A/N Okay, so a little bit of background - this is a sort of AU where instead of doing locum work at Bart's, John takes lectures. And other stuff happens which you will see... Anyway! Short oneshot in the 5+1 format. Thanks to TheHighestCloud20 on Reddit for editing!

John was standing in the lecture hall at Bart's, telling his students about measles, when the door swung open. He looked up, surprised. Sherlock looked back and grinned. 'John, case, locked door murder. Three corpses, no fingerprints. We need to leave now!' John coughed slightly. 'In case you haven't noticed, Sherlock, I'm a bit busy right now.' The class stared down, wondering who the strange man was. To John's further surprise, Lestrade walked in and said, 'For the love of God, John, just come! He won't work without you, and frankly I can't work with him without you either!' He threw his arms up exasperatedly. 'Something about a 'conductor of light'!' John looked up at his class, back to Sherlock, back to his class, back to Sherlock again. 'But I-' 'Right.' Greg said. 'Police orders, you have to come. Class dismissed!' 'But—' 'John! We have to leave! Besides, you now have police orders, so you don't have a choice!' Sherlock looked triumphant. John sighed and turned back to his class. 'I- Er- Class dismissed.' The students in the front row swore that they heard the strange man exclaim 'John! It's Christmas!' as they walked out of the hall.

The next time Sherlock interrupted one of John's classes, it was because he was bored. The door had opened dramatically. A man had walked in wearing a sheet. John Watson had covered his face with his hands in embarrassment. 'John, I'm bored.' the tall man drawled, seemingly oblivious to the class standing in front of John. The shorter man looked up at his flatmate, disbelieving. Then, he sighed. 'Sherlock, just- not now, okay?' Sherlock frowned. 'But why, John? I'm bored!' 'Seriously? You see nothing wrong with this situation?' 'No.' 'Oh, bloody hell- just- sit down, and don't interrupt, okay?' John's students didn't concentrate for the rest of the lesson- they were too busy watching the man in the sheet and their lecturer bickering about a head in the fridge.

The third time Dr Watson's class is interrupted by Sherlock Holmes, he isn't even there. John was covering for the usual psychology lecturer, who was sick- he'd studied it for a while in university, and he'd been given notes on the lesson. Today's topic happened to be sexuality. John had internally groaned when he'd found this out, but like a true soldier, he steeled himself and prepared for it best he could. '-And so, that covers the basics of the Kisney scale. Any questions?' 'Sir?' John groaned. He'd hoped there wouldn't be any questions. 'Yes?' 'This- um- might be a personal question, but, uh, where would you put yourself on the scale?' John frowned, but figured he might as well answer. 'Well, uh, I suppose I would be a zero. Anything else?' Just then, John heard the sound of fifty different text tones going off simultaneously, including his own. At first, he couldn't figure out what had happened, until he checked his phone, seeing the giggles of the class. Really, for university students, they really could be immature sometimes. His text consisted of one word. Wrong. John sighed. 'Everyone, if you just got texts, ignore them.' 'What does it mean, though, sir?' asked another student, smirking. John looked at him coldly, before his phone beeped once again. Thankfully, no-one else's did. He looked away from the student, before reading the new text. Really, John, I thought that you would be able to at least tell the obvious signs of your own attraction. You are not a zero. –SH John scowled at his phone, scowled up at the class, and muttered, 'Class is over, read over the set texts and answer the questions,' before walking out the door and typing Sod off.

The fourth time, Sherlock is nervous. He knows John will be angry, but he also knows that John will be angrier if he waits until John gets home to tell him. John, just inside, hears a tentative knock on the door. 'Come in,' he says, frowning. He knows it can't be Sherlock- he wouldn't knock. To his intense surprise, it was his flatmate that stuck his head in the door before shuffling in like a schoolchild that had been sent to the headmaster's office. 'Sherlock? Is everything alright?' John asked, somewhat alarmed by his friend's unusual behaviour. 'I- um- John, I might have done something a bit not good…' Sherlock trailed off, staring at his feet. 'Please tell me you didn't blow up the flat.' John said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. His grin slid as he noticed the expression on Sherlock's face. 'Sherlock? You didn't really blow up the flat, did you?' he asked warningly. 'Well, not the flat specifically.' Sherlock replied quietly. 'Oh god, what did you do?' John panicked, voice rising. 'I might have blown up your room.' 'My room. YOU BLEW UP MY ROOM?' Sherlock looked up defensively. 'It was an experiment!' 'WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT EXPERIMENTS IN MY ROOM?' 'But John- I couldn't use my bed, it's wooden and I needed the metal frame of your bed, and-' 'I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!' John took a deep breath, and turned to his class, giving a false smile. 'I'm really sorry about this. This is Sherlock Holmes, my flatmate, he's interrupted this class enough for you to know how bloody strange he is, and he's blown up my bloody bedroom! Class dismissed, and again I'm sorry.' The students started to mutter, and John turned back to Sherlock. 'No more experiments for a month! I don't CARE if you get bored! You can't keep destroying our flat!' He held up a hand to silence his flatmate. 'I don't want to hear it- I now have no bed, and therefore will have to sleep on the couch. That means no experiments for a month, are we clear?' Sherlock's brow furrowed. 'But John, you don't have to sleep on the couch.' John looked up at his roommate, and sighed. 'I am not going to sleep at Mrs Hudson's.' 'No, you aren't. My bedroom is still completely intact, you know.' John looked up at Sherlock in disbelief. 'And you're going to sleep on the couch then?' 'No.' he replied, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Realisation dawned on John's face. 'Sherlock, we are not bloody sharing a bed!' 'Why not?' There was a giggle from the seats nearby, and John groaned, realising that the class had not in fact left like he thought, but had instead stayed to watch the show. 'Oh for- We're leaving.' John muttered, thoroughly mortified, stomping out of the doorway pulling a confused Sherlock behind him.

