Warnings: Um…You might get cavities from the fluff?
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes
Notes: A little bit of fluff for you, my dears. Thanks to princess_aleera and jademac2442, as always, for the beta.
Disclaimer: Sherlock, John, all of their friends and the many places the visit do not belong to me. If they did, I wouldn't have to write fanfiction, now would I?
Summary: Sherlock needs some help identifying facial expressions. John's doing it wrong.
"Look, Sherlock, I know you wanted to learn more about facial expressions." John stared at Sherlock with a frown. "But this is bloody stupid."
"If I can properly commit your facial expressions to memory, then I can apply the basic traits to others and edit my actions accordingly." Sherlock gazed at John's intense frown from behind tented fingers, watching as John glared. "Then I can observe some common social niceties, and you can spend less time apologizing for me. Contentment."
John sighed and tried to arrange his face to look content, letting his eyes fall half-shut and giving his face a bit of a dreamy look. Sherlock snorted. "You look ridiculous. That's not contentment."
"You'd think I know what my own face feels like when I'm content, but apparently not," John said aloud to no one in particular. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"You're forcing it." The detective sat up in his chair and rapped his knuckles against the armrest with a sigh. "If you force the expressions they'll be less than useless to me."
"Then find someone else to harass!" John snapped and stood up, turning to walk to his room. "You force me to help and then say I'm doing it wrong? Sod off. I'm going to bed." It was three in the morning and John felt he'd done his part. He could hear Sherlock standing up behind him, but refused to look. If he could just get to his room before Sherlock caught up, he wouldn't have to deal with his ornery flatmate until morning.
He didn't. The detective caught up with him in a few strides and snaked thin fingers around his wrist, tugging him back and turning him to face an interested, intense pair of grey-blue eyes. John sighed.
"What? What do you want now?"
Sherlock's lips tilted in a tiny smirk before he pulled John flush against him and buried his face, absurdly high cheekbones and all, into John's neck. He wrapped strong, wiry arms around John's waist.
John tried to stay stiff and resolute, but the feeling of Sherlock's soft lips pressing against his skin made his body instinctually relax. He felt his eyes flutter shut and a tiny smile creep over his face.
"Damn you," he whispered, but there was no bite to it. "That's cheating, that's what that is."
"I suppose you could call it that," Sherlock murmured into his ear, breath warm against his skin. "I was unaware that you being upset with me was part of a game."
John hummed softly. "It's cheating to make me not mad anymore when you're being insufferable. Again."
"I don't consider myself insufferable. You did offer to help." Sherlock leant his weight against John, which made him stagger back a few steps until he hit the wall.
"Because I knew that if I didn't, you'd just spend the next two weeks manipulating me into making the faces you want," John muttered, and there was a flash of anger. Anger that Sherlock easily deflected with a soft, almost reverent kiss. Their lips pressed gently against each other's, parted ever so slightly. Sherlock pulled back and studied John's face—The closed eyes, the tiny smile…
"Contentment. Sometimes my manipulations aren't all bad."
John chuckled his agreement.