More Sherlock prompt fic!
For 
nestra: Sherlock, 931 words, Sherlock and John go grocery shopping.
It was a Tuesday when John came downstairs and just barely ducked out of the way of a projectile which buried itself in the wall behind him.
"What the hell?" he said from his position on the floor.
"Good reflexes," Sherlock commented, not looking up from where he was jotting down notes, another object dangling from his other hand. "Glad to see your military training hasn't completely abandoned you."
"Yes," John said as he struggled off the floor. "And thank you for bringing that fresh war zone feeling into my home." He looked back to see what was thrown at him. "You were throwing scalpels? Why? You could have killed me!"
Sherlock through him a look. "Don't be so dramatic. It would have wounded you at most, and it couldn't have gone deep enough to cause any real damage."
John did not feel like being appeased. "Well, in that case, no problem," he said sarcastically. "Which doesn't answer why."
"I was trying to figure out the velocity and..."
John closed his eyes and interrupted. "Never mind. Come on," he said, grabbing Sherlock by the arm.
Sherlock gave an oddly undignified--and, if John were willing to admit it, at least inside his own head, oddly endearing--squeak. "What?"
"You're coming to the shops with me. We're out of milk again, and since Anderson ate all our biscuits in the last drugs bust, we should get a few other things in."
"Yes, fine, go shopping," Sherlock said, trying to extract his arm from John's grip, though John refused to let go. "I have work to do here."
"No, you don't," John said, letting Sherlock go long enough to grab both of their coats. "You're bored, you haven't left the flat in three days, and you need some airing. I also don't want to come home to find you've dismantled the telly again for parts when there's not even a murder at stake and Doctor Who is on tonight. You're coming with me. Besides, it's been your turn to do the shopping the last 23 times."
Sherlock did not look overly thrilled, but still followed John out the door.
*
"You're right," Sherlock said standing in the produce section, staring at a can of "chocolate flavored" dip. "This is so much better than sitting at home. Ooooh, the excitement."
"Chin-up," John said, not even looking up from the apples. "Maybe there will be a body in the frozen food section."
"Now you're just trying to cheer me up," Sherlock said, still deadpan.
John was about to put some tomatoes in the basket when Sherlock took them and put them back.
"Sherlock," John said in exasperation. "Much as I love takeaway, I love not having scurvy more."
"How do you feel about salmonella?" Sherlock asked taking the tomatoes back out of his hands.
"What?" John asked. "They look fine."
"Clear signs of rats in the warehouse. And not healthy ones. In fact, I'd give all the fruit and vegetables here a pass," he continued, giving the entire produce section and disgusted look.
John looked around and put the tomatoes back himself this time.
They wandered towards the aisle with the pasta.
"Their stock people clearly have too much time on their hands," Sherlock muttered looking at the shelves. "And a poor sense of self-preservation. Nothing else can explain this much unprotected sex on top of so much stock."
John was actually able to pick up a few things (strangely, all food Sherlock hadn't commented about contamination or pervy grocer employees, and all food he liked). Sherlock had wandered off down the pharmaceutical aisle, and John was reaching for a bottle of milk when he nearly banged heads with someone.
"Sorry!"
"No, no, it's my fault," the woman said. She was blond and pretty and had a nice smile, and John found himself smiling back.
"No, I should have looked. Those tragic dairy accidents: so easy to avoid."
She laughed again, and was about to say something when Sherlock appeared suddenly behind her.
"Hello," he said, ignoring the both of them jumping, and smiling down at her with one of his creepiest smiles. "Your boyfriend would probably appreciate you not picking up strange doctors in grocery stores. Remember the last time."
"What? I-- I wasn't--" she stammered, blushing.
"Really? Because I can't imagine another reason why someone lactose intolerant was picking up milk," he finished blandly.
As the woman was stalking off, John turned a glare on him. "Seriously? Was that necessary?" he demanded.
Sherlock smiled at him beatifically, which was even creepier. "Of course."
They finally made it to the checkout line, and John was chatting amiably with the girl at the counter. They'd talked before and she seemed friendly enough. She was a little younger than John would have normally gone for, but she wasn't a automatic teller and she didn't complain at him about unexpected items, so she was definitely at least one up.
"You should really return that 32 quid you stole out of the till earlier," Sherlock suddenly butted in, standing closer to John than strictly necessary. "Your manager is obviously suspicious. I believe he'll be contacting you in another 7 minutes for a meeting, in fact."
The girl blanched and quickly looked over her shoulder towards someone John could only assume was her manager before shoving his change at him.
John was gritting his teeth as they left the store. Sherlock, conversely, seemed content, breathing deeply.
"I am never bringing you with me again," John said.
"No, you were absolutely right," Sherlock beamed at him. "That was fun."
