"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" John was glancing over the top of his laptop, one eyebrow raised, as he watched his flatmate fidgeting around the room. Sherlock barely gave the doctor a second glance while he adjusted the position of a jar of who-knew-what on the desk.
"What are you doing?" John repeated, closing his laptop halfway. Sherlock readjusted the jar again, looking at it critically, before seeming satisfied and moving to readjust a stack of old newspapers.
"What do you mean?"
John threw his hand out to the detective. "You! You're fidgeting!"
Sherlock moved across the room and began repositioning everything on the mantel. Skull in hand, he stepped back after a moment, frowning. Then he set the skull quite deliberately on the top of the mess.
"I think you just answered your own question, John," Sherlock replied, still staring at the mantel like he wasn't satisfied. John gaped between the man and the mantel, not seeing how the changes he'd made were so important. It was still just a pile of unorganized stuff. With a skull sitting on top.
"Yes, okay, fine. But why are you fidgeting?"
Sherlock suddenly raced forward to the mantel, twisting the skull a mere centimeter to the left. "Why does it matter?" he asked, giving a short nod of satisfaction.
John frowned. "It doesn't, it just-"
Sherlock whirled around, something like the ghost of a smile on his lips. He held his hands out, twitching like an insect as if he were trying to fidget with John's face. john jerked his neck backwards, keeping out of Sherlock's reach despite the fact the detective obviously wasn't actually trying to touch him.
"What-?" John asked tightly. "What-the-hell?"
Sherlock dropped his arms to his side, his smile no longer just a ghost. "It's not as if my re-organizing affects you."
John shook his head, still warding of the insect-like touch hanging in the air. "It's distracting, Sherlock."
Sherlock had begun to turn away, but he froze at those three simple words. Slowly, he turned back to face John, his mildly amused smile having blossomed into a full-out grin. John shrunk back into his chair, realizing he'd made a terrible mistake. Though he wasn't sure how he was going to pay for it yet...
Like a predator stalking it's prey, Sherlock crept forward, a mischievous spark in his eyes. John wished desperately that he could sink through the armchair and out the other side. Suddenly Sherlock's cool, long fingers were on john's face, pushing and adjusting the doctor's head.
"There. Wait. No..."
John scrunched his face up in discomfort. "What are you doing? Will you-" He was cut off as Sherlock twisted his head to an odd angle. "Will you cut that out?"
One final adjustment and then Sherlock's cool fingers left John's face. The doctor opened his eyes cautiously, peering at Sherlock with distrust. The detective was grinning madly.
"My dear John," he said a little too sweetly. "I hope I'm not bothering you."
A/N: Inspired by watching my dad do the same exact thing to my mother while skyping a few days ago. I was sitting there, rather amused, then thought: "Wow... I can see Sherlock doing that to John..." And this was born. :D
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