FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

John woke late, alone in an unfamiliar room. Sherlock's, he thought, a lopsided grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He stretched as he slipped out from under the sheets, his joints popping with relief, before he moved to the shower. Fifteen minutes later he emerged through the kitchen, his short-clipped hair sticking out every which way as he tied the belt on his robe. Sherlock was perched on the kitchen stool; four or five small vials were covering the table in front him, and he seemed to be carefully using a stopper to combine their contents in a container of amber liquid set further away.

"Back to experiments already then? Any time in your pressing schedule for a chat?"

His voice was warm, but he knew there was a hard edge there only the detective would discern. Sherlock gingerly placed the dropper on the table and turned to face John, smiling warmly as he did.

"John, this isn't something dangerous or deadly. It's about you, and quite frankly you're extremely important to its success. We'll have our chat, I promise, but right now I need to work on this."

"How am I important to the outcome of your little... whatever it is?"

"It's a surprise, John, but it's related to something I told you last night."

John opened him mouth to reply, but Sherlock had resumed his careful measuring. With a shrug the doctor put the kettle on, hovering nearby so the whistle didn't disturb Sherlock. It was hard to imagine the day being so... well, normal, by 221B standards. He had assumed (hoped, really) that something would change, something noticeable, but everything seemed as it was. Sherlock was doing god knows what with god knows what in the kitchen, the tea was on, and John was left alone with his thoughts once more. He poured himself a cuppa (and one for Sherlock, just in case) and sat down in his worn red chair, preparing to check his blog for cases r comments. He opened his laptop, feeling the small rush of pleasure that always accompanied the movement, only to frown deeply as he saw what as open.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"One, can you just use your own computer for once? My battery's nearly dead! Two, why the hell are you interested in perfumes?"

"One, no, yours was closer, and two, I told you. It's an experiment. If it's successful, I'll show you."

John sighed and stood, heading upstairs to grab his power cord. He spent the better part of ten minutes searching for the blasted thing before he finally found it tucked in his hamper (I'll bet Sherlock had something to do with this, he thought with a frown). He took the stairs heavily, letting his general feelings on the matter be known through the leaden thump of his feet. He knew it'd annoy Sherlock, and as petty as that sounded the man couldn't even be considerate enough to plug a laptop in when he was done. Yes, things were definitely back to normal in 221B.

Once the computer was connected John checked his email, his bad mood fading as he scrolled through the comments. Harry had left another teasing comment on the account of their last case, and John smiled at the thought of telling her about Sherlock. Yeah, me too, Harry, I shagged Sherlock last night. Oh, it was fantastic, I'm a little mad we hadn't done it sooner. I can't wait to see the look on his face the next time you come by, it's going to be-

Sherlock screamed in frustration as he slammed his arm into the table, sending tiny glass vials smashing against the walls and floor. Within seconds the whole flat reeked of alcohol and other scents John couldn't place, and he closed his computer with a resigned sigh.

"It isn't working. I've tried at least six compounds today, and nothing, NOTHING is combining correctly!"

Sherlock slammed a fist down on the oak table, his face twisted into a snarl.

"Sherlock, come here, don't-"

"John, I need this."

Sherlock's face softened as his voice dropped an octave. He moved closer to John, his head lowered, his eyes burning.

"Sherlock, you'll solve it, whatever it is you're trying to do. You always conquer your experiments. It's been-"

"Five hours," he filled in helpfully.

"Jesus, alright, it's been five hours since you woke up and decided to smell up the flat. Come on, I'll get dressed and we'll go out for a while. We can stop by the Met, see if Lestrade's in need of that beautiful brain of yours."

Sherlock smiled down at John, his gaze calming at the prospect of a new case. He straightened his jacket and planted a kiss atop John's drying hair.

"I'd like to be back by dark. Some of my components have extremely short shelf lives, and I need to use them by eight o'clock."

John nodded absentmindedly as he moved towards the stairs. Sherlock followed, and a small smile twisted itself across John's thin lips. As he crossed the threshold to his room Sherlock hovered outside, silent, watching. John felt he could afford a show for the man. He untied his robe and dropped in, completely bare underneath. Sherlock sucked in a breath. John moved to ward his closet thankful that the door opened toward the wall. He slowly sorted through his nicer shirts, finally settling on a cream-colored button-down that he knew made his eyes stand out. He pulled down a black suit jacket next, stepping over the bed and laying them down gingerly.

He turned to face Sherlock as he moved to his dresser, removing a pair of jeans he knew to be snug. For added effect, he grabbed a pair of socks- but no pants. Sherlock's eyes ran up and down his body as he pulled on the jeans, grinning as they widened when he did up the fly. Nope, tonight John Hamish Watson was going commando, and he wanted Sherlock to see, to know. He shrugged his way into the cream shirt, buttoning it from the top down. He noticed how Sherlock's eyes followed the slow movements of his hands, how they lingered on the fine trail of his abdomen before he closed off the view with a quick button. He tugged on his sock and jacket and moved toward Sherlock with a bright smile.

"Ready?"

"Not anymore."

"That's too bad; I'll just have to leave without you."

John shouldered his way past, grinning madly. He could feel Sherlock's heated gaze on him as he moved, taking the stairs slowly so that he had no choice but to stare. It did wonderful things to his ego. He hailed, and a cab pulled up to the curb promptly. He was already seated inside, checking his phone, as Sherlock slipped in beside him.

"Where to, gentlemen?"

"The Met, please."