A/N: This is my first attempt at Sherlolly fanfiction. I love this pairing so much, even more so because I know it's never going to happen on the show based solely upon the Sherlock character and how the writers portray him. I am writing two other stories now so this is probably an unwise undertaking, but Benedict Cumberbatch has captured my heart and will not let me go! Not that I want him to :D. Please enjoy and indulge me with a kind word or two.

Chapter 1: Tea and Dress Shirts


This was how John H. Watson was woken from his sleep in the upstairs bedroom at 221B Baker Street this pleasant May morning in London, England. Thankfully, hardly anything surprised him about the behavior of his flatmate and best friend anymore. Whether it was finding decomposing body parts in the fridge or witnessing his famous "boredom tantrums" that matched any toddler, John had learned how to take it in stride rather than waste valuable energy trying to change the unchangeable.

So, with a resigned groan, John rolled out of bed and rubbed his eyes with one hand as he made his way out of the room and down the stairs. The longer he took to get downstairs, the more likely the chance of Sherlock resorting to shooting at the wall in order to speed him along.

Upon entering the sitting room, he found something that did surprise him: Sherlock, in his pajamas and blue dresssing gown, coming out of the kitchen carrying two cups of steaming tea, and holding one out to him. "Earl Grey with lemon, correct?"

His mind clouded with sleep and surprise, all John could do was stare at the teacup, scratch the back of his neck and say, "Uhhh…."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed the teacup into John's hands before beginning to pace. "I know you're not a morning person, John, but even you aren't that much of an idiot."

The fresh insult having woken him up somewhat, John sniffed the tea suspiciously and asked point-blank. "What do you want?"

"Excuse me?" asked Sherlock indignantly, stopping in his pacing to look at John.

"You don't go out of your way to be nice unless you want something, now answer me," clarified John, speaking like a parent would to a naughty child.

"I merely want you to accompany me to St. Bart's this morning," said Sherlock, looking offended. "And I don't appreciate my going out of the way to make the morning tea being treated like an attempt to poison you."

Remembering the coffee Sherlock had made him in Baskerville all those months ago, John knew he had good reason to be suspicious of anything Sherlock gave him to consume. Nevertheless, to prevent a tantrum, John took a careful sip and was relieved to find the brew exactly how he liked it. It was nice to know that Sherlock paid attention to details of their life he called 'boring' so many times.

Noticing Sherlock's intent gaze on his cup, waiting for a reaction, he nodded reassuringly. "It's good, thank you," he said, and took a bigger sip before speaking again. "Sure I'll go with you to St. Bart's, you hardly need to ask. We get a new case?"

"It's…an experiment," said Sherlock slowly, beginning to pace again and avoiding John's gaze.

His blogger rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. When Sherlock had no cases, the best thing to relieve his boredom would be to 'experiment' on bodies and/or body parts from the morgue of St. Bart's. Hoping beyond hope that he would not have to clear a space in the fridge when they got back, John grumbled after finishing off his tea. "Dunno why you're going so far as to make tea in order for me to go – unless you want to bring a cadaver back here, because I draw the line at that."

"No, John, no body will be coming back here with us," said Sherlock impatiently. "Now will you get dressed so we can go?"

"Fine, Sherlock," said John, who went from annoyed to amused as he looked at his friend. "But I do hope that you don't plan to go to Bart's in your pajamas."

Sherlock looked down at his attire, his eyes wide as if my comment made him realize he wasn't dressed to go out, and then rushed away in a flash, closing his bedroom door behind him.

For a moment, John could only stand there in surprise and look down at his now empty tea cup. What in the world has gotten into him?

Just as John was buttoning up a comfortable plaid shirt, his door burst open and there stood Sherlock. He still wore his dressing gown, and was holding up two of his dress shirts, one light blue and one dark purple. "Which one?" he asked, his face and tone neutral but his eyes anxious.

For the second time this morning, Sherlock had completely surprised John and all he could say in response was, "Ummm…"

"For God's sake, John, you are useless this morning!" exclaimed Sherlock, like a teenage girl speaking to her mother. "Considering how many girls you ploughed through before settling on that Mary, you would have more of a valid opinion upon which option a female would find more pleasing to the eye on the figure of my person."

Deciding to save his confusion of the entire situation for a time when Sherlock would be at least partly willing to answer, John remembered where they were headed and said, "Sherlock, why does it matter? This is Molly we're going to see, not some women you don't know."

"Exactly," said Sherlock curtly and shook the shirts slightly. "Now answer the question."

Deciding to just go along with it and ask questions in the cab, John looked at both shirts for a minute and then pointed to the light blue one. "That one, I suppose. Brings out your eyes." He closed his eyes after that remark; clearly he'd been shopping with Mary one too many times. "Erase that from your mind palace right now and get changed, please."

"Done," said Sherlock, and with that disappeared back down the stairs.

John slowly closed the door to his room and let what had just happened sink in. Then he laughed. Sherlock worrying about what to wear, wanting to please? In the six months that he and Sherlock had been living together again since Sherlock's return from the dead, John had not noticed anything different about his behavior. So where was all of this coming from?

Not wanting to jump to any conclusions prematurely (something that should never be done in the case of Sherlock Holmes), John decided to keep observing and gathering information before formulating a theory.

He hoped what would come would be as amusing as this morning was turning out to be.