Sherlock’s weaknesses lie, and at the touch of John’s lips to the corner of his jaw Sherlock whimpers just slightly, just a tiny hint of sound that can barely be registered, if it weren’t for the fact that John was waiting for it.
“Not withholding, my love,” John breathes in his ear. “Simply providing ample incentive.”
Sherlock blinks open his eyes, and John watches in amusement as his gaze goes from soft and dreamy to laser sharp in an instant. He bolts for the door, turning quickly to point an accusing finger at John. “You had better be naked when I get home,” he says, and slams out of the flat.
John waits until he hears the front door slam as well, before giving over to a fit of laughter that only subsides when he hears the doorbell. He staggers downstairs still wiping the tears from his eyes to find Lestrade on the front step.
“Oh, hello,” he says, a bit surprised and hoping like hell his still half-hard dick isn’t obvious through his clothes. “Sherlock’s just gone out.”
“I’ll wait,” Lestrade says, and John shrugs and follows him up the stairs, offers him tea, and privately figures he’s got about five more minutes before Sherlock comes back and the earlier thread of the evening is dropped for more intellectual pursuits.
Four minutes go by (must be eager, John thinks with a smile, to get home so quickly), and Sherlock throws open the door and waves the milk about.
“You told me to get the milk, so I did!” he crows, and hands John the jug like a pleased cat bestowing a treasured offering on the doorstep. His mouth twists in a little frown as he takes in John’s shirt and jeans, still resolutely in place. “Why aren’t you getting naked?”
Oh God, he can feel the heat rising up his neck. “Because we have people over,” John hisses, and gives a sharp gesture toward Lestrade sitting at the desk behind him. John waits for that tell-tale spark of interest in a new case to light Sherlock’s eyes, but instead Sherlock tosses his head and arches a dismissive eyebrow, turns his back on Lestrade and leans close to John.
“Then make him go away,” he snarls, and walks past John and back toward the bedroom. “I did, after all, get the milk.”
PHHHBBTTTTTTTHTHHTTTT yES.
Helloooo.
I’ve linked the ones I’ve been sent on the JLS main page, so feel free to check them out!
Seriously, guys, they’re so entertaining to read. SEND ME MOAR. And I’ll link them, so everybody can take a gander at them.
Alrighty, carry on. You guys are the best.
A short fic based off of this.
—-
Sherlock was walking down the street, brows furrowed as he looked for any clues on his case. He was paying just enough attention to his surroundings to avoid hitting any pillars, or running into tables, but that apparently wasn’t enough to stop him from…
It’s their first date. Sherlock won’t stop staring. It’s awkward.
(Same lovely place.)
————————————-They met after that meeting in the street a couple of days later. John had run into Mike - thankfully not literally, this time - and they’d spent some time complaining about relationship…
They meet.
—————————
“Whoah! Watch where you’re go—”
He bumps into the tall, haughty-looking man while reading a tattered old book. It’s a nice day, mostly clear, and the sunlight brings out the brightest eyes John thinks he’s ever seen. Those eyes narrow at him; oh, yeah, nearly ran him over….