Originally posted at Dreamwidth. There are currently
DW comments. Please comment at Dreamwidth if possible.
nestra: Sherlock, 931 words, Sherlock and John go grocery shopping.
It was a Tuesday when John came downstairs and just barely ducked out of the way of a projectile which buried itself in the wall behind him.
"What the hell?" he said from his position on the floor.
"Good reflexes," Sherlock commented, not looking up from where he was jotting down notes, another object dangling from his other hand. "Glad to see your military training hasn't completely abandoned you."
"Yes," John said as he struggled off the floor. "And thank you for bringing that fresh war zone feeling into my home." He looked back to see what was thrown at him. "You were throwing scalpels? Why? You could have killed me!"
Sherlock through him a look. "Don't be so dramatic. It would have wounded you at most, and it couldn't have gone deep enough to cause any real damage."
John did not feel like being appeased. "Well, in that case, no problem," he said sarcastically. "Which doesn't answer why."
"I was trying to figure out the velocity and..."
John closed his eyes and interrupted. "Never mind. Come on," he said, grabbing Sherlock by the arm.
Sherlock gave an oddly undignified--and, if John were willing to admit it, at least inside his own head, oddly endearing--squeak. "What?"
"You're coming to the shops with me. We're out of milk again, and since Anderson ate all our biscuits in the last drugs bust, we should get a few other things in."
"Yes, fine, go shopping," Sherlock said, trying to extract his arm from John's grip, though John refused to let go. "I have work to do here."
"No, you don't," John said, letting Sherlock go long enough to grab both of their coats. "You're bored, you haven't left the flat in three days, and you need some airing. I also don't want to come home to find you've dismantled the telly again for parts when there's not even a murder at stake and Doctor Who is on tonight. You're coming with me. Besides, it's been your turn to do the shopping the last 23 times."
Sherlock did not look overly thrilled, but still followed John out the door.
*
"You're right," Sherlock said standing in the produce section, staring at a can of "chocolate flavored" dip. "This is so much better than sitting at home. Ooooh, the excitement."
"Chin-up," John said, not even looking up from the apples. "Maybe there will be a body in the frozen food section."
"Now you're just trying to cheer me up," Sherlock said, still deadpan.
John was about to put some tomatoes in the basket when Sherlock took them and put them back.
"Sherlock," John said in exasperation. "Much as I love takeaway, I love not having scurvy more."
"How do you feel about salmonella?" Sherlock asked taking the tomatoes back out of his hands.
"What?" John asked. "They look fine."
"Clear signs of rats in the warehouse. And not healthy ones. In fact, I'd give all the fruit and vegetables here a pass," he continued, giving the entire produce section and disgusted look.
John looked around and put the tomatoes back himself this time.
They wandered towards the aisle with the pasta.
"Their stock people clearly have too much time on their hands," Sherlock muttered looking at the shelves. "And a poor sense of self-preservation. Nothing else can explain this much unprotected sex on top of so much stock."
John was actually able to pick up a few things (strangely, all food Sherlock hadn't commented about contamination or pervy grocer employees, and all food he liked). Sherlock had wandered off down the pharmaceutical aisle, and John was reaching for a bottle of milk when he nearly banged heads with someone.
"Sorry!"
"No, no, it's my fault," the woman said. She was blond and pretty and had a nice smile, and John found himself smiling back.
"No, I should have looked. Those tragic dairy accidents: so easy to avoid."
She laughed again, and was about to say something when Sherlock appeared suddenly behind her.
"Hello," he said, ignoring the both of them jumping, and smiling down at her with one of his creepiest smiles. "Your boyfriend would probably appreciate you not picking up strange doctors in grocery stores. Remember the last time."
"What? I-- I wasn't--" she stammered, blushing.
"Really? Because I can't imagine another reason why someone lactose intolerant was picking up milk," he finished blandly.
As the woman was stalking off, John turned a glare on him. "Seriously? Was that necessary?" he demanded.
Sherlock smiled at him beatifically, which was even creepier. "Of course."
They finally made it to the checkout line, and John was chatting amiably with the girl at the counter. They'd talked before and she seemed friendly enough. She was a little younger than John would have normally gone for, but she wasn't a automatic teller and she didn't complain at him about unexpected items, so she was definitely at least one up.
"You should really return that 32 quid you stole out of the till earlier," Sherlock suddenly butted in, standing closer to John than strictly necessary. "Your manager is obviously suspicious. I believe he'll be contacting you in another 7 minutes for a meeting, in fact."
The girl blanched and quickly looked over her shoulder towards someone John could only assume was her manager before shoving his change at him.
John was gritting his teeth as they left the store. Sherlock, conversely, seemed content, breathing deeply.
"I am never bringing you with me again," John said.
"No, you were absolutely right," Sherlock beamed at him. "That was fun."
Originally posted at Dreamwidth. There are currently
DW comments. Please comment at Dreamwidth if possible.