United We Stand

John

There was the soft intake of breath and John braced himself. It was, quite unfortunately, the eerie calm before the storm. Sherlock dropped his head limply back onto the headrest of his chair and blew out the breath he was holding quite suddenly, causing a noise akin to what one would hear when bundled up inside during a windstorm.

John sighed in the exact moment Sherlock did. "I'm bored." The detective complained, staring up aimlessly at the ceiling, tracing every crack and blemish with his eyes.

"I can tell, Sherlock." John groused. "Believe me, I can tell!"

Sherlock rolled his head to the side to look at his flatmate without having to raise his head. "Oh, and what triggered that particular deduction?" he asked sarcastically. "The fact that you've practically put me under house arrest? Or that there are no cases for me to solve!"

John rolled his eyes, but didn't respond verbally. It was a mix of both, really. Sherlock was recuperating from a nasty fall into a river, during their last case, that resulted in a painfully twisted ankle and a severe cold. John, instincts taking over, had patched him up and treated him, firmly telling the detective that he would not tolerate Sherlock running around before he recovered.

And, to keep the hope that they'd survive the ordeal, John had texted Lestrade earlier, begging him not to contact Sherlock about a case.

Which, concluded their present predicament. With both exasperated, and at wit's end... for different reasons.

Another loud outburst of air from Sherlock's lungs rattled John out of his musings. John put the book he was failing to read down. "Sherlock."

The detective's eyes sharpened. "Yes John?"

"Stop it." Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows inquisitively. "Your explosive sighing in boredom. It's distracting me."

Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders and poked boredly at something, that John vaguely guessed to be a ruptured spleen, sloshing around inside a cooking bowl. Sherlock patiently waited for John to return his attention to his book before expelling another one of his annoying sighs.

John's book fell back onto his lap and he squeezed his eyes shut, lips pressing into a thin line. He wouldn't shout, he would be very mature and not raise his voice.

Maybe...

"Joooohhnnn!" Sherlock wailed. "Can you hear that?" John opened his eyes and stared at Sherlock for a moment, nonplussed.

Silence.

"That, John, is the sound of my brain deteriorating." Sherlock groaned dramatically like the world itself was ending.

John snorted wryly. "Silence, Sherlock, is a very lovely sound."

"Vile." Sherlock growled. "It is absolutely vile!"

"Sure you'd think it is." John grumbled quietly, rolling his eyes.

"Don't you have work at the clinic today?" Sherlock asked, suddenly changing subjects.

John frowned at him reproachfully. "I did, but I know you'd just run off the moment I turn my back. So I took the day off."

Sherlock wiggled his injured foot, assessing the level of pain he was in right now. Not too bad. "John..." he wheedled.

"No." John immediately cut him off.

"I didn't say anything." Sherlock raised his eyebrow challengingly.

"You were think it very loudly." John smirked back at him. "And no, we're not leaving the flat anytime today."

Sherlock pouted childishly. "Jooohn!"

John shook his head adamantly. "No, Sherlock. Still not happening." He lifted his book once again.

Sherlock frowned and puffed out his cheeks a little at being ignored. Then he snaked off his chair and slipped, very quietly, over to the handrest of John's seat. He grasped at the piece of furniture and pulled himself upwards just enough to let his quicksilver irises to flash across the cloying font of John's book.

John pretended he didn't notice.

"Pleeeeease?" came Sherlock's muffled request when he bored himself.

"Can't hear you properly with your mouth mashed up against the handrest." John told him. "How old are you, three!"

Sherlock raised himself a few inches higher and rested his chin on the handrest. "Come on, John! I'm bored! Lets go out somewhere!" John rolled his eyes as Sherlock's badgering started anew. "Park, restaurant, museum, police station..."

"Jail." John chimed in irrately.

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Yeah! Let's go there!"

"No!" John gave up reading and closed his book with a snap. "Sherlock, listen very carefully. We're. Not. Leaving. The flat!"

Sherlock's eyes widened and he jutted his bottom lip out pitifully like a small child that was just refused candy. John sighed. "You're not going to get anywhere by making faces!"

But the glint in Sherlock's eye told differently.