John, for the fifth time, had Sherlock walk in on a class. The strange thing this time, though, was that he walked in during a break, carrying a cup of something. At this stage John couldn't quite figure out what it was. 'Sherlock?' he asked, forgetting that he'd been ignoring Sherlock for the last few days, ever since he'd blown up his bedroom. He looked very… sad, almost. 'Are you okay?' 'No.' he replied miserably, and stuck out the cup to John. 'Here.' John took the cup, sniffed it, then looked questioningly up at Sherlock. 'Er… what is this?' 'Tea.' Sherlock replied, still looking sorrowful. 'Tea? Sherlock… Are there teabags in here?' John asked, alarmed. Sherlock looked up, seeming even more miserable now than he did before. 'Yes.' John realised that this was Sherlock's way of saying sorry, although this time he didn't think that the tea was meant to be drugged. John sighed, and said gently, 'Sherlock, you are meant to take the teabags out, you know.' 'I…' Sherlock didn't seem to know what to say, eyes flickering downward. 'Thank you, though.' Sherlock's gaze flickered up, looking more hopeful. 'Goodbye, then.' He started to walk toward the door. 'Oh, and Sherlock?' The tall man stopped in his tracks and looked back. 'Yes?' 'You're forgiven.' John said, smiling slightly at his mad friend. Sherlock's answering smile was brilliant, before he stalked out the door.

Sherlock scowled at the class. Disgusting. Happy. Eager. They really did disgust him. How could they not? He sighed, and thought about John once more. It had been months since he'd seen his best (and only) friend. Sherlock still couldn't understand why John had to go back to Afghanistan. It was only temporary, he knew, but John was his and not the Army's… He shook his head. John was not his. He had to stop thinking that. Sherlock stared up again at the class of imbeciles. Really, he didn't know why Mycroft had forced him into this. He finally began his class, though- his brother watched the classes though his cameras and Sherlock had been warned of the dire consequences if he didn't 'properly' teach. Half an hour later, as he was taking the students through a particularly complex type of bomb, Sherlock heard a knock on the door. He scowled. Only one person- Mycroft- had interrupted his class before. 'Go AWAY, Mycroft!' he shouted, annoyed. The door still opened, however. Mycroft did not step in. Instead, a significantly shorter, tired-looking man stepped in in an army uniform. The class didn't think they'd ever seen their teacher drop anything before, yet now his pen slipped out of his grasp as he walked, wide-eyed, over to the man. 'John.' said Sherlock. It was all he could think at that minute. 'I thought I told you to be more polite to Mycro-'started John, pretending to scold, trying to break the ice. Both were far more emotional than they wanted to let on. He was cut off, however, when he was grasped in a bone crushing hug by his best friend. 'Sher-lock-can't-breathe-'he gasped. Sherlock dropped his grip instantly, stepping backward. He looked embarrassed. John looked back. 'Hey, it's okay, I'm glad to see you too.' He stepped forward, once again enfolding Sherlock in a hug. His friend gradually returned it, now a little unsure. John looked up at Sherlock, who stared back down. There was so much to say, yet no words to say it. 'Sherlock, I-' However, John found himself incapable of speaking the next words he had planned. This was because suddenly, the two men were kissing as though their lives depended on it. It was so right- everything was alright- everyone was fine… Eventually the pair broke apart, still embracing one another. 'Well, I suppose that answers a few questions?' laughed John quietly, hearing the thump thump thump of his own heart in his ears. 'Indeed.' said Sherlock, pupils huge. He leaned back down to kiss John again. A slight cough from behind them made them freeze. Fifty faces were staring down at them in shock. Sherlock looked to the class, back to John, back to the class. Abruptly, he said, still looking dazed, 'Class dismissed!', threw John over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and stalked outside. The students could hear John's protests of 'Sherlock? Sherlock! What are you doing! SHERLOCK HOLMES, PUT ME DOWN NOW!' even as their teacher reached the car park one hundred metres away.