all because of one sheet (Johnlock)"John?"all because of one sheet (Johnlock)2 years ago in General Fiction
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"Mhm?" John looked up from his laptop and raised one eyebrow at his flatmate. "What i-..." He blinked and tried not to concentrate on the completely naked detective in front of him. "Sherlock? What the hell are you doing?"
"I can't find my sheet."
"Put on some clothes!" John stared at his laptop, he didn't dare to look up again, even as Sherlock was laughing.
"I just wanted to ask you, if you have seen my sheet somewhere. But as a result of your reaction I deduce that you haven't. You are ashamed to see your flatmate naked, or possibly like it, because you blushed and you can hardly keep yourself from looking at me again."
"Would you please shut up, Sherlock?"
"I'm right, am I not?"
"Damn, no, Sherlock! You aren't right! And I don't like this experiment very much! I'm begging you, put on some clothes!"
"Why do you think it's an experiment, John? I'm just looking for my sheet, but I can't find it. Maybe Mrs. Hudson put it away..."
"Yeah, maybe." John grumbled. "Go and ask her!"
Coming Home - Johnlock - 1/4Grief, in many ways, is like any other strong emotion. Fear, joy, hatred, all wax and wane, but in theory begin with a spark, an event like no other that turns you upside down with heady feeling, and changes you, at least for a while, incredibly. And yet, after a period of hours or days or weeks or months, it is expected that the emotion will begin to dissipate. That you will no longer be frightened, that you will no longer feel ecstatic, that hatred will turn to indifference. That the pain in your chest will die away. But for John Watson, an anomaly like no other, this simply was not true.Coming Home - Johnlock - 1/42 years ago in Short Stories
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It was a Friday afternoon, three years to the day that his best friend had jumped to his death from St. Bart's hospital, and John was tired. He was sat in his usual, threadbare armchair, cradling a lukewarm cup of tea in his hands, staring across at the dusty violin that lay undisturbed in the seat across from him. The tick of the clock seemed abnormally loud and slow as John waited for an un