a/n: This idea came to me while watching Reichenbach for the third time - a little extended scene from the beginning where the two flat mates were discussing the press and such.

After all the crying/angst/sadness I had to write SOMETHING CUTE.

So here, have some fluff drabbleness.






Sherlock Holmes gripped the arms of the chair he was currently sitting in and casually looked over at his flat mate. John had been rambling on about having to be more careful about the press and such– him, Sherlock Holmes, having to be more careful? Nonsense.

"It really bothers you." He simply said.


"What people say."


"About me. I don't understand. Why would it upset you?"

Silence ticked by for three long seconds before the ex-army doctor casted his eyes away and threaded his fingers together [nervous]. "Just trying to keep a low profile." John met his eyes once more. "Find yourself a little case this week – stay out of the news." He grabbed his newspaper once more and crossed his legs, turning his body away from the other man [insecurity; hiding something].

Sherlock looked away and sighed. He knew it was more than that.


Five minutes passed by.

John Watson stared at the newspaper in his hands. He wasn't reading it – of course he wasn't. He couldn't concentrate on the bloody words because his bloody flat mate would stop bloody staring at him. He risked a glance over the top of the pages at Sherlock. Sure enough – those pale green eyes were locked on him. John could almost hear the wheels whirring inside of the sociopath's brain, trying to click things into place, deducing every action.

"Sherlock." John said, focusing his attention back on the words in front of him.

"John." Sherlock replied dully.

The ex-army doctor gave a long sigh, folding his paper and throwing it back on the coffee table in front of him. "What is it?"

"You were lying."

"About what, Sherlock?"

"You lied when you said you're just trying to keep a low profile. Now tell me the real reason." Sherlock muttered in an annoyed tone.

"Why don't you just figure it out yourself?" John retorted.

"That's when I've been trying to do, John. But…" He huffed. "But I've got nothing."

"Maybe that's because I wasn't lying?" John stood up. He started to straighten up the contents on the coffee table. So many newspapers…Sherlock never cleans up…wait, is this from last month-

The other man suddenly stood up, walking over with his robe billowing about. "See? That there. You're cleaning while talking to me. That's a usual sign of avoiding the point of the conversation-"

"Sherlock, please. Stop this." John argued, regretting his actions and immediately stepping away from the still-cluttered area.

Sherlock stepped in front of the shorter man's path to the kitchen. John titled his chin up a bit, pursing his lips. He wouldn't admit it – not even if Sherlock guessed it. He still wouldn't admit it.

John was being protective of Sherlock. He didn't want things to get out of control. He was worried, yes.

An amused smirk appeared on the consulting detective's face. "Thank you, John."

"For what?" John muttered in confusion, eyebrows scrunched together.

"For worrying over me." The smirk grew a little larger.

John was about to protest, but the words were drowned by Sherlock's lips pressing against his. It was quick and chaste and – too short. Definitely too short.

Just as Sherlock pulled away, John grabbed his robe and yanked him back. Lips smashed together awkwardly at first, but the two of them quickly adjusted. Their mouths slipped over each other's.

Of course John was concerned. He always worried about this man – who wouldn't? Sherlock Holmes attracted danger like honey attracted bees.

John laughed against Sherlock's lips, causing the detective to nip John's lower one. "What's so humorous?"


"I'm not the one who got the name 'Confirmed Bachelor John Watson'." Sherlock murmured against the doctor's lips.

"I wonder whose fault that is."