Sherlock advent stories Dec.4: Jumper
Title: Jumper
rating: gen
characters: Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson with mentions of Lestrade and Molly
a/n: I am dedicating this little fluff to florencia7 for being such a wonderful friend and strong supporter of my writing. Thank you for everything <3
AO3 link
Jumper
There was something just on the edge of John's consciousness that would not go away. A bright flashing light just out of reach. It was almost as annoying as Sherlock's constant whining when there wasn't a case. Just as he reached out to try and touch the light again, a voice echoed around him. The deep timbre he recognized right away as Sherlock's.
“Come now John, Lestrade phoned,” the voice sighed. John ignored it in favour of trying to catch the annoying flickering light. What the bloody hell was it? “JOHN!” The doctor startled awake and would have fallen out of bed if Sherlock hadn't caught him.
“Jesus Sherlock, you can't just yell,” John rubbed his eyes.
“You were taking too long to wake so I sped things along,” the detective merely stated as he held out a jumper that John didn't recognize and a cup of tea. He eyed the tea wearily. Sherlock entered the kitchen only to keep track of his experiments in the fridge, or the sugar tin and even sometimes in the breadbox. Mold experiments were his favorite.
“Where did you get that jumper?” John asked as he grabbed the blue lumpy material Sherlock was trying to hand him instead of taking the mug of tea.
“As I said, Lestrade phoned and wants us down at the Yard as soon as possible.”
“Another body do you think?” he asked as he pulled the jumper on over his t-shirt. The blue, he noticed, was an uncanny match to the very same blue of Sherlock's favorite scarf, which was wrapped around the detective's neck. If John didn't know better, he would swear it was a gift, but the younger man would deny it. Sentiment was not something he did.
“Possibly. Daniel Hamilton's body is still at Barts, fancy a stop on the way?” Sherlock asked as he pulled out his mobile. Molly must be there on her shift otherwise they wouldn't bother if the detective couldn't have his way. John quite liked the pathologist even with her mousy personality.
“We can't stay long if Greg is expecting us down at the Yard, so you have ten minutes to examine the body, and don't whine because I know that's more than enough time for your brilliant brain to see what you need.” Sherlock huffed but didn't argue as he ushered John from his bedroom and hurried him down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson peeked her head out her door but Sherlock pushed on and before John knew what was happening they were out on Baker Street with a cab waiting for them.
“In you get,” the detective shoved him into the back of the black cab before climbing in himself and stretching out his long legs. John wanted to make a comment about the pushiness but settled on something that would make Sherlock squirm.
“Thank you for the jumper, I noticed it matches your scarf,” John smiled brightly. As he expected, the young man's eyes had widened followed by a faint blush. Sentiment was not a bad thing and maybe Sherlock was beginning to understand that. John could only hope.
rating: gen
characters: Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson with mentions of Lestrade and Molly
a/n: I am dedicating this little fluff to florencia7 for being such a wonderful friend and strong supporter of my writing. Thank you for everything <3
AO3 link
Jumper
There was something just on the edge of John's consciousness that would not go away. A bright flashing light just out of reach. It was almost as annoying as Sherlock's constant whining when there wasn't a case. Just as he reached out to try and touch the light again, a voice echoed around him. The deep timbre he recognized right away as Sherlock's.
“Come now John, Lestrade phoned,” the voice sighed. John ignored it in favour of trying to catch the annoying flickering light. What the bloody hell was it? “JOHN!” The doctor startled awake and would have fallen out of bed if Sherlock hadn't caught him.
“Jesus Sherlock, you can't just yell,” John rubbed his eyes.
“You were taking too long to wake so I sped things along,” the detective merely stated as he held out a jumper that John didn't recognize and a cup of tea. He eyed the tea wearily. Sherlock entered the kitchen only to keep track of his experiments in the fridge, or the sugar tin and even sometimes in the breadbox. Mold experiments were his favorite.
“Where did you get that jumper?” John asked as he grabbed the blue lumpy material Sherlock was trying to hand him instead of taking the mug of tea.
“As I said, Lestrade phoned and wants us down at the Yard as soon as possible.”
“Another body do you think?” he asked as he pulled the jumper on over his t-shirt. The blue, he noticed, was an uncanny match to the very same blue of Sherlock's favorite scarf, which was wrapped around the detective's neck. If John didn't know better, he would swear it was a gift, but the younger man would deny it. Sentiment was not something he did.
“Possibly. Daniel Hamilton's body is still at Barts, fancy a stop on the way?” Sherlock asked as he pulled out his mobile. Molly must be there on her shift otherwise they wouldn't bother if the detective couldn't have his way. John quite liked the pathologist even with her mousy personality.
“We can't stay long if Greg is expecting us down at the Yard, so you have ten minutes to examine the body, and don't whine because I know that's more than enough time for your brilliant brain to see what you need.” Sherlock huffed but didn't argue as he ushered John from his bedroom and hurried him down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson peeked her head out her door but Sherlock pushed on and before John knew what was happening they were out on Baker Street with a cab waiting for them.
“In you get,” the detective shoved him into the back of the black cab before climbing in himself and stretching out his long legs. John wanted to make a comment about the pushiness but settled on something that would make Sherlock squirm.
“Thank you for the jumper, I noticed it matches your scarf,” John smiled brightly. As he expected, the young man's eyes had widened followed by a faint blush. Sentiment was not a bad thing and maybe Sherlock was beginning to understand that. John could only hope.